Many of the world’s religions attest to the reality that something isn’t quite right with humanity. We see suffering and evil in our lives and the lives of others, often conceding to it as some unfortunate aspect of our existence that we can’t seem to do away with. We understand that it doesn’t fit into what life should be like. C.S. Lewis wrote about this in his apologetic work , Mere Christianity. He argued that humanity has always known there is something wrong with the world—the existence of evil and suffering—which clues us into something about the way the world should be. Lewis thought that if a line is crooked, how can we identify that it is indeed crooked unless we have a straight line with which to compare? In his analogy, the straight line reflects goodness and peace, whereas the crooked one, evil and suffering. We can only judge suffering and evil as undesirable if we have a desirable state with which to compare it.

Christians talk often about the value—and unfortunate necessity—of suffering. Suffering is raw, telescoping our consciousness into our present pain, our state of helplessness. The saints suffered, and i f we read Scripture, we know that Jesus calls us to hoist up the cross on our shoulder—to trudge after him in a world that persecuted, beat, mocked and killed him. We know we are called to suffer, and to suffer sometimes without a satisfying explanation; but how do we endure? How do we carry the cross that leads to life, not the one that leads to death?

Suffering, in and of itself, is of no value. To suffer for the sake of suffering does not glorify God or bring about our sanctification. In some cases, it manifests a deep, dangerous pride that leaves no room for God’s grace.

 

In No Man Is An Island, Thomas Merton deeply contemplates the reality of suffering. Merton is quick, as many saints are, to speak of the necessity of suffering: its potential of edifying our souls and, when offered up with Christ’s ultimate act of sacrifice, of saving the souls of others. He echoes the wise words of the brilliant St. Augustine and mystical St. John of the Cross:

“Let us understand that God is a physician, and that suffering is a medicine for salvation, not a punishment for damnation.” (St. Augustine)

 “Would that men might come at last to see that it is quite impossible to reach the thicket of the riches and wisdom of God except by first entering the thicket of much suffering, in such a way that the soul finds there its consolation and desire. The soul that longs for divine wisdom chooses first, and in truth, to enter the thicket of the cross.” (St. John of the Cross)

Yet, Merton also turns from a limiting focus on the benefits of suffering in the spiritual life, to its varied and ample pitfalls. For suffering, as we all know, can tempt us to rage against God and others—to cry out in a smoldering bitterness that can burn up our very souls. As Merton writes:

 “Saints are not made saints merely by suffering. The Lord did not create suffering. Pain and death came into the world with the fall of man…[And so,] the Christian must not only accept suffering: he must make it holy. Nothing so easily becomes unholy as suffering.”

It’s human nature to believe that our own suffering is not only unique—which it is—but that it’s somehow greater than the suffering of others. When we don’t have the power to remove our suffering, we are left with only a choice: how we respond to it. It can be easy to lament that no one understands how difficult our trials, judging our warring interior with the seemingly pleasant exterior of others. As a result, we can become angry with God, accusing him of dealing with us unfairly. We may falsely craft the illusion that we are not pleasing to God because of his perceived punishment—believing God deals with us harshly because we are less loved by him, his ingrate children that he merely puts up with.

 Of course, we can also plummet into the opposite line of thinking, supposing that our own unique suffering makes us better and more loved than others. If God’s gift of suffering invites us into a greater closeness with his Paschal Mystery—which it can—then our ego can be tempted to sink its teeth firmly into the tender meat of pride. Here we can mistakenly pick up crosses that have not been left for us by Christ.

“Actually, the only sufferings anyone can validly desire are those precise, particular trials that are demanded of us in the designs of Divine Providence for our own lives.” (Thomas Merton)

We see some of the ways we are not called to suffer, yet again we must ask: How do we suffer well—in the way Christ calls us to?

