Imagine - All of Us Actually Understanding Each Other
Context
As I mentioned in my previous essay, my second college major was theology. In some ways, you could call it a secondary major, even if that isn't a technical term. On one hand, I wanted to study theology because it felt relevant in my quest to understand myself as a Filipina, which might be an odd reason to pick a college major. But more than that, this major felt secondary because I doubted my ability to be a full blown student of the discipline, partially because of a lack of will and partially because I was at a severe disadvantage relative to my peers. Being at a Catholic university with a largely Catholic student body, there was a reasonable expectation of prior knowledge, and I had little to none. Due to the consequences of my father’s ill health, I was kept out of the typical catechism classes growing up, only taking the bare minimum needed to be eligible for religious sacraments. This was, partially, at the advice of our parish priest who knew that his religious teachers--mostly volunteers--couldn’t handle teaching a small child the nuances of suffering in Catholic theology. As for the rest, my father was a convert, and believed that–if Catholicism bore the absolute truth like he believed it did–then I as his intelligent daughter would find my way back to the church without anything akin to indoctrination. None of that is up for debate or discussion right now. My actual point is that my understanding of Catholic theology was amorphous and hard to reference as a result of this experience, particularly when compared to my classmates who could recite chapter and verse with ease.
In hindsight, who knows which of us understood our religion better. I’ve found that confidence means little relative to accuracy, but that is present-day-me speaking. At the time, I felt like I was behind and was incredibly reluctant to ask for help. After all, would I have to explain why I was so confident in my lack of comprehension or prerequisite knowledge? That would then lead to a conversation about my father’s passing, and to this day, I’m still somewhat eager to avoid those.
But being a child of the internet age, I had certain resources at my disposal and a willingness to use them. When it comes to explaining religious doctrine, by no means is everything on the internet created equal, but when I found a YouTube channel run by someone who was a priest at the time, I liked my odds that this was at least a lead to the sort of content I was looking for. Father Barron, as he was then, was a steady presenter who invoked the same names I heard my professors referencing. To add to that, his content felt approachable. Because it had an evangelizing bend (or underlying purpose) to it, explanations were purposely clear and accessible. But it wasn’t the theological explanations that won me over. In addition to them, some of his videos featured him examining various films through a theological lens. At the time, channels that did any sort of analysis weren’t that easy to find, at least for me. So this was the first time I saw any sort of public intellectualism, particularly on a platform available to anyone or that anyone could post on. Up until that point in my life, intense study and critical analysis were reserved only for school assignments, and as a college student, there was a light at the end of that tunnel, one that I already felt myself dreading. This blog is a testament to my need to overly examine and pick apart the material I consume. Without this tendency, what I am? I don’t know. Consequently, this separation of study and classroom was inspiring to me. It was something that I needed, in a sense. I was hooked and promptly subscribed.
Since that time, the priest has become a bishop, and while I have remained subscribed to his channel, it’s not something I follow with the same intensity that I once did. However, the YouTube algorithm hasn’t fully buried his content, partially because I watch many of the video essays and analyses that I could only dream about sorting through when I was a freshman in college.
In July of this year, a video of his popped up in my recommended feed. It was entitled “Why I Hate John Lennon’s ‘Imagine,’” and with the previous year’s quarantined-celebrity cover of the song fresh in my mind, it was a sentiment I was ready to share. That little publicity stunt could be criticized in any number of ways, so many ways--in fact--that there remains something cathartic about eviscerating it yet again, even after all this time. Does that actually do anything or address the systemic issues at the heart of these criticisms? No, but I’m just one person. There’s only so much I can accomplish in anything outside of the realm of self-care. So with that in mind, I clicked on the video.
But in hindsight, I really have to wonder what I was expecting. While Bishop Barron did eventually go into the celebrity-studded version, the majority of the video was a direct interpretation of the song, initiated by the song’s incorporation in the opening ceremony of the Tokyo Olympics. And it did not sit well with me. Was I expecting more theology? A certain amount was inevitable given Bishop Barron’s work and style, but it was a point he made almost in passing. Regardless of whatever expectations I had, I wasn’t expecting a bishop, who had the sense to jump onto YouTube when it was still a fledgling website, to seemingly be out of touch with the rest of the world or how so many others understood the song. Or maybe he wasn’t out of touch; maybe he just missed a point by focusing on the one that he knew well and likely thought was the most relevant. Maybe it is just a matter of perspective. But with no mention of an alternative perspective or interpretation--the one that likely resonates with the people who like this song--I have to wonder how aware he is of the issue that lies at the heart of this song’s appeal. Simply put, words mean different things to different people, and in this case, these different definitions are so divorced that whatever conversation could have happened has fallen apart.
