The Colloquy, Session 1: Dr. Larry Chapp

Growing the Conversation (A New Friday Series)

There is an old saying that iron sharpens iron, and I want Midnight Carmelite to be a place where that happens regularly.

To that end, I’m launching a flexible Friday series called The Colloquy. This will be a space for long-form interviews with a rotating cast of guests—people who challenge us to think more deeply about our faith and culture. I’m lining up conversations with guests that I think you’ll find essential listening.

So, check your inbox on Fridays. If there's a new episode, you know it’s time to dive deep.

Now on with the first session!

Why does death seem so random? Why do innocent children suffer while tyrants live to old age? In this episode, Andrew Gniadek sits down with returning guest Dr. Larry Chapp to tackle the "scandal of evil." They move beyond standard textbook answers to explore the deep, emotional reality of lament and the "kenosis of the cross."

Beyond the problem of evil, this conversation explores the practical side of sanctity in the modern world. Dr. Chapp shares candid insights on the dangers of "quid pro quo" prayer, the history of the Catechism as a response to post-Vatican II chaos, and how to find holiness in the everyday annoyances of marriage.

Here is what you will learn in this episode:

• The Mystery of Suffering: Why logical arguments often fail to comfort us in the face of tragedy, and why we must instead look to the "unjust" death of Christ.
• Overcoming Ego in Prayer: How to interpret "unanswered" prayers not as rejection, but as protection from our own misguided desires.
• Sanctity in Annoyance: A practical strategy for turning marital frustrations—like quirks and habits—into moments of obedience and deep love.
• The Role of the Catechism: Understanding the historical pivot from the confusion of the 1970s to the theological standardization of John Paul II and Ratzinger.

TRANSCRIPT

Note on the Transcript: To ensure the best reading experience, the transcript for this episode has been processed by AI and edited for clarity. I've polished the dialogue to highlight the main theological points and insights, so the text may differ slightly from the verbatim audio.

Andrew Gniadek:
Hey everyone, welcome to this week's episode of Midnight Carmelite. I am honored and happy to welcome back a repeat guest, Dr. Larry Chapp from Gaudium et Spes 22. I’m super excited. One thing I would just want to announce is that Larry and I will be doing a monthly podcast together, switching between each other's podcasts where we will just do our thing. So, really excited; it's going to be awesome. First though, just to catch up, you haven't been on the podcast for a while, Larry, and I just wanted you to kind of catch up the audience on what you've been up to at GS22, where you're at, and give us an update.

Larry Chapp:
Well, it's been very frustrating, actually, because we were moving from the farm to our new house in Scranton. If you've ever moved from a farm, it's one thing to move from a house, but to have to sell off a whole lot of farm equipment and other things was crazy. Then there were complications with the buyers of our farm and their mortgage—they were coming from Georgia—and it's just been a kind of nightmare. Now we're discovering as we moved into this beautiful rectory all kinds of things wrong with the house that the building inspector didn't catch, but that's fine; we love the place. Anyway, that's just a long way of saying I have not been doing a whole lot on my blog over the past couple of months. I’ve done a few interviews here and there and a few articles, but by and large, I've just been totally preoccupied with selling, buying, and moving. The good news is I'm up and running in my new studio—you can see some of my books behind me—and the internet is great, so I'm raring to go. The future of my blog is more podcasts, more articles in the Catholic World Report and National Catholic Register, and hopefully returning to my roots to write some original blog posts. I'm working on one right now on theodicy and the problem of evil. Part of it is going to show up in a Substack called What We Need Now run by Jayd Henricks, but a bigger version of it will end up as a blog post. I keep promising this and it never shows up, but it will. It's a permutation for those who follow my writings on the hermeneutic of kenosis. I'm combining those two topics: the hermeneutic of kenosis and theodicy. Hopefully, that'll be coming out within the next month.