We would do well to eschew the belief that we can ameliorate all suffering in this life through technology, modern innovations, medicine and a general capacity for human beings to transcend to a state bereft of any suffering. Of course, we do believe in the existence of this state—we call it heaven, or the Kingdom of God —but we must always remember God can only usher it in. We are incapable of remedying our own suffering completely. There is a level of peace that comes with accepting that our lives will always entail a certain degree of toil and difficulty. I’ve always been encouraged by the apocryphal words of St. Teresa, that even the greatest suffering in this life, when compared to the infinite joy and ecstasy of heaven, “is like a bad night in a bad inn.”

At the same time, we’re called to do as Jesus did: heal the sick, comfort the lonely, ease humanity’s collective burden by being sacraments of his love. And this includes easing our own suffering so that it does not prove a spiritual snare. We should reach out to others in our suffering so that they have the opportunity to become a sign o f Christ’s merciful love. Christ gave his hands, feet, and heart to the Church, and after we take advantage of the grace that’s offered in prayer and the sacraments, we must seek his healing through others. Christ didn’t heal those who were sick; he healed those who were sick and asked to be healed. We must ask God, as well as our brothers and sisters, to comfort and help us in our suffering.

 “Jesus who cannot suffer long to keep you in affliction will come to relieve and comfort you by infusing fresh courage into your soul.” (St. Padre Pio of Pietrelcina)

However, as much as God and others can relieve our suffering, we all know there will still be times when we’re left to our own pain—when it’s inescapable despite our prayers, the sacraments, and the mercy of others. In those moments, we are left with the choice to allow it to not only sanctify us, but others as well. This is a great gift that God gave to us by his suffering— by his sanctification of human suffering on the cross—that he enables us to join our suffering with him to help save the souls of others. We choose to suffer well as an act of love for God and others. And so we are never left to suffer without purpose or meaning as long as it’s ordered rightly to Christ. As soon as we allow our suffering to becomes meaningless, not in any way connected to our own sanctification or the salvation of others, then it becomes void and vacant—and that is never God’s will for us. Our suffering alone doesn’t save us; it points instead to Christ’s suffering that does.

 “To know the Cross is not merely to know our own sufferings. For the Cross is the sign of salvation, and no man is saved by his own sufferings. To know the Cross is to know that we are saved by the sufferings of Christ; more, it is to know the love of Christ Who underwent suffering and death in order to save us…In order to suffer without hate we must drive out bitterness from our heart by loving Jesus.” (Thomas Merton)

When a season of suffering overcomes us and leaves us on our knees, there is no intellectual explanation or clever bit of insight that will take away our pain. And at times there is no one person who can console our yearning, troubled soul. But we have Jesus, our God. And we can clutch onto his cross, look into his sorrowful eyes, and know that we are not alone. We can know that the God who suffers—ever loving and always compassionate—also suffers with us.

“The Son of God suffered unto the death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His.” (George MacDonald)

Chris is the founder of The Call Collective, a blog exploring the intersection between faith, culture and creativity. He holds bachelors’ degrees in English and Economics from UCLA and currently works as a Lead Content Strategist for Point Loma Nazarene University.

Do acts of mercy in secret. Just do some good things that no one knows about. — Fr. Tom Hopko

There’s a tension in the Gospel between Jesus’ command to do good in public so others can see it and glorify God (Matt. 5:16) and the command do good in secret so only God sees it (Matt. 6:2-5).

The resolution of this tension is to be found in the intention of the do-gooder:

 why do you do what you do?

For Jesus, the only authentic intention of the disciple is summed up in the twofold commandment: love of God and love of neighbor. Love, which is willing the good of neighbor and the glory of God, takes us out of ourselves, out of our proclivity toward wound-licking and naval-gazing, and reorients us toward God and neighbor. The music of love takes as its refrain the words Jesus spoke as He consecrated the bread and wine:

 “…this is my Body which will be given up for you…my Blood…shed for you and for many…”

In those simple words is a revolution, as “my” is out-turned and placed in service to “you.” For those who dare to eat this Bread and drink this Cup, any and every claim to what is mine is immediately placed in service to the well-being of others and the glory of God(which is really saying the same thing). If I say this is “my body” or “my money” or “my home,” the Christian conscience obliges me at once to consider in what way God wishes me to rightly place those gifts I hold in my possession in service to the common good.

