In September 2015, I was a guest of Justice and Mrs. Scalia at their home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for what they called “Beach Week,” their annual retreat before October term. Although Justice Scalia not infrequently did some work at the beach, the general order of business inclined to good food, good wine, and good humor. In the evening, after dinner, out on the deck, the gentlemen smoked cigars, watched the stars, and identified but not always solved the world’s problems.
On the last night of my visit, our little group went to a restaurant to celebrate the Scalias’ wedding anniversary. Over cocktails, Justice Scalia produced a pair of showstopper earrings for Mrs. Scalia. It was a large and vinous evening. Once we returned to the house, Justice Scalia slipped up to his little crow’s nest of an office, while everybody else faded quickly and, one by one, went off to bed. As it happened, I was left alone in the living room, hoping to finish reading a chapter in the book I’d brought before I, too, faded.
Presently, Justice Scalia came down from his darkened office. He told me that he was thinking of collecting his speeches on religion into a book. He asked if I would have a look at them and tell him what I thought. He handed me a large file folder with a copy of the material in it. He kept the originals. I tucked the folder away in my carry-on bag and brought it home to New Orleans.
In lawyerly custom, the first thing I did was to put the speeches into a tabbed white binder. Over the next few months, I read the speeches several times (including once while I was on jury duty). I gave them a light edit, mostly for nits. I did a bit of independent research on various religious subjects. I prepared comments and suggestions for each speech. I made some general observations and suggestions in a transmittal letter. Keeping a copy for myself, I put this white binder, with his speeches and my remarks, into a FedEx box on Thursday, February 11, 2016, for overnight delivery. The binder arrived at the Scalias’ home on Friday, February 12, 2016, while Justice Scalia was on his fateful way to a ranch in Texas.
I cannot answer the question why he asked me this favor, or, better, why he bestowed this honor upon me. Justice Scalia had not mentioned the project before, nor had we spent a lot of time talking about religion. I can say now, however, that my acquaintance with these speeches became evidence of what Edmund Burke touchingly called “the unbought grace of life,” not to mention, more importantly, a moment of grace in its religious meaning. To me, the speeches are above all else a Catholic’s public confession of his faith. To be sure, Justice Scalia’s faith was not exactly a secret: he confessed his faith all the time. All the same, that he had made these speeches on religion in the first place, and that he wanted to publish them in a book, bespoke his zeal, his seriousness of purpose to proclaim and bear witness to the faith.
All Christians are called to preach the Gospel to every creature. This does not necessarily entail the use of a soapbox on Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park. Let us examine our consciences, however, stirred as they should be by Justice Scalia’s good example: Do I ever acknowledge and speak about my faith to others, including those who do not share it, including also those who are hostile to it? Or do I nearly always avoid such conversations, fearful of adverse social consequences? Is my faith more than a pastime I prefer to golf on Sundays?
Of course, Catholics believe that faith must be proclaimed not merely in words but also in deeds. In one of his speeches, Justice Scalia quotes Matthew 5:48 and wittily reminds us that our good deeds should include even the work that we do:
“Be thou perfect, as thy heavenly Father is perfect.” I think he meant perfect in all things, including that very important thing, the practice of one’s life work….Jesus of Nazareth the twenty-nine-year-old carpenter had never put together a poorly made cabinet. Laborare est orare, the old monastic motto goes.
Or, as Reverend Liddell put it in Chariots of Fire, “You can praise God by peeling a spud if you peel it to perfection.” I don’t know about you, but I rarely manage to peel spuds to perfection; and even when I come close, it never occurs to me that my peeling them might be pleasing to God. My dear brother and sister spud peelers: I hope that you will find, as I do, that this basic Christian teaching is helpful, and hopeful, and inspiring, and comforting.
For these moments of grace, and for so much more, I for one owe to Justice Scalia more than I could ever recount, let alone repay.
A. Gregory Grimsal is a lawyer in New Orleans.