“When shall we begin to do good?”
St. Philip Neri regularly posed this question, and we should frequently pose it to ourselves. While a short and simple phrase, it contains the entire Christian life. It is a reproach for our failures and encouragement to be better. For the convert, it is a question of when to start. For the Catholic, it is a question of when to get back up after yet another fall.
I think we all want to do good. So then what good shall we do?
There’s a lot wrong with the world right now, which also means there’s a lot that we can do! But too often, people seem focused on great things that involve tremendous action. To change the world by engaging in politics, or starting a business, or going to the missions. All of those have their place and are capable of being quite good, but they can also be insidious distractions.
Great things often have small beginnings: political movements start with just a few core supporters, great companies begin as one man working out of his parents’ garage, and the conversion of nations comes from repeated singular encounters.
For whatever reason, most of the conversations I have about making the world a better place end up becoming political. And I think that makes sense, as almost all our problems have a political origin. The government is so involved in so many aspects of our lives that I cannot think of a problem that is not ultimately political, except, perhaps, for the problem of people not believing in God, which is at the root of all the others.
If our grand goals cause us to do nothing because they seem out of reach, then that is one of the Enemy’s clever tricks causing a generally good person to ‘fail to do’ what they are meant to be doing (as we are reminded in the Act of Contrition). In a world teeming with minor distractions, a grand goal can be an excellent way for our Old Enemy to mix things up: “I desire to do something great, but there is no avenue to do so, so I shall scroll on my phone instead.” Or, myopic focus on the idea of the grand goal, without considering the path toward it, can serve as a Romantic distraction from the more important things that God has placed before us right now (such as our family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, people we pass on the street, and those sitting alongside us at airport terminals).
The situation reminds me of Dorothy Day’s insightful observation that “Everybody wants a revolution, but nobody wants to do the dishes,” which my friends have posted in a frame beside their sink.
John Adams opined that the American Constitution was “made only for a moral and religious people” and that it was “wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”
If we are interested in political change, it would seem that the people are what we really need to change (although fashioning a constitution for an immoral and pagan people might prove an interesting thought experiment). The system is working fine, but the people are broken. A car filled with molasses won’t drive. Is the car broken? We may have the best founding document ever written, and by the most erudite philosophers, but it relies on the input of the people, so if the people don’t care (or worse still, are wicked!), then our system will not endure. For things to get better, people need to get better.
So, what do we do? Like Jacob Koesters wrote in Think Smaller, an excellent piece from this Journal, I too “have come to believe” that “small insignificant tasks are how we are meant to address larger issues in our world.”
But in this era of social alienation and isolation, having small interactions can be a challenge. Randomly approaching people (for pretty much any purpose) is often too confrontational and rarely effective. As St. Francis de Sales said, “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” So, as we watch the final third places die their slow deaths, where can we meet people on a personal level?
At a bar.
While they too are under assault (apparently people are giving up drinking… what upside-down times in which we live!), bars remain a place where all sorts can interact. Additionally, if your interlocutor is of the right temperament, and has had a couple of drinks, they may be more willing to engage with matters of philosophy.
From my initial study, this form of evangelization can be categorized in two general forms: the public gathering and the personal haunt.
The Public Event
This is likely familiar to readers from St. Gertrude’s summertime “Drinking with Dominicans,” or St. Cecilia’s ongoing “Cocktails with the Catechism” series.1 These events are obviously for the faithful, and their core attendees are parishioners, but they bring the Catholic faith openly into breweries and food halls, where worldlings and curious passerbys can be caught. A Dominican habit or a cassock in a bar is sure to draw people’s attention. It is not necessarily that these events bring in converts, but they serve to create an environment where non-Catholics become capable of having non-confrontational interactions with Catholics. If we seek to convert the world, then remaining intentionally isolated, yet bemoaning the state of things, makes us like the man who cannot find his keys while only looking under the light.
It was particularly fitting that the last Cocktails and Catechism, which I attended, was a talk by Fr. David Endres about St. Francis de Sales. It took place at Factory 52’s Gatherall. Fr. Endres gave an excellent sketch of the Saint’s life and works, which are extremely relevant to our time.