In preparing my piece for publication, I found that Bishop Barron also published an op-ed piece in the New York Post concerning this same subject. For clarification’s sake, while it was the video I discovered, the op-ed is a bit easier to reference both as I write this and as you read this, so I will often cite that piece despite it not being the catalyst for this essay. I believe the bishop maintained consistency in his argument across the two pieces, which makes this possible in good faith. For the sake of in text citations, the NY Post piece will be 2021a and the YouTube video will be 2021b as the op-ed predates the video by a few days.
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Bishop Barron’s Issue with the Song (Briefly Summarized)
In his video, Bishop Barron means to be critical not just of the lyrics but of what the lyrics want the listeners to ‘imagine’ or hope for. From the video’s description, the point he will make about said lyrics is clear. The description reads, in part, “The lyrics--imagining there is no heaven, no religion, and no God--are an invitation into a dangerous space” (Barron, 2021b). That already pulls no punches, but the line above it can be read even more aggressively. “Friends,” it goes, “the Olympics opening ceremonies in Tokyo featured one of the worst pop songs of all time: John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’” (Barron, 2021b). With that kind of labelling on the figurative box, one might be expecting a harsher take on the entirety of the song than what one actually gets. But Bishop Barron is not a musician or a critic of music, per say, and he openly admits--in both instances--to be a fan of the Beatles (Barron, 2021a; Barron, 2021b) and even grants that the musical arrangement beneath the lyrics is “indeed beautiful” (Barron, 2021a). His concern remains with the content of the lyrics, which he calls “an invitation to moral and political chaos” (Barron, 2021a).
The song itself asks listeners to mentally cast aside certain aspects of our world that can feel fundamental and to do so in pursuit of some sort of wonderland, nay utopia. As a word, “utopia” refers to a perfect society, but when Sir Thomas More first coined the word for his work titled as such, it was meant to refer to a good place that did not or could not exist. The name literally translates from Ancient Greek to ‘not a place,’ but the work still served as a criticism of the times. It has endured likely because of the appeal of the world that More describes. For us, this place remains something akin to a dream, in a couple different ways. Dreams are nice; dreams can be comforting. However, there’s only so much they can do. At some point, we do have to move on and into the waking world. As for the processes of waking from the dream, Bishop Barron argues that common sense should lead us to recognize the impossibility of the dreams we find ourselves falling into (Barron, 2021a). In much the same way that we know–or learn–to set aside our dreams of starting every day with ice cream, we should realize eventually that Utopia isn’t a place on a map but a way of thinking through our behavior and the problems around us. It is a reason to strive for better but cannot be treated like a real destination.
Bishop Barron then unpacks why disregarding the various concepts Lennon lists would actually be disastrous. While–yes–we wouldn’t practically or couldn’t actually dissolve these things, he means to point out the value of them when he argues that you shouldn’t do it. He’s not under any misconceptions about human capacity, to be clear, but an argument in favor of protecting these things is an argument that explains why they are important.
The song opens up with “Imagine there’s no heaven,” and consequently, this is where Bishop Barron begins. And–much like with the video description–he does not hold back his concern and disgust with the idea. It isn’t simply that a lack of heaven or hell goes against a fundamental tenet of his religion, though it would be easy to assume such. His argument is far more complicated, layered, and nuanced than that.
An absence of heaven and hell is something akin to a worst case scenario for the bishop. Many would not understand this perspective, and the song leads its listeners to a more optimistic interpretation. The rest of the verse itself conjures up a more ‘carpe diem’ mindset with the stanza closing with the line “people livin’ for today.” This is meant to be in contrast to people living in pursuit of some sort of destination like heaven, and the idea of living for the moment has some sort of appeal. We’ve likely heard similar sentiments. We are to enjoy the scenery along the trip, stop to smell the roses, and all that. The thought may be nice, but Bishop Barron insists that this is not the inevitable outcome, simply put. A lack of heaven or hell does not lead simply to people enjoying their days in a carefree and innocent sort of way. Without an “absolute criterion of good and evil,” which is what he understands to be part and parcel with the existence of heaven and hell, there would be no way of discerning what is good or wrong as every inclination would effectively be equal or up to a subjective ranking (Barron, 2021a). If something was enjoyable, there would be reason enough to do it and no reason against it.
