On a recent night in the Washington, D.C., area, a crowd of Catholic young adults — mostly political staffers and graduate students, architects and media types — gathered in a sprawling backyard for drinks, animated conversation, and games on the lawn.
Clouds of gray smoke wafted lazily about, but the biggest source wasn’t the fire pit. Mostly it was the cigarettes.
As the 20- and 30-somethings laughed and chatted away, punctuating conversations with drags and puffs, cigs glowed between fingers, dangled from lips and appeared with remarkable frequency from the pockets of otherwise unassuming young men.
Lighters flickered; packs changed hands. Even the partiers playing volleyball paused sporadically for smoke breaks. The acrid and unmistakable smell of tobacco worked its way into everyone’s hair and clothing, following even nonsmokers around long after they had left the party.
The scene provided a snapshot of an apparent trend: Gen Z Catholics are lighting up.
A Catholic fascination with tobacco isn’t new. G.K. Chesterton with his ever-present cigar, Tolkien’s hobbits puffing away in the Shire and images of St. Pier Giorgio Frassati standing regally on a mountain peak with a pipe clutched in his mouth have helped give tobacco a particular place in
