After a national election many years ago, Claire Booth Luce, the wife of the founder of Time magazine and herself a member of Congress and a convert to the Catholic Church, was asked by a reporter whether she thought there were any anomalies in the election. “Yes,” she replied, “and some of them were elected.”
Life is full of anomalies. I find myself living through one each week. On Tuesdays I appear on the “Catholic Answers Live” radio program and field questions from listeners throughout North America. I much enjoy doing so. I am a disembodied voice engaging complete strangers in theological discussions. What is peculiar is that I do not listen to radio.
I have a radio in my car but have never used it, except to verify that it was working on the day I bought the car. I know the names of some well-known radio personalities, but I have never tuned in to their programs. This does not mean that I am entirely ignorant of what goes out over the airwaves. Just as there is secondhand smoke, so there is secondhand radio listening. I overhear the radio in the car idling next to mine at the stoplight, and I cannot avoid the “easy listening” blather that plays when a phone call is put on hold.
As one might anticipate, I do not listen to my own radio presentations. This may not be the most prudent course. I am sure that most radio personalities listen to tapes of their shows to see what improvements might be made in timing, diction, and clarity. I do not have the stomach for that. Like most folks, I do not like the sound of my own voice. It is not the voice I would have selected, had I been given a choice. (How did Orson Welles and James Earl Jones luck out?)
If I were to listen to tapes of my radio broadcasts, I might become so discouraged that I would look for ways to avoid being on the air. Since I think some good is done by my weekly session in the studio, I have adopted a less-than-courageous but practical methodology. When a show is over, I resolutely put it out of my mind. This is the Scarlett O’Hara approach: “After all, tomorrow is another day.”
There is an apologetical lesson to be had from this. When we have a chance to share our faith—at home, on the job, at school—we run the risk that fixating on our own limitations will drive us to paralysis. We know how inadequately we present religious truths—inadequately both in terms of content and delivery—and we might be tempted to think it would be better to do nothing at all than to do something less well than we would like. We end up doing nothing because we are unable to do everything—”If I can’t dance like Fred Astaire, bat like Babe Ruth, or captivate audiences like Fulton Sheen, it’s better to keep mum.” This is a mistake. We should not hesitate to pass along the faith, no matter how bumptiously. The faith will endure despite our best efforts to convey it poorly.