He moves through the point relatively quickly, but I will try and unpack it here in so far as space and my ability will allow. For Bishop Barron–and for the church as a whole–heaven and hell aren’t just destinations. We might mentally conceptualize heaven and hell as places as a reflection of how we use those words in the vernacular; however, in Catholic theology, they are connected to the ultimate–re: divine–moral judgement or vision. They play into this larger framework partially as a reflection of the good/evil dichotomy associated with love of God and rejection of God. Yes, there is this sense that the soul will come to rest in one of those states after death, but it is a bit more complicated than cartoons of people in clouds or fire.
To explain, I need to pull from the Catechism of the Catholic Church: a work meant to sum up the theology of the Catholic church. Please note that citations of the Catechism use the paragraph numbers not page numbers because of how many editions there are across so many languages. I will provide a hyperlink to the Vatican’s online English edition for each citation as it is a counterintuitive style and this would be the best way to maintain transparency.
Per Catholic theology, as I said, heaven is conceptualized as less of a place and more of a state of being. Heaven is “to be with Christ” (Catholic Church, 1025) in a way that goes beyond living in the clouds with Him. It is also about being in line with what God wills, and God’s will is seen to be good or God is seen as willing what is good to happen. And that, in itself, is an entire other issue to unpack. But in this piece, I don’t need you to believe that God wills goodness; I only need you to trust that this is what the bishop would believe as it is church doctrine. Going farther than that is difficult. Catholic theology does not actually fully articulate what it means to be in heaven or what heaven is like. However, it is–on one hand–for “those who die in God’s face and friendship” and–on the other–“the ultimate end and fulfillment of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness (Catholic Church, 1023; 1025). It is something we are wired to strive for, and so, in pursuing it we are being congruent with our will and purpose. So if God as the Father is pursuing goodness for humanity and heaven is something that the soul seeks out, then heaven can be seen as a manifestation of goodness and a fulfillment of our nature. It is–as we envision it–something akin to a reward or to be desired. But at the same time, it isn’t just a piece of candy handed at the end of an assignment but an extension of the morally right life. Those who engage with goodness–or with God–will inevitably find themselves in heaven as a sort of natural extension of the impulse.
Hell, on the other hand, is seen as being separate from God (Catholic Church, 1033). This may lead to a certain interpretation, given how I described heaven. Conceiving it as the inverse of heaven will work for our purposes, even if it is not a conception found in every Christian denomination. Hell is what it means to go against God’s will and to reject that aspect of your life completely. It’s worth nothing Catholicism does not contain a belief in predestination (Catholic Church, 1037) and as a result, it is seen, not so much as a choice by a person or by God but as a reflection of behavior, of a continuing turning away or movement away from what is good or from God. One has continually sought separation from God through their actions, and so their placement in hell is simply an extension of that.
Consequently, in Bishop Barron’s interpretation, there is an equation of the belief in heaven and hell with his fundamental belief in God because–to him–these are states that exist relative to God and to one’s relationship with him. Now, it’s worth noting that many people who do not believe in God are still moral people. Morality does not necessarily depend on faith, but a moral person would have a conception–secular or not–of good and evil. And there’s a theological explanation for this, whether or not you think it is acceptable. Catholicism does hold that “unbelievers” can live a life of virtue without believing in God. Once again, unpacking this would be complicated, but Catholicism holds a belief in the natural moral law, which is a law built into the nature of mankind or into every soul. Because these are effectively the ‘manufacturer's directions’ one does not need to be in communion with God to have them. Consequently, not having a belief in the details wouldn’t strip you of them, but imagining a creation with an absence of heaven and hell would be that removal of these directions, per the bishop’s understanding. A soul that does not believe in God would still live in a world with God and God’s touch on them. Whereas, the bishop imagines this song to advocate a complete removal of God.