There’s no mistake that we call the bread and wine, after they have been transformed under the force of Jesus’ words “…for you…”, the Real Presence. Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.

Doing good for others in secret is a wonderful asceticism for disciplining our broken tendency to turn everything back on ourselves. This is especially true when we do secret good for those who do not do good to us (Matt. 5:46). The early Fathers often counseled fasting and praying for one’s enemies without ever making it known. The frequent practice of secret mercies and kindnesses can also help prepare us for handling our public good deeds when they get praised. Not by mere protestations of pious humility — “No, really, it’s all God” [btw: no it’s not, it’s cooperating with grace] — but by very naturally experiencing an inner gratitude that you were able to benefit someone else and so manifest the glory of the God who is love. The joy of praise is found in its acknowledgment that love is the true measure of all things.

My spiritual director of 25 years ago used to say to me, “If anyone praises you for this or that, remind yourself:

 ‘How much God must love them to give me these gifts.’ It’s not about you. Gifts are ‘about you’ only inasmuch as they’re about those they were given for.”

 He continued, “The day that this thought naturally occurs to you when you are praised is the day you’ll know you’ve tasted real humility.”

Still waiting.

A number of years ago some unknown person began paying for our utilities every month, and would send us gift cards in the mail to a local grocery store. We tried every way of finding out who they were to thank them, but we were never able to. One of my children said, “Makes me want to be a better person knowing there’s someone like that out there.”

Yes. Glory to God, the hidden Giver of all gifts.

 Dr. Tom Neal presently serves as Academic Dean and Professor of Spiritual Theology at Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans, Louisiana and has a particular passion for exposing the unlimited potential of theology to offer the faithful a deeper sharing in the mind and heart of Jesus Christ. Tom received a Masters in Systematic Theology from Mount St. Mary’s University and a PhD in Religion at Florida State University.

 

Here’s a great discipleship opportunity!

Do you like to sing? Would you be interested in singing in a group for one of the weekend masses? I would love to hear from you.

If you come to mass on Sunday Morning, the Cathedral Choir is hoping to add more singers to its ranks. If you come to Saturday Mass or Sunday evening Mass, we are hoping to have start a choir for those masses, too!

If you are not sure if you are qualified for one of the groups, but are interested, please get in touch with me and I’ll be happy to set up a time when you and I can meet and see if you might be a good addition to one of our choirs.

You can: Call me at the Cathedral. My extension is 132. Email me at [email protected].

Meet me in the choir loft after any mass that I’m playing.

Let’s make music together.

Mark E. Gifford, Director of music and Organist

“Be excellent to each other” is not only the catch-phrase of an 80s cult classic but also an excellent guide to life. And despite its dubious origin, there is wisdom contained in the memorable phrase, a wisdom of which we might need reminding.

Being excellent means much more than being polite or nice to each other. Although it certainly contains both politeness and pleasantness, there are times when politeness becomes an obstacle to the good and pleasantness a fruitless distraction from the bad, and sometimes excellence cannot be decorous.

Being excellent encompasses what is commonly called “tough love.” Because love requires giving a child his shots. Love requires uncomfortably confronting a friend’s self-destructive behavior. Love requires taking the car keys from an elderly relative. And in some cases, love demands unpleasantness, demands refusing superficial niceties. It calls for excellence, which means doing what is truly good for each other.

In a way, “be excellent to each other” is a consequence of Saint Thomas’s definition of love: “to will the good of another.” And thus, the Christian life proposes new forms of excellence, elaborated in the works of mercy. In one way, the memorable maxim recalls the work of admonishing the sinner. To be excellent to the sinner is to admonish him for his sin, at the proper time and in a prudent manner, in order to lead him back to Christ. It also recalls the work of evangelization, the sharing of the life-giving message of forgiveness and redemption purchased by Jesus Christ for each and every person.

Withholding the Gospel from someone, even if it’s easier and nicer and politer, is leaving someone lost in the darkness without the Light of Life. And that’s most un-excellent. Servant of God Dorothy Day, champion of the poor, says the same.

