I'm not a very good Catholic, you understand. One of the first ways I learned that lesson decisively, as a callow convert to the Catholic church studying at a Catholic university, was from a Jesuit. Father Henry M. was an old-school Jesuit — ramrod straight military bearing, no-nonsense teaching style as he barked out his lectures from notes he'd long since memorized, taking deep draws on an endless succession of unfiltered cigarettes as he did so, flicking the ashes dismissively from his black cassock.