With that being said, when he follows up this point with a reference to a complete lack of belief in God across the world (Barron, 2021b, 2:46) not just within an individual, it’s not a hyperbole or an attempt to instigate a moral panic. Rather, it’s him presenting the problem as he sees it. He sees this song as advocating a global movement away from religious beliefs, beliefs rooted in and tied to morality, and beliefs in God Himself.
In addition to his own religious convictions, the next part of the song can be seen as fueling that concern. As I said, “Imagine all the people / Living for today” reads like a call for a more carpe diem style of living, which does not necessarily have to be a noble or utopian impulse. On one hand, it’s encouragement for not living in fear of divine judgment but enjoying and cherishing what is in front of us. However, consequences–divine or earthly–are a natural extension of our actions (a lesson many influencers or celebrities seem to struggle with), and we should be aware of that to a degree that still allows us to go through life. “Carpe diem” does not necessarily mean we ignore this aspect of the equation, but doing so fits within a fair interpretation of the phrase. This is the interpretation Bishop Barron is concerned with. As he argues, living for the day might mean living for the current mode of destruction and inflicted suffering, whatever is in vogue (Barron, 2021a), and without a moral framework, there’s little to no reason not to do that.
Once again, this could be read as a ‘moral panic’ sort of argument: an “oh no, we’re about to fall into degeneracy.” It isn’t. Rather, it’s Bishop Barron incorporating his theology into his argument without explaining as much. Catholicism does not spurn the physical world, and it does celebrate beauty–partially as an extension of God. Consequently, the more favorable interpretation of “carpe diem” can and does co-exist with a belief in heaven and hell as the bishop understands them, so there would be no need to remove heaven and hell from the occasion.
Though this is only part of the song, this is the part I would like to stick to, both for the sake of time as I’d have to unpack any other number of other theological beliefs in order to discuss his other points and because I believe it to be the most relevant for my critique. In some sense, the disconnect between the bishop’s theological interpretation of the song and how other people might understand the song remains consistent. The bishop defends his interpretation of these concepts, building off of a theology that many adherents to the religion themselves do not fully understand while people who do like this song are building off of their own experiences. And experiences of Catholicism or Christianity more broadly are often greatly removed from the doctrine. This separation between doctrine and implementation is one that, I think, should be of greater concern to the bishop than anything within the song itself.
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My Issue with his Issue
As I continue to bring up, I do understand his perspective, to the point that I can fill in the gaps he leaves behind, and really, I shouldn’t be surprised that he interpreted the lyrics in this way and with such a heavy dependence of Catholic theology. It’s what he does and what his audience expects. Beyond that, in doing this, he is invoking a schema that he understands to be the absolute truth and is trying to teach from that pulpit. However, insofar as the song is making a point, it is not the one Bishop Barron is condemning. It is the one he might think he hears, but it is not the one being sung–at least as I hear it.
Bishop Barron may remain firm and consistent in his convictions, both in his arguments and actions, but not everyone does as much. For all the criticisms you can have of Bishop Barron, he isn’t a hypocrite who sticks to doctrine only when it’s convenient. He sticks to the letter of his informed beliefs to a fault. On the other hand, to a great extent, Christianity has become a religion of practiced hypocrisy in the popular consciousness and not without reason. For a group who claims to ‘love thy neighbor’ as their savior commands, the commandment is seldom taken at face value unless one’s understanding of ‘love’ is inherently toxic. (Which is a conversation for another time.) Rather than providing support and care--those things that are typically associated with love--this commandment is either ignored or used as a reason to provide a very specific type of moral judgment.
To be clear, I do not mean the moral framework Bishop Barron wants to invoke or views as the sort of default. When I reference this ‘specific type of moral judgment,’ I mean the type of moral judgment that is not centered on absolute good/evil distinctions but centered on the figurative judge’s own experiences and needs. I.e., this is not about justice or any other virtue but about gauging where one stands relative to their peers in an eternal quest to be the most “moral” or the most praiseworthy. It’s about using the language of good/bad/righteous/evil to alleviate one’s own insecurities or feed into one’s bravado at the expense of their neighbors.