Together with the works of mercy, feeding, clothing and sheltering our brothers, we must indoctrinate. We must “give reason for the faith that is in us.” Otherwise our religion is an opiate, for ourselves alone, for our comfort or for our individual safety or indifferent custom.

We cannot live alone. We cannot go to heaven alone. Otherwise, as Peguy said, God will say to us, “Where are the others?” If we do not keep indoctrinating, we lose the vision. And if we lose the vision, we become merely philanthropists, doling out palliatives.

Don’t dole out spiritual palliatives when you know the Divine Physician who freely gives the miracle cure. Don’t be nice and polite at the expense of the good. “Be excellent to each other.”

This article was written by Br. Hyacinth Grubb, O.P., who entered the Order of Preachers in 2013. A Colorado native, he graduated from Columbia University where he studied Electrical Engineering. This article appeared in the Word on Fire blog, used with permission.

Stewardship of Time & Talent
Time in prayer is a great practice for discerning your talents and what you may be able to share with the Parish!

Stewardship of Treasure
Weekly Collections: April 28th & 29th
Envelopes: $7, 011.22
Loose: $6,531.08
Maintenance: $80.00
__________________________
TOTAL: $13,622.30

Needed to operate weekly: $15,907.89
Difference: $2,285.59

April EFT: $18,486.10
These are recurring electronic donations over the month.

Parishioner News

We are adding a new section to the Weekly in the coming weeks. To celebrate our community and to get to know each other better, we are creating a section in the weekly that highlights parishioner news, prayer requests, and sacramental news to share.222

Have some news you would like to share? Please email Katie Price at [email protected].

“Bring flowers the fairest, bring flowers the rarest, from garden and woodland and hillside and dale; our full hearts are swelling, our glad voices telling the praise of the loveliest flower of the vale!”

The preceding few lines will be familiar to some who read this but probably not to too many. These words are a part of a thirteenth century hymn entitled “Queen of the May” and this hymn was traditionally sung during May, especially at May crowning ceremonies, in honor of Mary our Blessed Mother. Growing up at St. Aloysius on the north side, the May crowning was a yearly event as it was in many Catholic schools and hopefully it remains so; our school children crowned the statue of Mary in the fountain courtyard this past week.

May is traditionally known as the month of Mary. Centuries ago, May was dedicated to the pagan Roman goddess Flora who was the goddess of blooms. The month was dedicated to her as a way of casting our winter and welcoming in the new life of spring. As the true Christian faith spread throughout the Roman empire and the rest of the world, this festival of Flora disappeared but various practices to welcome the change in seasons remained. Beginning in the Middle Ages, a popular devotion came about entitled Tricesimum which was a thirty-day period celebrated in honor of Mary. At one time, it was celebrated from August 15th (the Assumption) until September 14th (Our Lady of Sorrows) and still is today in some places. As time progressed, this celebration of Tricesimum was merged with honoring Mary in the month of May. By the 13th century, May was becoming synonymous with being the month of Mary throughout many parts of the Church.

During this month of May, as we continue our celebration of the Easter season and the new life won for us by the risen Christ, we are mindful again of the role that Mary played in the drama of our salvation. God’s plan for our salvation in his son Jesus began with Mary’s yes to God’s will for her. We are invited daily to echo Mary’s yes to God’s will in our lives because salvation is the ultimate end of God’s will for each and every person. We honor Mary throughout the Church year, but particularly in this month, because she is our great model of discipleship and our great intercessor with Jesus her son.

The refrain to the old hymn states:

 “O Mary, we crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May!”

Let us crown Mary in our hearts with our own faithful discipleship in following Jesus her son, who invites all of us to fullness of life in him.

Father Christopher House is the Rector-Pastor of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, specifically Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

When we changed the format of the bulletin to become The Weekly, the format of my column changed from a sort of “what’s going on” to a more focused column on something usually pertaining to discipleship, many times reflecting on the readings of the particular Sunday. This week I have decided to revisit the old format and I think that I will do that from time to time when things are going on in the parish that I would like to draw your attention to.

