Semipro Catholic, Live on Facebook

Last updated on: March 13, 2015 at 3:00 pm by Max Lindenman

Semipro Catholic, Live on Facebook 2015-03-13T15:00:34-06:00 Max Lindenman

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I loathe self-promoting – not because I’m modest, but because I wasted years of my life selling things. Depending on the year and the company I happened to be working for, my wares were debt reduction plans, adjustable-rate mortgages and online university degrees. I was a loser sustaining himself parasitically by pitching empty dreams of upward mobility to other losers. I came away convinced that nothing worth having needs selling; that worthwhile things effectively sell themselves.

But this is true only to a point. Yes, getting any consumer, even a dimwitted or credulous one, to invest in something big and life-ruining normally requires an adroit close. But even harmless products need visibility. Otherwise, why would Pillsbury keep its Doughboy on the pay roll?

With these considerations in mind, I have, with teeth gritted, created a Facebook page for this blog. Those readers who hesitate to friend the author can ensure themselves regular and timely updates simply by Liking it.

From certain quarters, one hears grumbling against so-called professional Catholics. Generally, I sympathize. From money changers and bogus relic dealers to fake fakirs and storefront Kabbalah tutors, religion has given rise to innumerable rackets. Why should any intelligent person support the industry?

To this question, I have three answers:

First, as I understand the term, a professional Catholic is someone who claims to speak with authority on Church teachings, but who does so outside of established channels, since that’s where the money’s at. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not me. I have about as much authority to speak on Church teachings as Katy Perry. In fact, I’m not sure I understand most of those teachings half so well as she does.

I write as an Everyman – a fairly typical product of late 20th-century America, who, for reasons that are often obscure even to him, has chosen to throw in his lot with a medieval institution. Even after six years, the experience continues to feel like crashing face-first through the looking glass. In comparison, relocating to Turkey has been a trip to the Circle K, culturally speaking. I’ve looked in vain for other muses, but this is the one that feeds me most regularly.

Second, you can rest assured that I will never earn anything like a living wage at this. I won’t tell you exactly how Patheos remunerates its bloggers, except to say that the pay scale is performance-based, and performance is defined by traffic. Each of you could click on my links until she developed gangrene in her clicking fingers, and I still wouldn’t be able to quit my day job.

Third, it won’t cost you a blessed thing. You’ll notice I don’t even have a “Donate” button. Save your money for the deserving poor.

Now that you’ve heard my plea, here’s my pledge, producer to consumer:

1. No click bait. No screamy-meemy bloviating, no posts with three lines of original text and 14 block quotes. Mind you, I’m not knocking bloggers who blog like this. By and large, they have honorable motives of their own: either they are determined to disseminate their opinions on important issues to the widest possible readership, or they are hawking some other product – a book, say – into which they’ve already poured their blood, sweat, and tears. I blog for the satisfaction of writing something that sounds good to the ear and rings true to lived experience – mine, and my readers’. I am convinced that is an effective and legitimate way to spread the Gospel.

2. Whatever you read, you can be sure I’ve worked my ass off on. You love your artisanal bread; come patronize an artisanal blog.

3. Your opinions matter to me. The reason I don’t join discussions in m combox is that I’m scared to death of getting pwned. (Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, etc.) But you can bet I read – and often stew about – the things you post.

In the Gospel, Jesus promised that the workman would be worthy of his meal. Now you get to decide whether this journeyman writer is worthy of an occasional pack of name-brand cigarettes.

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