Note: Readers of Roman Catholic Blog. This post has been grievously misinterpreted by the blogger. Perhaps understandably, because it is garbled and uses the voting issue only as a springboard for a wider reflection.
 My point was this:
1. Archbishop Chaput was correct. 
2. Those who want to vote for pro-abortion candidates by saying, “Eh, what does it matter in the big scheme of things” or “Honesly, how could one vote affect my salvation?” are guilty of the self-justifying reductionism of the student I highlight. Trying to avoid the implications of their actions.
3. When we compromise, we are not “doing our best” or “dealing with a complex situation.” We are failing. We are saying “no.”
4. Archbishop Chaput was correct. I agree with him.
The problem is, this post is, I admit it, garbled. I was trying to make a bigger point about the impact of our actions. Archbishop Chaput was trying to help us see that the action of a vote matters, and has consequences. I used that as a springboard to try to say the same about other areas of life, to suggest that when we say that we are being all nuanced about things because well, one immoral or complicit thing really can’t matter that much…we’re really be reductionist and self-justifying.
As I noted a couple of days ago, Archbishop Chaput had this to say in an interview with John Allen:

What do you think it means?
As you know, I have written a book [on faith and politics], and in it I write that it means a reason we could confidently explain to the Lord Jesus and the victims of abortion when we meet them at the end of our lives, and we will meet them. I think there are legitimate reasons you could vote in favor of someone who wouldn’t be where the church is on abortion, but it would have to be a reason that you could confidently explain to Jesus and the victims of abortion when you meet them at the Judgment. That’s the only criterion. It can’t be that we favor a particular party, or that we’re hostile to the war, or so on.

Some might sneer at this at being insufficiently nuanced for the complexities of political decision-making…but…
He’s right.
Teachers – especially teachers of religion – know all about minimalism, because that’s the Way of the Student. As much as your students may rail against minimalism and legalism, it’s where most of them (and us) live. So, after a hour-long, sensitive discussion of say, sexual morality, I can guarantee you that at the end, someone – usually a boy leaning his chair against the back wall – is going to raise his hand and say, “So…you’re saying that if my girlfriend and I go to second base….we’re both going to Hell?”
And he thinks he’s gotcha.
The same kind of reductiveness infects supposedly adult conversations about the choices we make as disciples of Jesus. Much of it seems to me to emerge as a consequence of the dynamic between the minutiae-obsessed legalism of the past and then the rather extreme reaction (especially as interpreted by popularizers of what Haring said) of the “fundamental option”
Or, as I like to say, “We are all good Catholics now.”
This could easily veer into a discussion of all sorts of other things like justification and forgiveness and scrupulosity and so on, but I’ll try to keep it from going that way. It’s just this simple, in my mind:
We are accountable for all of our choices, and all of our choices involve saying “yes” to something and “no” to something else.
When we choose to spend money on a movie, on a dinner out, on a new house, on a trip, we are saying “yes” to that and “no” to other ways that we could spend that money. We are, face it, saying “yes” to ourselves and “no” to others who have less than we have.
(Now the voting thing is a little different because it involves, usually, saying “yes” to some things you really should be saying “no” to, no matter how “ideal” your candidate is. But the point is still – it’s okay to acknowledge that this is, at some level, a sell-out for which we are responsible, because we cast our own votes. So, “Can I vote for X” and still be a Good Catholic?” is really the same question that my student asked above. It’s the wrong question, and one shaped in order to excuse and justify. We all do it.)
We justify these yes’s and no’s, and perhaps they are justifiable. I suppose there is no reason to live wrapped up in guilt about every financial decision we make that might be, in the least bit considered a want rather than a need. And our spending on ourselves doesn’t just benefit ourselves. It benefits the people who work in the restaurants or hotels, who refinish our wood floors, who make our cars.
You could, of course, drive yourself mad with this, you could forget that Jesus does, indeed save, that we are not saved by our own excellence and you could end up morally paralyzed because of your powerlessness, and feeling spiritually abandoned because you could just never do enough…and you could just never be sure.
But still. It is not, I don’t think, a bad thing to pause before we vote, before we spend on our wants, on the space we really do not need to store the things we really do not need, to go to the places that we can truly live happily not having visited, and consider what difference this amount – whether or small or great – can make in someone else’s life.
It is not bad to live with that tension, for it is not a tension that comes from the world, it is not a question asked by the secular powers. It is a question posed by Jesus himself, the Jesus we claim as our savior.
You could extend this line of thinking to many areas of life, including how we use our time, and our decisions about family and children.
The point is, yes, the world is complex and decisions have many implications and nuances.
But there is a simplicity at the core of it: Here we are, put here by the God who loves us.
What are we doing with this gift?
It is perfectly fine to sit a little uneasily with our answers. It is okay to re-examine that question daily. It is necessary to not rest comfortably, to not slip into self-justification, to be willing to ask, day after day, hour after hour, “When did we see you Lord?”
In short, to be willing to acknowledge that every day, we do fall short, that we compromise, that we are not  – as opposed to our self-justifying mantras – “doing our best.” That doesn’t mean neurotic scrupulosity or despair or a sense that it is all in our hands, not God’s. It simply means being honest: babies are dying, and maybe if more of us cared a little more, not so many babies would die. Can’t deny it. There’s an orphange in Mexico or a clinic in Africa or a shelter in India which needs a bit more resources in order to really help those served get on their feet or be and stay well, and maybe if I and some others cared a little more, those children, those sick people, those dying people, would suffer a little less, at least for now. Can’t deny it. In my own community there are poor, lonely elderly people who might be a little warmer and a little less lonely this winter if more of us cared a little more. Can’t deny it. In choosing not to have another child, we are saying “no” to a particular person – don’t know who – coming into existence. Maybe we have good reasons – great and acceptable  reasons, but we’re still saying “no” to that person coming into being. It might make us wonder if we really are, indeed, “doing our best.” It might even make us a little sad. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. To me it’s all far more preferable to living in the fantasy that we’re A-OK, all the time, no matter what, just because we are.  One attitude kicks us over into scrupulosity, which is bad, but sometimes I think we are not aware enough of the risk of complacency that comes from shying away from scrupulosity.
I think there is, in fact, a helpful way to avoid scrupulosity and other problems on this score – and that is to remember that this is all about love. What does love move us to do? To give. To know more deeply. So the question is not about justifying myself or making myself spotlessly clean so God will like me. It’s about simply listening to that dialogue between Jesus and Peter in John 21:
Do you love me more than these?
You know that I love you, Lord
Then feed my sheep.
Saints are those who get this: who understand that they are loved, treasured and forgiven by God, but who are not satisfied with where they are either, who are willing to look, every day at their lives and choices, and go deeper and deeper, towards more and more freedom and more radical love of God and those whom God loves – which is, you know, everyone.
Saints are restless. They don’t sit still. They are not complacent and self-satisfied, assuring themselves that it’s all really complex and they’re doing their best, after all. What more does God want from me, anyway?
What must I do to inherit eternal life?