Funeral Lectionary: Matthew 5:1-12a

(This is Fran’s contribution, who blogs here and here.)

This well-known and well-loved passage seems to be rarely chosen for a funeral Gospel in my experience. I’m not really sure why that is.

The words paint a very clear picture for those who listen:

When he saw the crowds, Jesus went up the mountain,
  and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him.
He began to teach them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, 
  for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
  for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
  for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
  and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.
Rejoice and be glad,
  for your reward will be great in heaven.

The sentiments expressed here can speak directly to those who are in the throes of loss. They are in the poverty of the death of a loved one; mourning is addressed almost immediately. Be it hunger, thirst, longing for mercy, the promise is clear. God will fulfill God’s promises to those in need.

Matthew’s words bring forth the promise of heaven, and the offer of hope. The words of this passage illustrate this clearly, along with the gift of consolation and a glimpse of the Kingdom, so necessary for those in a time of great need.

 

Two Weeks of Worthy Women: Mother Mary MacKillop

As the Fortnight for Freedom continues, so does our series looking at the freedoms and trials of various women. My good friend Rae Reilly generously offered to write an essay. Given her recent sojourn Down Under, the choice of saint seemed a natural.

I became acquainted with St. Mary MacKillop this winter while spending 3 months in Brisbane, Australia. It was the imposing sculpture of her in a little chapel on the grounds of the Cathedral of St. Stephen that ignited my interest in her.

The figure, created by John Elliott in 1998, is larger than life. Placed in a small devotional area separated from the sanctuary by a screen, it filled the space, allowing me to examine it closely. This was no static figure – it caught St. Mary mid-stride. Why was the wood so rough, so cut up? I learned it was made from the truck of a century-old tree, cut into pieces and then recombined. Why were the hands so large? There were places where it looked as though twigs had been clipped off, leaving little stubs. Why? Then there was the face – smooth, warm. I almost ignored the 4-panel screen. But then I noticed some writing and drawings. What were those about?

St. Mary MacKillop is known for establishing, with Fr. Julian Tenison Woods, Australia’s first religious order, the Sisters of St. Joseph of the Sacred Heart (1867). She was the first sister and first Mother Superior, taking the name Mary of the Cross. To her, crosses were blessings, challenging her to learn and grow. The Order’s emphasis was on educating the poor and serving the needs of the orphans, neglected children, the aged poor, and others in need. The sisters lived as the miners, farmers, and railroad workers did in the rugged outback where they educated the children. The schools they established were open to all, regardless of ability to pay. The sisters went to any rural area needing their services. They often supported themselves by begging. The Order grew and spread through Australia and beyond. By her death, 750 had entered the Order, establishing 106 houses including 12 institutions which sheltered 1000 people in need. One hundred seventeen schools had served 12,409 students.

Good story, good works. However, politics became her cross. She was another Worthy Woman who, like Mother Marie-Anne Blondin in yesterday’s “Worthy Women” contribution, DID stand up to the clergy and bishops – over and over again.

The bishop in Adelaide ordered a Commission to examine the Order. Among the recommendations – giving the local priest authority over each convent. When she presented her concerns to the bishop she was excommunicated, though that was lifted several months later before the bishop’s death.

She traveled to Rome to receive formal approval of the Rule of the Order. After more than a year, the governing structure was approved: it would be governed by the Superior General and her council. Sr. Mary of the Cross became the first Superior General. In spite of Rome’s approval, bishops in Australia continued efforts in a variety of ways and over many years to have diocesan control over the sisters’ communities within their dioceses. After yet another (the last) effort by the bishops to gain power over the Order, Mother Mary and several others successfully appealed to Rome to retain their governance, with its headquarters in Sydney.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it. Investigations, Council recommendations, desire for power over the women. Time spent dealing with these issues keeping Mother Mary and others from their mission to serve the poor.

Throughout, Mother Mary MacKillop remained dedicated to God and her mission. She wrote often to her Sisters, encouraging them. Some of these writings are found in her handwriting on the panels in the devotional area where I first met St. Mary.

“Have courage and think of the noble work to which the Will of God has called us all. I think of the love too deep for words to express, with which God watches over this children.” (Aug. 6, 1870)

“Never see a need without doing something about it.” (1871)

“We have had much sorrow and are still suffering its effects, but sorrow or trial lovingly submitted to do not prevent our being happy – it rather purifies our happiness, and in so doing draws our hearts nearer to God.” (1883)

And from her final letter to the Sisters:
“Whatever troubles may be before you, accept them cheerfully, remembering whom you are trying to follow. Do not be afraid. Love one another, bear with one another, and let charity guide you in all your life.” (Jan. 12, 1909)

St. Mary MacKillop’s work and legacy are larger than life. The rough texture of the sculpture mirrors the rough life in the bush where she and her sisters worked and lived – and her toughness in dealing with challenging politics. The huge hands – capable and hard working. Her posture – determined and forward moving. Her face – filled with compassion for those in need and with a passion for God.