Andrew Gniadek:
Excellent. I was going to ask if you could give a little preview of the topic. I love theodicy, so I'm interested in where you're at with it and what you're currently working on.

Larry Chapp:

Well, actually what I'm working on is not so much a syllogistic, Thomistic, standard answer that we always give to why an all-good God allows sin and evil to enter into the world. I don't go into that because those are now well-known arguments, like the free will argument that C.S. Lewis and many others have covered. That is good as far as it goes. What I'm addressing more is the phenomenology of how we experience evil emotionally and psychologically, especially with a focus on death. I had an article that came out yesterday in the National Catholic Register regarding our experience of death. Yes, we believe in the resurrection, but because of sin, our reception of grace is not perfect, so we remain fearful of death and the unknown. Beyond that, death strikes us as random and apparently having no point. As I bring up in the article, innocent little kids die every day from car accidents, disease, sex trafficking, and horrible warfare. And yet, there was little Adolf Hitler riding his tricycle around his neighborhood when he was a boy. How hard would it have been for God to arrange for little Adolf to choke to death on a piece of sausage while pulling the wings off some hapless bug as he was emerging into his serial murderous psyche? I once read a story about a little boy in Nebraska who fell into an open pit of pig feces and drowned. Obviously, that is a horrible way for a little five-year-old boy to die. Why couldn't Adolf Hitler have fallen into the pig-doo? Hitler survives World War I, but the great French writer Charles Péguy gets shot in the head two months after getting there. Death is no respecter of persons. It cuts across the grain willy-nilly, and it seems as if there's no rhyme or reason to it.

This deep lament about the randomness of death and its apparent lack of any rational guiding principles is biblically warranted. There are many Psalms of lamentation where the psalmist is crying out to God: "Where the heck are you? Why do the evil prosper? Why do good people suffer? Where are your promises to Israel?" Jesus quotes Psalm 22 from the cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" The Psalm ends with a note of hope that God will vindicate the righteous, but my point is that we have to dive deeply into the kenosis of the cross. There was no more unjust death than that of Jesus himself; it was the most unjust exercise of capital punishment in the history of the world. He had every right to be angry, but he said, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." We have to enter into the deep mystery of that descent of God himself into the muck and randomness of death. This, combined with the legitimation of lament in the Psalms, gives us a pointer towards how we are to approach the problem of evil—not to try and explain it, because it remains a gaping wound in our psyche. Finally, I conclude that God is allowing all of this for the sake of promoting a kind of moral agency in spiritual beings such as ourselves. We have to take responsibility. There's not going to be a "get out of jail free" card or blanket amnesty. Christ has paid the price for our sins, but we have to embrace it, transform, and regenerate. Until we do, we won't have the spiritual eyes to see the point of any of this.

Andrew Gniadek:
That was great. I wanted to make two points. I'm reading a book on the Church Fathers, and they say if you don't see with the eyes of the soul and hear with the ears of the heart, you can't follow Christ. That seems to be the main theme of the apostolic fathers. The other thing that came to mind when you were talking was humor. I know that sounds weird, but if you think about it, when you face that lament and the wound, and realize Christ has risen, there's a weird joy in that. It’s a laughing in the sense that He has already won the victory. No matter how bad it gets, at the core, it inverts at some point to a humorous joy.

Larry Chapp:
That's a great point, one that I hadn't thought of. I might incorporate that down the road because I think that's very true. Another element in this lament that leads to an embracing in joy is having a deeper sense of what prayer is and what it does. Even Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane asks for the cup to pass, but ultimately chooses God's will. Part of the randomness isn't just death, but why some people are given miraculous healings and others are not. Since the apparitions at Lourdes, millions have been there hoping for a cure, yet there are only 80 or 90 documented cures. When someone is diagnosed with a terminal illness and the doctor says there is nothing more to do, people say, "Well, now all we can do is pray," as if that is the last resort before the grave. I don't mean to be flippant, but this is our phenomenology of how we experience prayer—so often unanswered, at least as we want it to be answered. That is the key: having the eyes to see and the heart to embrace. When Jesus says, "Ask and you will receive," we must understand that God wants us to pray, but always with the recognition that we want whatever God does to be an expression of His will, even if that doesn't jive with what we want. From God's perspective, death is not the apocalyptic tragedy it is for us; it's a coming home. I don't mean to cast a dour note or doubt God's providence, but to help us deepen our understanding of it. There is no "gospel of wealth" or "name it and claim it"—that is just BS.