The discussion of ‘insecurities’ is one to have another time. It’s a complicated mess of family, consumerism, religion, secularism, and more. This piece is already far longer than I intended it to be. But when righteous/evil distinctions are anchored in the subjective, away from absolutes and God, heaven and hell take on a different meaning. Heaven becomes the carrot of reward; this gold star becomes the badge the judge uses to prove their superiority. The judge has been good. They have stayed true to the religious tenets they have labelled as the important ones–except when straying was completely justifiable, I add sarcastically–and so, they have earned this reward, this ultimate sticker on the board. They are better, God knows they’re better, and everything will come together in their favor appropriately. On the other hand, Hell is the figurative stick to beat down your neighbor; it is the tool that pulls or tears souls down but leaves the judge blameless. It becomes a way of saying that someone is so lowly and despicable that even God has abandoned them for their mistakes or sins.
Certainly my descriptions aren’t entirely unfamiliar to you. You’ve seen the Christians who act holier than thou, who lecture on virtue while citing their own lives as example. You’ve seen the Christians who believe themselves to be beyond reproach, citing that they have been forgiven by God anyway. You’ve seen the same people post on the Facebook pages of the deceased, celebrating that they’re receiving the great reward of heaven while that same page is full of evidence that the deceased contained the sort of malice that should make them ineligible. All the while, they ignore the suffering of their neighbors. They raise their noses at the poor and swear the homeless must have done something to justify their plight or could end it at any time were they simply more hard working. They raise what they call Christian banners, signs that bear condemnation for all those who do not remind them of themselves or live in the exact same way.
To explain in a new way: heaven is life in the clouds with people who hate you, and hell is an undeserved fire. This is the heaven and hell many non-Catholics know. This is the heaven and hell I believe adherents to the song are really lamenting.
And speaking as a Catholic, would the world not be better if this were really not to exist? If this specific form of moral condemnation and showboating would not exist? If people were to put their egos to rest and feed their souls with that same intensity? Perhaps then the sort of “livin’ for today” the song describes would no longer be something to dread. It would be the sort of “carpe diem” that one first thinks of when reading that line: a celebration of beauty and a worry-free state. While a chance for chaos remains, it would not be a guarantee by any means.
Bishop Barron might argue that there cannot be a brotherhood of mankind without a heaven or a common Father, and indeed he does (Barron, 2021a), but suppose our ambitions were a bit lower. Suppose we only asked for a neighbor in those who previously used religion as a justification for hate or vanity. Suppose we only ask for peace not love. I won’t pretend it’s ideal or utopian in any way, but if we aren’t dealing with either/ors, we may come to embrace opportunities for improvement that are worthwhile.
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Why Does Any of This Matter?
I don’t pretend I’m qualified to discuss theology, and that wasn’t what I was attempting to do here, though that train was derailed on numerous occasions. My point in writing this piece was to address--indirectly--what I consider to be a larger problem in individual conversations or cultural discourses. It’s a lesson I was fortunate to learn, but even those in the classroom with me might not have caught it.
One of my defining moments in life happened while I was working towards my master’s degree. It happened in our thesis workshop in which our cohort had to hash out each other’s thesis proposals in a semi-structured setting. One student would present their proposal to the group who would then try to offer whatever constructive criticism or guidance they could. The main problem with this arrangement was our varied backgrounds. Because we all came from different disciplines, there were times when we didn’t understand terminology or methodology, the things our actual mentors and graders would. On a similar and more relevant note, at times, we had a language divide either among the international students or between the international students and the students raised in the United States. This was the sort of thing our preceptor should have been able to navigate, but the defining moment in question was one in which he failed to do so.
As a group, we were discussing a proposed student’s project on bullying in anonymous forums that adolescents flocked to, regardless of whether these places were meant for them. How this proposed study was going to get approved by an ethics board was a nightmare above all of our paygrades. After all, we were master’s students on a time crunch, and the writer of this proposal was the only psychology major in our cohort. Because our ability to help was limited, we ended up redirecting to the justification part of her proposal. I.e. Why did this study matter? And if you understand or are in any way familiar with bullying or the literature around such, you might know that the main concern is the ongoing damage the victim may carry with them. It’s a reality that is better understood in theory than in practice, partially because of the issue with gathering data, specifically with tracing/tracking the victims of schoolyard taunts across their lives and who potentially may live without a full awareness of the damage done. After all, there is an aspect to this awareness that is rooted in culture or an individual’s social milieu. And it was this lack of shared awareness that led to this disagreement.