 

Two Weeks of Worthy Women: Thea Bowman

As the USCCB’s Fortnight for Freedom continues, we take an alternative track here. I’ve been promising more voices, and today, guest blogger Fran Rossi Szpylczyn contributes a stirring testimony for a stirring woman of our times. You can find more of Fran’s work at her personal blog, There Will Be Bread and also at The Parish Blog of St. Edward the Confessor.

No review of worthy women of our Church can exclude the woman who would not be excluded at any cost – Sister Thea Bowman, FSPA. As a woman religious who stated that she wanted to “go home like a shooting star,” she also lived that way; her life was like a blazing tale of God’s glory, against the sky of her life.

Born to a teacher and a doctor in Yazoo City, Mississippi on December 29, 1937 and named Bertha Bowman, she was reared as a Methodist in Canton, Mississippi. Her beginnings were humble but noble, given that her grandparents were slaves. An only child who was extremely bright. At the age of 9 asked about becoming Catholic, which her parents agreed to. Bertha’s, (soon to be Thea’s) vocation began like the birth of a star, with various elements coming together to create a unique light.

At the age of 15, she moved to LaCrosse, Wisconsin, home of the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration, to begin her novitiate. These sisters were here teachers in Mississippi, and she was profoundly influenced by them. As the only African-American in her community, Thea encountered challenges in retaining her own cultural identity, which for her, was at the heart of who she was as a child of God.

Gifted in many ways, Thea excelled in her studies and earned a PhD in Linguistics and English Literature from the Catholic University of America. In 1989, she also received a Doctor of Religion from Boston College. Her work as a woman religious found her in the classroom where she generously shared her knowledge, along with God’s love, with great joy. Having taught elementary, secondary and ultimately university level students, Sister Thea illuminated many minds through her work as a teacher and professor.

At the core of her vocation was a fiery passion for unity and justice. Breaking down barriers and inviting all to live in one in Christ was her focus, above all else. Sister Thea had an enormous drive to communicate Christ across barriers, no matter what the cost. If she could facilitate bringing people together through and in God, that is what she would do.

Eventually Sister Thea was asked to become the consultant for Intercultural Awareness in the Diocese of Jackson, Mississippi. This was a role in which she flourished by breaking down barriers at home and afar, by bringing people together. Sister Thea often made over 100 speaking appearances a yer. Her gift to shine light in dark places, and to reveal Christ as unifier and redeemer was realized in many ways. She was undaunted by challenge, and always pushed forth by her beloved Jesus.

Thea was also passionate about the revelation of African roots and the impact of those roots in the Church. For Thea, inclusion was not negotiable and recognition of how we are all created in God’s image was essential.

In 1984 Thea’s parents died and then she was diagnosed with cancer. When confronted with this disease her response was typical of her resolve, as she said she would “live until I die.” And live she did, for several more years. Thea kept going, making her final years, burn with the brightest fire.

In 1987, Mike Wallace interviewed her for 60 Minutes. Reminding us that we all have something to give, she told Wallace, “I think the difference between me and some other people is that I am content to do my little bit. Sometimes people think they have to do big things in order to make change. If each one of us would light the candle, we’ve got a tremendous light.”

In June of 1989, the US Bishops were meeting and they asked Sister Thea to address them on the meaning of being black and Catholic. It was here that she began a 30 minute address by asking what it meant to be black and Catholic out loud and replying to herself, and the bishops, by belting out, “Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child.” It is worth noting that as she was introduced, the bishop introducing her joked that she was on 60 Minutes and not because she was the subject of a “criminal investigation.” Hearing those words from a bishop at this time made me wince with discomfort!

Sister Thea then launched into a wide ranging talk, filled with her signature passion, and all delivered from her position in a wheelchair. If you watch the video of the talk, well worth your 32 minutes, you will see a wide range of reactions and emotions on the bishops’ faces, including eyes that are welled-up with tears. At the end of the talk Sister Thea asked the bishops to cross arms and clasp hands and to join her in singing, “We Shall Overcome.”

Most of the bishops appeared to follow her instructions, but some did not. Some of the bishops appeared, to my eye anyway, visibly uncomfortable, others appeared moved. The video of her talk to them is a testament to a worthy woman living a remarkable moment.