May is generally a busy time for families and it is no different for the parish family. This coming month will be of particular significance for us. Since Easter was relatively early this year, one event that normally falls in May has already been celebrated. First Communion for our 2nd grade students in our PSR program and in our school was celebrated this past weekend, April 21/22, on the Fourth Sunday of Easter also known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Our parish 8th grade class is preparing for their commencement exercises in just under three weeks on Friday, May 18th at 6:30PM in the Cathedral church. All are welcome.

We ask for God’s blessing on these students celebrating these great achievements.

While these events are always moments of joy, there can be no denying that these events this year are also wrapped with a sense of sorrow as we prepare to end our grade school programming. In these upcoming weeks I would ask that you keep our school children, faculty, staff, and all of their families at the forefront of your prayers. This time of transition will not be easy for many and your prayers are most appreciated.

As we prepare for this transition, I would like to invite you to take a walk through the Cathedral School on Sunday, May 6th, from 11:00AM to 1:00PM.

There will be refreshments provided, many old photographs on display, and memories to be shared.

May will bring another transition with it. If you were not able to join us at Mass last weekend, it was announced that our Father Braden Maher will be concluding his appointment with us and transferring to Our Savior Parish in Jacksonville as parochial vicar. He will also assist as the parochial vicar of the parishes in Beardstown, Arenzville, and Virginia. This new assignment will begin on August 1st. Before Father Maher begins his new assignment, he will begin studies in Canon Law at the Catholic University of American in Washington, D.C. at the beginning of June. This means that he will be leaving us at the end of May. We are grateful to Father Maher for the ministry that he has provided to us over these past two years and we wish him every grace and blessing in his transition.

We will have a farewell reception for Father Maher after the 4:00PM Mass on Saturday evening, May 19th, in the Atrium.

There will be further reminders to come. We will joyfully welcome his successor, Father Michael Friedel, at the beginning of July and I will have more to share with you about Father Friedel in the future.

Personally, I do not like transitions, mostly because they seem to come with grief, but this is a part of the Christian life. As we move towards these times of change, let us remember the Lord’s words to his disciples when he told them that he would be leaving them in the earthly sense but that he would always be present to them in the gift of the Holy Spirit: you will weep and mourn, while the world rejoices; you will grieve, but your grief will become joy. I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world (John 16: 20, 33). God bless you!

Father Christopher House is the Rector-Pastor of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, specifically Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

Every month , the International Catholic Stewardship Council writes about a Saint who lived a stewardship way of life. We will begin to share these examples each month, so we too can lear how to bear witness to the Gospel in our lives. For more information, http://catholicstewardship.com/.

Given the name Mark Rey at his birth in 1577, our stewardship saint for April grew up in Sigmaringen, a town located in presentday Germany. He was the son of the town’s affluent burgomeister (mayor) and studied law and philosophy at the renowned University of Freiburg. As a student, Mark made prayer a priority in his daily life. He also spent time visiting the sick. He embraced a humble, chaste and simple lifestyle.

He earned a doctorate in canon and civil law, became a prominent lawyer and soon gained a reputation for representing those who had no money to pay. Mark was affectionately nicknamed “the poor man´s lawyer.” He was known to be extraordinarily generous, and committed himself to working with the poor.

Dismayed by the greed and corruption he found among his counterparts in the legal profession and in the courts of law, Mark abandoned his law practice and entered the Capuchin religious community. He took the name Fidelis, which is Latin meaning “faithful.” He studied for the priesthood and after ordination, celebrated his first Mass in 1612 on the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi (October 4).

After his ordination, Father Fidelis was assigned to preaching and hearing confessions. It was reported that a large number of converts were accepted into the Church because of his zealous evangelizing efforts. He was devoted to Saint Francis of Assisi and revealed that devotion in his pastoral care of the poor and sick. During a severe epidemic in a city in which his friary was located, he cared for and cured many.