One member of the cohort was from Eastern Europe, and in his estimation, bullying was not a pressing issue because--while the victim suffers in the moment--they would eventually “forget” what has happened to them. I use the word “forget” because it was the word he used, but when actually listening to the context of the sentence, he did not mean to say that the memories of school taunts and abuses would fall out of the victim’s mind. The rest of his remarks suggested that he actually meant that this part of a victim’s life would cease to define them as they grew. It was not that they would “forget” in the sense that they would lose the ability to recall the memory but that they would no longer call that memory to mind. Effectively, in his mind, the word “forget” referred to any instance when someone no longer played with a memory in their mind’s eye. And so, when someone moves on and is healed of their hurts as they grow, they can--in some very specific way–“forget” the hurtful incident.
It’s a sticky use of the word, I know. And personally, I don’t stand behind it. But that was not the sort of conversation where debating word choice was appropriate. We were meant--and did try to--discuss ideas and arguments. Had the proposal writer focused on the entirety of what he was saying, she would have caught what I just described. However, she missed the whole of what he meant and focused on the word “forget.”
“I can assure you that no one forgets bullying,” she said, snappily.
Once again, her point was also understandable. I actually agree with it. To say one “forgets” a horrible thing that happened to them and could leave deep emotional scars is to be incredibly dismissive of someone’s trauma. Also, it’s inaccurate when considering the classic definition of “forget.” It might not have been what was explicitly meant, but it was a fair interpretation of what was said.
From there, conversation spiraled into an argument. The proposal writer remained firm in her conviction that students didn’t forget the cruelties of their peers (rightfully so), but she didn’t elaborate much on her point. By focusing on the word “forget” she missed what she was being told. And the other student remained focused on his belief that the mistreatment of one’s peers did not define the rest of one’s life. Inevitably, one can heal, and to him, her obsession with this ignored the steps some can take or have taken to move on past their traumas. While he was being accused of dismissing trauma, he was accusing her of dismissing someone’s healing or attempts to do such. Both had their points, but these were points that existed in two completely different conversations.
Our proctor--a PhD student who was going to defend his dissertation that month--was remarkably useless right then. Whether his inattention was from disinterest or exhaustion, I cannot know for sure, but I certainly hope it was exhaustion considering he may still be working with students in some capacity and likely did not address any of his other bad habits. Regardless of his problem, I was the one to step in and correct the disagreement that stemmed entirely from a single word’s inability to land properly.
As it turns out, they both actually agreed that healing from bullying was possible. It was possible to move on with one’s life and heal their sense of self, which acknowledged that bullying could do deep and lasting damage. The issue, however, was whether or not it was a fair thing to ask of someone. Should you trust that a victim of bullying will heal or should you instead prevent the need to heal from ever coming up? While I prefer the latter, that isn’t the question at hand in this essay. The question at hand is one of language and how slippery it actually proves to be. It is actually incredibly easy to not understand someone. And when we speak different languages, this seems incredibly obvious. Personally, I do not speak French. If someone were to speak to me in that language, I could not expect myself to understand them. However, I do not have the same relationship with English that everyone else does. There may be additional nuances or slight twists to the characters of certain words. And it very well could be that two speakers of the same language might be--briefly--speaking what might as well be two different languages.
This does not have to be the end of the dialogue, but failing to catch this can cause a splintering of a conversation from one into two. It is, I think, what happens with this video and potential viewers. In holding firm to his more technical definitions, Bishop Barron glosses over what others hear with “Imagine” and why that song is--or was, thanks to that celebrity cringe-fest--appealing. Surprisingly, the song is less a critique of religion and more of a critique of the way it is twisted, aspects that he himself has criticized in other contexts.
Works Cited
Barron, R. (2021, July 26). John Lennon's 'imagine,' blared at the Olympics, is a totalitarian's anthem. New York Post. Retrieved November 20, 2021, from https://nypost.com/2021/07/25/imagine-blared-at-the-olympics-is-a-totalitarians-anthem/.
Barron, R. (2021). Why I Hate John Lennon's "Imagine". YouTube. Retrieved November 20, 2021, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIWk1Bj-d9I.
Catholic Church. (2003). Catechism of the catholic church (Online ed.). Libreria Editrice Vaticana, Citta del Vaticano. https://www.vatican.va/archive/ENG0015/_INDEX.HTM