Andrew Gniadek:
Right. If God is our father, then analogously speaking, He knows what's best for us. We are a mystery to ourselves. We pray for something and later realize that getting it would have been a disaster. The problem is that we live in a culture that asks for your five and ten-year plan, as if you know what's going to happen. There is an ego here in our culture where we feel we've dominated everything because of science and mass communication. We think we can get a pill for anything. It seems to be about ego serving—not just psychologically, but on a spiritual level in prayer.

Larry Chapp:
Definitely, our ego gets in the way. We confuse what we want with what God should do, not realizing our very desires are what need to be transformed. We are probably asking for the wrong things. Jesus points this out regarding the Tower of Siloam; you cannot engage in a spirituality of quid pro quo. Just because you commit a sin doesn't mean you get a specific punishment, or that virtues guarantee rewards. Don't imagine those people killed were greater sinners than anyone else. We must avoid that moral, self-righteous calculus. One of my favorite sayings that I invented is: "When God shuts one door, he doesn't slam another." That's because we are knocking on all the wrong doors. Looking back at my life, I was convinced I was going to be a priest, but I didn't become one. That was God shutting a door. Had I become a priest, I would have been terrible because I don't much care for people. I would have put a marquee in front of my church saying, "We're Catholic. Go away."

Andrew Gniadek:
That is exactly right. I could never be a priest; I’d be an absolute disaster. It’s an act of humility to say the truth about yourself, but I find fewer people willing to do that today. Because of Google and AI, people know facts and think they are experts. In this culture of instant gratification, we want the answer now. But with God, it is a Triune community of persons. You can know facts about a person, but to know a person requires love to create that relation. Our society is in a position of competing egos. It becomes "my way or no way," and there is no contrary.

Larry Chapp:

Yes, yet the Trinity is the model of communion, infinite perichoresis, and intercommunion of persons so intense that they form a single divine consciousness. That is the goal of the entire human race. Henri de Lubac’s great book Catholicism went after this hyper-individualistic "me and Jesus" sense of salvation. He points out that we are deeply in solidarity with one another and implicated in each other's sins. This is the basis of the Mystical Body of Christ. God wants us to become relational persons. Human beings are not born with self-awareness; they come to an awareness of themselves via the face of the mother and father. That’s why babies without human contact suffer. Then you hit the "terrible twos" where the ego boundaries develop ("me, mine, I"). Eventually, in adolescence, those boundaries must become semi-permeable again, which is why teenagers value friends and romance so highly. Romance destroys those ego boundaries and is a hint of the ecstasy we will feel with God—lowering your ego boundaries while remaining yourself to become one with another person.

Andrew Gniadek:
What stood out to me is that our identity fundamentally comes from the mother, father, and external environment. This points to the fact that being a person is inherently relational. Therefore, the fulfillment of being a person can only be found in the Trinitarian God.

Larry Chapp:
That's so true. Faces are important. Human beings alone have this unique ability to read and recognize faces. Dogs rely on smell; I would come home, and my dog wouldn't know me until he smelled me. Jesus gives us the face of God. When we say we want to see God's face, we mean we want to recognize Him for who He is.

Andrew Gniadek:
Can you speak to how zeal works in your mind regarding this relationship? It is often talked about as a warmth or a drive, like "zeal for his house will consume me."