In 1621 Father Fidelis was sent to begin missionary work in Switzerland, a territory that had experienced much bloodshed as a result of growing tensions among a number of religious movements of the expanding Reformed traditions. All of these movements were violently opposed to the Catholic faith at the time. His writings, preaching and pastoral ministry converted many in Switzerland to Catholicism. But many others, enraged by his missionary work, threatened his life. On April 24, 1622, while traveling on the road between preaching missions, Father Fidelis was attacked by a group of armed men, beaten and hacked to death. He was 44 years old. Fidelis once wrote: “It is because of faith that we exchange the present for the future.” He was canonized in 1746 and his feast day is April 24.

 Katie Price is the Coordinator of Stewardship at the Cathedral. She has worked in Parish Stewardship for ten years, previously as the Archdiocese of Chicago Parish Stewardship Coordinator. She can be reached at [email protected].

Sometimes I wonder if we go about it backwards in our catechesis of young people. We tell our young people about the saints, we give them holy cards, we ask them to choose the name of a saint for confirmation – all ways, at least on one level, of hoping that they will be inspired by the saint and come to know more of Jesus and living the Christian faith. Would it not be better, first and foremost, to introduce our young people to Jesus (to truly encounter him as Lord and Savior) and then trust that over time Jesus himself will introduce our young people to his friends, the saints?

I have to admit that this is the way that I have come to know and have friendship with different saints in my own life. Through Christ I have met St. Paul, I have met St. Teresa of Avila, recently I have begun a friendship with St. Josephine Bakhita and (I have to admit) that it is only through Christ that I have developed a friendship with St. Therese.

I grew up one of four boys in East Tennessee in the 1970’s. You quickly learned how to have thick skin growing up with three brothers; as our preferred way of showing affection was either mercilessly mocking one another or sneaking a punch when the parents were not looking. My parents, may they rest in peace, were both converts to the Catholic faith. My father had a life-long struggle with alcoholism (which he lost) and my mother struggled with an alcoholic for a husband. Often, my brothers and I were on our own. My extended family is the proto-typical American family, it seems, when it comes to religion and faith – meaning we are a mix of everything (Lutheran, Evangelical, Episcopalian, Baptist, Catholic, non-practicing Catholic, and agnostic). We cover the whole spectrum. This is my experience.

What possibly could I have in common with a 24- year-old French saint who lived in the mid-to -ate 1800’s, who never left her convent once she entered, and who would break down in tears at the drop of a hat when she was a child?

Yet, I met St. Therese and I was not expecting a friendship. At the seminary I attended for my theology studies, there is a beautiful statue of St. Therese of Lisieux on this “boat-dock” area on the lake near which the seminary sits. I was in the practice of taking walks around the lake, if not every day then at least a few days each week, so every time I went for a walk I would pass by this statue. Over time, I began to notice that flowers were always left by this statue of St. Therese and I thought, “Hmmm, that’s interesting.” Then, one quarter, I took a class entitled “Spiritual Autobiography” offered by Fr. Lou Cameli and one of the books we covered was Therese’s “Story of a Soul.” I really struggled with the syrupy language of the book. It is not my style but I was taken with an incident in her childhood (which she considered her conversion moment) when she was able to let go of her own feelings and rather focus on the needs of another person (her father). She had overheard her father make a comment basically about the pampering she received at Christmas but instead of breaking down in tears (which was her wont) she let it go in a moment and celebrated Christmas with her father and family.

It was a little thing certainly but in this little thing and little moment of encounter she made the choice for love and for Christ.

This choice for love in the “little moments” became her way toward discipleship and, ultimately, sanctity.

I was struck by that, and by the end of that year I had made my first novena to St. Therese of Lisieux. When the Novena concluded I left some flowers by her statue overlooking the lake.

St. Therese does not impose (as some saintly figures do) and I think this is what is so attractive about her. Friendship with St. Therese is like having a sister. Her way is the little way. I was not looking for a friendship but I met her and she has been a friend and a model to me ever since.

Fr. Michael Cummins is a priest of the Diocese of Knoxville, TN. Ordained in 1995, he has served in a variety of roles within his diocese. Currently he is serving as pastor of St. Dominic Church in Kingsport, TN. Fr. Cummins holds a Masters of Divinity and Licentiate in Sacred Theology from the University of St. Mary of the Lake (Mundelein Seminary) in Chicago. He has a deep interest in Christian Anthropology and the interaction between faith and culture.

