There's an old John Mulaney routine in which he imagines what one might say to persuade someone to convert to Catholicism. First, "Don't Google us," he suggests in an "SNL" monologue from 2019, before adding, "You know that strange look of shame and unhappiness I have in my eyes at all times, especially after sex, and it was all forced on me at birth? What if you voluntarily signed up for it?" Six years later, here we are with a vice president who's done exactly that. A man apparently so besotted with his faith, he managed to grab a few awkward minutes with Pope Francis before the poor guy could shuffle off the mortal coil. And as someone with an educational background in negotiation, I am endlessly fascinated by the mental gymnastics that JD Vance must have to put himself through every day to reconcile his political actions with the religion he chose to sign up for.
Anyone who's been a practicing Catholic has had to negotiate through the often conflicting imperatives of their personal morality, the particular flavor of Catholicism practiced in their home parish and the strict, no wiggle room allowed tenets of the Chuch. It's a tricky enough high wire to have the derogatory phrase "cafeteria Catholic," someone who selectively decides what parts of the faith to accept and what to reject. But as a former cafeteria Catholic myself, I know that's not really how it works. There's nuance and interpretation on many things, but there are certain infallible things you've just got to believe. You can have your own ideas about where unbaptized babies go when they die or carry on nuanced debates about same-sex unions, but either you know in your heart that the host and the wine are the literal body and blood of Christ, or you can GTFO. Metaphors are for Protestants.