Larry Chapp:
Zeal can take many forms. It can be perverted if our desires are disordered—I can have too much zeal for bourbon, for example. But righteous zeal in Christ is not just an attracting desire; it is a form of moral choosing. It is recognizing a great good at stake and having a deep, firm commitment to promote and protect it. That requires a single-minded devotion. I am miserable at it. I realize that 99% of what I want on any given day is pointless drivel that takes me away from God. Just yesterday, instead of writing, I decided I wanted Cheetos. I went to the store, and in the parking lot, my Jeep Gladiator got hit in a hit-and-run. That damage is what zeal for Cheetos cost me.

Andrew Gniadek:
When you're writing, you see the Cheetos stains on the paper. It sounds like Father Benedict Groeschel’s book on the psychology of the spiritual life, delineating the purgative, illuminative, and unitive phases.

Larry Chapp:
Right. We won't get to the illuminative stage where we put on the mind of Christ until we purge the stupidity we routinely engage in. Most of us are stuck in that purgative phase. Purgation is especially difficult in our affluent, consumerist culture. We rationalize that things like good food and drink are good in themselves, which legitimates us having all kinds of crap we don't need. When my truck got hit, I was in a worse state of anger than I am over my greatest sins. We invert the order. I’m not trying to paint a Jansenist picture where we live in huts, but there is something about material simplicity. Jesus condemned the pursuit of wealth, yet He made wine at a wedding and didn't have a problem with people imbibing.

Andrew Gniadek:
It goes back to ordering things, which is a major theme in Augustine and Vatican II. The laity are in the world but not of the world, which is a different dynamic than monastic life. We can’t just transpose the monastic ideal onto the laity.

Larry Chapp:
It is true that every lay person is called to poverty, chastity, and obedience, but tailored to their state in life. The monastic state takes those evangelical counsels strictly. But lay people have other responsibilities; you can't live poverty with five kids and a mortgage the same way a monk does. Poverty for a lay person means material simplicity. Chastity means faithfulness to your spouse. Obedience means obedience to ecclesiastical authority, but also to your spouse and your conscience.

Andrew Gniadek:
The unifying principle is attention. In monastic life, attention is directly on God. In married life, your attention is on your spouse in the light of God.

Larry Chapp:
I think so. A vice of the monk is using the freedom from material responsibility to be lazy—what we called "holy sleep" in seminary during centering prayer. Outside of a monastic setting, celibacy can devolve into professional bachelorhood. In marriage, obedience is difficult because annoyances and resentments develop over time. You have to step back and ask: "Will doing what my spouse wants bring me closer to Christ? Will forgiving my spouse bring me closer to Christ?"

Andrew Gniadek:
I agree. In the conflict with the world and our vocation, we realize we are responsible for ourselves. Ignatius’ examination of conscience shows us we aren't the innocent ones. Ego is the death of marriage; carving up life into "my space" and "your space" is a sin against the vocation.

Larry Chapp:
I’ll tell a story. My wife loves to twirl her hair. When we were dating, I thought it was cute. A year into marriage, it was annoying. Two years in, I exploded about it. What is wrong with hair twirling? Nothing. Yet, obedience in marriage means developing psychological strategies to find endearment in those things that annoy you. A wise priest told me to ask myself: "Will you miss those quirks if she dies?"

Andrew Gniadek:
That is brilliant. Those quirks are what make them who they are. When ego creeps in, it veils their personhood, and they become an obstacle to how you want things. You depersonalize them. Real friendship handles those quirks by virtue of understanding the person.

Larry Chapp:
That is well said. Obedience in marriage means being obedient to what God wants you to do in this situation with the person He destined for you from all eternity. I believe we will maintain these relations in heaven. There will be a "marital mark" and a supra-marital relationship with your spouse, transformed and superior.

Andrew Gniadek:
It’s "my way or no way" that depersonalizes the other. If you turn contrary opposition into contradictory opposition, you flatten everything.