In 1567, St. Francis was born into a noble house in Savoie (today, France). While studying law, he heard God’s call and joined the Priesthood. At 35, in 1602, he was consecrated bishop of Geneva—a staunchly Protestant city, where John Calvin had made his home. The time’s violent political and religious climate prevented St. Francis from residing in his see, so he lived just outside under the Duke of Savoie’s protection.
Recognizing the enormity of his challenge, St. Francis embarked on a crusade of love and prayer. He traveled door-to-door speaking with anyone who would listen. He slipped pamphlets under doors. He did not call for a revolution in Geneva (although one would have been justified). Instead, he called on people. St. Francis was so affable that he won over two assassins sent to kill him, obtaining their confession and conversions with his words alone. Fr. Endres emphasized the lonely nature of St. Francis’ episcopacy. He lacked the resources of a typical bishop because his diocese was controlled by Calvinists, so he often personally traveled the environs of Geneva seeking stray sheep. St. Francis’ crusade was successful. Beginning with a few scattered Catholics in a sea of Protestants, he would oversee the conversion of thousands.
Fr. Endres also discussed St. Francis’ greatest work, Philothea, or An Introduction to the Devout Life, a practical guide to holiness for the laity collected from his letters of spiritual counsel to a noblewoman. This would make St. Francis an early promoter of the universal call to holiness that would later be emphasized by the Second Vatican Council.
Hearing about the life and works of this great Saint was interesting, but I found the questions and answers even more so:
Did you know that St. Francis de Sales is the primary patron of the Archdiocese of Cincinnati? And apparently it is a mystery why he was chosen? (My private theory is that it was related to the connection between St. Francis, who spent so long sojourning among the Protestants, not unlike the solitary journeys through the primeval forests of Ohio and Kentucky by Edward Dominic Fenwick, the first Bishop of Cincinnati.)
When asked about St. Francis’ best arguments against Calvinism, Fr. Endres emphasized Christ’s incarnation, and therefore the material world’s important place in Chrisitan life.
But most interesting was Fr. Endres’ answer to a question asking what St. Francis might have recommended to us in dealing with our current, troubled times: he thought the Saint would encourage us to emphasize the small things, little acts of kindness and charity in our daily lives.
The Personal Haunt
This could be a happy hour, a regular drink with friends, or a random evening out. For this to have any evangelical capacity, you have to ultimately end up discussing religion with your friends, and you cannot shy away if you draw questions. The conversation may invite questions from a curious passerby—whether at one’s table or when carrying on conversation while ordering another drink. There is certainly some care that must be taken when doing this, St. Paul tells us that babies should not be fed meat, but in my experience, people have been more interested and curious than anything else. And I think, actually, never hostile.
This replicates the Public Event, but on a smaller scale. Since it is typically composed of only a few friends and likely in a less separated location, the Personal Haunt group is more approachable and likely to be heard. It can be done anywhere, but it is far more effective when it occurs repeatedly in the same place. And when there are only a few bars with reasonable prices and hours, that are also near your church, so the staff see you hanging out after Mass and during feast day parties, you become recognized as “the Catholic guys.”
And so, we are approachable. As a Catholic, I think it is important to broadcast to the uneducated secular world that you can drink as a Christian. As my friend says, “we’re the party religion!” There is, of course, a time and place for all things, and all is best in moderation, but that’s not what a person who has never been to church thinks about. They think we sit hunched over on stools in our coats and Pilgrim hats, scowling in cold rooms as we drink tepid water contemplating others’ Damnation. I, too, would not be interested in what such a man thinks about how to live life.
Every now and then we have been asked questions about the faith. We have variously been asked about Mass times for visiting family, shared the history of our parish, discussed fatherhood with a new dad, convinced a broken-down old veteran to pray for his wife’s soul, and debated the Truth of Christianity with a barfly.
All small things, but with the possibility of impact. Perhaps those interactions will lead to their conversion, or perhaps we’re just wasting time, but we may be the only Christians offering any witness to them.
- The next Cocktails with the Catechism is October 27, 2026, and will be on the life of St. John Henry Newman. ↩︎
