Last month I stretched outside of my comfort zone and spent more than 40 hours driving to and from Santa Paula, Calif. My son Andrew’s school, Thomas Aquinas College, was hosting a parent/alumni day with Mass, campus tours, meals, wine and cheese, and a chance to take part in a seminar-style class on a passage from Aquinas’ Summa.
This sounded lovely, but perhaps not enough of an enticement to go. I had been feeling like I could use a break, but to spend all of that time driving for one day with my son wasn’t quite what I was looking for.
Then Andrew told me I would be there to see his play A Man for All Seasons on the life of St. Thomas More. He also would be singing at both the Saturday and Sunday early morning Latin Masses. These were enough to convince me, and so I asked my notoriously spontaneous mother to join me on the trip.
The driving was long and I think I lived off of drive-through chicken sandwiches and chocolate for six days. Without GPS we would have surely ended up in Mexico. It would also turn off sporadically and we would be left to our own wits. Neither a good nor a safe thing.
When my mom braved the driving, she was sometimes overwhelmed with the unending networks of road, and she would slow down at the green lights that suddenly appeared on the highway. I was pulled over once for speeding but given a warning. (Providentially, my mother had just opened the glove compartment and pulled out a rosary, which I think the cop saw. After mom profusely thanked him for his noble work, I suspect he knew he would be treading on thin ice with God if he went through with a ticket.)
We made late night stops at Airbnbs. It’s a strange experience arriving at a stranger’s house and saying an awkward hello before sleeping in their home.
Our first host tasked her dumbfounded husband with overseeing our visit. He barely spoke English and was overwhelmed when we asked for coffee. Time passed and he knocked sheepishly but graciously on our door with coffee, in massive onion soup bowls with forks to stir it. It was definitely his wife’s enterprise.
Another host was a real character, whom I will only describe by saying that she was forthcoming with many private details of her life and took great joy in sharing them with me … for a very long time. The noisy wind outdoors safeguarded my mom from hearing the conversation.
Our time at the college was filled with so much beauty, so many places of prayer. We discovered an outdoor Stations of the Cross and grottos to Our Lady, St. Joseph, and other saints, all surrounded by flowers.
The chapel is a truly Catholic place of worship and a tribute to the reality of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. It gave me a sense of relief that such efforts are made to glorify God.
We met a few of the tutors and picked (snuck?) oranges from a discovered grove on our way to one of Andrew’s favourite places to read: a climbing tree beside some seemingly neglected ponds. I felt a sense of longing to stay there, to refill the empty chicken coops, and, of course, to fill the grove with beehives.
Because my mom ended up chatting with everyone we met, we missed the campus tour. The blessing in this was that we got to wander the grounds with my son and somehow ended up being admitted into the rare books library.
Andrew, my mom, and I were allowed to pray a Rosary together with beads that had belonged to Padre Pio. I wondered at how the beads were not locked away somewhere, but realized that he would certainly want his rosary prayed with and not gawked at from behind glass.
Meanwhile, Andrew’s choir was superb and the show was wonderfully played and directed by a fellow student.
Andrew had the regrettable role of Richard Rich. We watch the movie on an annual basis, so I’m used to a very greasy Richard. Andrew played it differently, and I found myself sad rather than disgusted. Richard Rich wants to be employed by Thomas More. He wants to be good and reaches out desperately to him. He is mostly overlooked and rejected by everyone. He knows that his ambitions could lead him astray but is unwilling to take the humble work More kindly offers him.
In the end, he is offered and chooses corruption for the sake of earthly glory. He is manipulated because evil men see that he isn’t strong enough or willing to do what he knows is right, even when it means betraying the man he most respects. He is lost to ambition and vanity, Thomas is killed, and the devil takes his due.
“Why Richard, it profit a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world … but for Wales!”
Richard’s weakness spoke to me, because it is symbolic of the weakness of our day. People seek “virtue” of all kinds but aren’t willing to grasp it. Instead, they justify their vice and accuse those who try to live in truth.
On our return trip we stopped at the grotto of Our Lady of Sorrows in Portland, an added blessing to the trip. I plan on returning with Scott and the kids.
I came away grateful for the time with my mom, for the not one but two full days and a breakfast with my son, and for places like TAC and our own Catholic Pacific College.
These schools are treasures of Catholic truth, goodness, and beauty. They can instill courage, veracity, opportunities for adventure, and a willingness to suffer for what is right. These will make the vicious offerings of the world pathetically boring and unappealing.