Larry Chapp:
Exactly. I wanted to move off our farm for two years, and my wife kept saying no because of our ministry. I got angry, but I had to try to empathize with her reasons. Two years later, her brother, who was our farmhand, had two strokes and couldn't do the work. Then she said it was time to move. God spoke to her through that event, and then to me. It was God saying, "Now is the time."

Andrew Gniadek:
I had a similar situation with a car. We kept pouring money into it because my wife was sentimental about it. When it finally failed completely, she said it was time. We worked together and ended up with a car we both love. It was a journey of patience.

Larry Chapp:
You had to step back, set aside your desire, and try to empathize. God didn't bring this person into your life for you to dominate them. That's not marriage. "Mawage," as they say in The Princess Bride.

Andrew Gniadek:
I wanted to ask you about the Catechism of the Catholic Church. For me, it’s always been around, but for you, it hasn’t. Can you speak to the historical development of it?

Larry Chapp:

After the Council of Trent, we had the Catechism of the Council of Trent. Catechisms generally do not have high magisterial authority; they are part of the ordinary magisterium designed to standardize teachings in a compendium. After Vatican II, there was chaos. Liberal theologians believed there should be no standard theology but rather a pluralism, which was code for "we want more sex with whoever we want." In the 1970s, various catechisms emerged, like the notoriously liberal Dutch Catechism which rejected natural law and embraced proportionalism. There was also a conservative one by Father John Hardon. John Paul II and Ratzinger decided this situation was intolerable. They held the extraordinary synod of bishops in 1985 to give the proper hermeneutic of the Council. The great merit of John Paul’s papacy was the standardization of what Vatican II meant. The Catechism of the Catholic Church came out, and despite resistance from the liberal wing, it became a glorious success.

Andrew Gniadek:
So, the Catechism comes out around 1992, near Veritatis Splendor. It consolidated the teaching against the dissenters. Then the liturgy wars started heating up in the early 2000s.

Larry Chapp:
The organic development point is key for Pope Benedict. He criticized the post-Council liturgical reform for creating the perception that the Mass is malleable. He didn't want to impose a new liturgy but wanted an organic development where the old and new Masses would interact—the "reform of the reform." However, Summorum Pontificum in some ways undercut itself. By freeing the Old Mass, it killed the idea of reforming the Novus Ordo because people just flocked to the Traditional Latin Mass (TLM). Then Pope Francis came along. Traditiones Custodes was a reaction to traditionalist enclaves becoming anti-Vatican II. But Francis should have re-energized the reform of the Novus Ordo instead of just repressing the Old Mass. He left the status quo in place, which satisfied nobody.

Andrew Gniadek:
How does the Catechism fit into the current situation, specifically regarding Pope Francis changing the teaching on the death penalty?

Larry Chapp:
The Catechism is a success story because it is no longer controversial; everyone uses it. Even liberals use it now regarding the death penalty change. I think Pope Francis's change on the death penalty was ambiguous and a bad change. He used the phrase "always inadmissible," which suggests it is intrinsically evil, but he based it on prudential grounds (that society has evolved). He didn't want to say the Church taught error previously. I personally oppose the death penalty and think it is intrinsically evil, but I submit to the Magisterium. I am struck that the central symbol of our faith is a crucifix—a man unjustly executed by the state. Given the potential for misuse and the corruption of the state, it is too dangerous to put that power in their hands.

Andrew Gniadek:
That is a brilliant point about the crucifix. I studied communism, and if the state can arbitrarily decide who enemies are, you start wrongfully executing people. Your point about the innocent life taken makes me lean heavily against it.

Larry Chapp:
Just look at the Innocence Project. The number of people on death row proven innocent by DNA evidence is enough to cause pause. District attorneys can be corrupt; the state is capable of great mendacity.

Andrew Gniadek:
I agree. It goes back to the concept of the state not as a means to the common good, but as a common good in itself. Thanks for coming, Larry.

Larry Chapp:
Thanks.