How did we get here? I mean, literally. Not just you and me, but the whole shebang. How is any kind of life possible? The universe is a hostile place — solar flares, cosmic rays, asteroids flying about. The odds against our existence are truly astronomical.

Take it from me — I ‘ m a n astrophysicist. My job is to look out into space, at stars and galaxies, trying to answer these basic how-did-the-universe-come-to-be questions.

 Well, those who have a religious faith have an answer: God.

The earth’s distance from the sun, the size of the atom, and a thousand other things large and small that allow us to live and to breathe and to think all seem perfectly tuned for our existence. To many, this design suggests a designer. But from a purely scientific point of view, the faithful have a big problem: They can offer no indisputable proof for this belief.

Because of the lack of hard evidence, it’s probably not surprising that over 70% of the members of the National Academy of Sciences declare themselves to be atheists. But they have a big problem, too. Absent a creator, how do they account for the existence of the universe, of planet earth, of human consciousness? How do they account for the existence of … anything?

Well, turns out they have an answer. And it’s become all the rage in scientific circles. It’s called the “multiverse,” and according to many scientists, our universe isn’t the whole ball game; far from it. These scientists argue that there are an awful lot of universes out there — not just one or two, but an infinite number.

Let me explain: 13.8 billion years ago, there was a Big Bang — from something unimaginably small (we don’t know exactly what), the universe exploded into existence. How did it happen? Why did it happen? Doesn’t matter. ‘Cause it happened.

Immediately after the Big Bang, the universe underwent a rapid expansion. Think of a gush of bubbles exploding from a seriously shaken soda can just after it’s popped open. Cosmologists call this the Theory of Inflation.

As the universe inflates and expands — the bubble universes grow and separate to become their own distinct entities, each with their own unique properties. In other words, new universes are spawned — and not just a handful…an infinite number of them.

Some of these universes would be too cold for life, and some too hot. But, with an infinite number, surely one is bound to get it just right. In short, you and I are just an accident that, given enough universes, was inevitable.

In short, a vast number of the world’s most eminent scientists believe in something that hasn’t been, and in all likelihood, will never be proven.

But, wait — there’s more. Because there are so many universes, it’s very likely, according to the multiverse scenario, that everything that could possibly happen does happen in one universe or another. That girlfriend who broke up with you? You’re married to her in another universe.

Does this sound a bit far-fetched? A little science-fictiony? Well, not to Nobel Prize-winning scientists like Steven Weinberg or the famed cosmologist Stephen Hawking, as well as a myriad of others who whole-heartedly endorse it.

But here’s what’s really surprising: They endorse it knowing there’s not a single shred of hard scientific evidence that supports it. And how can there be? There’s no way we can access another universe.

In short, a vast number of the world’s most eminent scientists believe in something that hasn’t been, and in all likelihood, will never be proven. How does that sound to you?

Probably the same way it sounds to the distinguished physicist Paul Davies: “Invoking an infinity of unseen universes to explain the unusual features of the one we do see is just as [made up] as invoking an unseen Creator. The multiverse theory may be dressed up in scientific language, but in essence it requires the same leap of faith.”

Or, as G.K. Chesterton quipped: “When men stop believing in God, they don’t believe in nothing; they believe in anything.” For multiverse believers, this is literally true: the same scientists who reject God’s existence due to lack of evidence pin their hopes on a theory so all-inclusive and vague it can never be refuted.

Those who believe God created the universe are intellectually honest enough to admit that they do so on the basis of faith. But those who believe in the multiverse are also keeping the faith. They just don’t admit it.

 So, let me ask you, who’s taking the bigger leap?

Brian G. Keating is Professor of Physics at the University of California at San Diego and an astrophysicist at the Center for Astrophysics & Space Sciences (CASS). He is the author of Losing the Nobel Prize: A Story of Cosmology, Ambition, and the Perils of Science’s Highest Honor.