Brother Mickey O’Neill McGrath wrote about Sister Thea in “This Little Light of Mine.” (The image at the top left of this post, as well as the one to the right, are from his website and are gratefully used with his permission.)

Brother Mickey often shares an anecdote about Sister Thea’s meeting with the bishops. In what sounds like an astounding moment, according to what he heard from someone who was present at the meeting. Apparently as her wheelchair was being wheeled out of the hall, the bishops formed an honor guard and knelt before her as the chair passed by.

Sister Thea remained focused on a vision of strength in unity throughout her life. She would often say, “You walk together and you won’t get weary. You might get tired, but you won’t get weary.” May her legacy be to keep us together, tired perhaps, as we continue to encounter injustice, but to never grow weary, as we walk together in Jesus’ name.

Sister Thea Bowman to the US Bishops from Rocco Palmo on Vimeo.

 

Two Weeks of Worthy Women: Juana Inés de la Cruz

As a response to the US Bishops’ Fortnight for Freedom, I’ve invited a few friends to supply appropriate essays on women who have exemplified the faith in the face of persecution, even at the hands of religious authorities. Today, my friend John Donaghy offers a contribution from the Latin American Church, where he has served in the mission apostolate for the past five years.

Religious life for women in the middle ages and the early modern period was not always what we might think of as the cloistered life. That’s why there were reformers like St. Teresa of Avila for the Carmelites.

Often families would send their daughters to a convent with a nice dowry. There they would have a chance to learn but also, in some cases, to entertain their friends, male and female, in the convent parlors.

Yet the convent was almost the only place where women would have a chance to use their talents.

One very interesting woman who joined the convent in seventeenth century Mexico is Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, because “given the total antipathy I felt for marriage, I deemed convent life the least unsuitable and most honorable I could elect.”

Born out of wedlock, and raised by her maternal grandmother, she was a precocious child. At three she followed her sister to school and persuaded the instructor to teach her to read. She soon started to devour her grandfather’s library.

At sixteen she became a lady-in-waiting for the wife of the Spanish viceroy.

She at first joined the reformed Carmelites but left, probably because it was too strict. She subsequently joined a convent of the order of St. Jerome. (Jerome was assisted in his work, including his translation of the Bible, by several learned aristocratic women.)

In the monastery, by no means austere, she, like some other nuns, had a servant. Over the years she amassed a library of more than 4,000 volumes. She wrote letters as well as plays and love poems. She met with her friends for discussions.

She had her duties in the convent but that did not stop her from her literary and musical works. These “secular” works disturbed the archbishop of Mexico, who according to Octavio Paz was “fiercely misogynistic and strongly opposed to secular drama.”

But it was her ventures into theological reflection that caused problems. She shared with the bishop of Puebla, a long-time “friend,” her critique of a famous sermon. He asked her to put it in writing and then, without her permission, published this Missive Worthy of Athena. But he included, under the pseudonym of Sor Filotea de la Cruz, a preface admonishing Sor Juana for her being too concerned with worldly affairs. Some friend!

In her 1691 Reply to Sor Filotea, Sor Juana defended the right of women to education and the need to have older women as teachers. Using scripture, philosophy, and the fathers of the church, she defended the right of women to be educated. Her pen was acerbic: “You foolish men, accusing women for lacking reason when you yourselves are the reason for the lack.”

The reaction came swiftly. As Octavio Paz wrote: A “very saintly and ingenuous Abbess, who believed that study was a thing of the Inquisition,” ordered her not to study. Her confessor denied her spiritual help for two years.

In 1693 after so much pressure she stopped writing, though not before composing songs in honor of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, the patroness of philosophers.

In 1694 she signed several documents and seems to have turned her back on her intellectual endeavors. But did she? She wrote no more and died a year later, taking care of the sick, during a pestilence that ravaged Mexico City.

Some suggest that she had a conversion experience which included distributing all the books in her library as well as her musical and scientific instruments. But it seems as if she gave in, under pressure from church authorities.

I venture that Sor Juana is not the model for many sisters today, especially in terms of her life style. She was hardly the example of poverty. Yet her use of her intellect, her brilliant critique, and her defense of the education of women are worthy of respect.

I see her as a victim of a culture and of church authorities who were threatened by women who are intelligent and are not afraid to speak boldly.

She follows in the tradition of the women followers of St. Jerome like St. Paula. She is, in some ways, the precursor of some modern Catholic women theologians.

All too long the wisdom of women has been neglected in the world and in the church. The People of God need to hear all the voices, especially those who have been marginalized.

From one of her poems:

You foolish men who lay
the guilt on women,
not seeing you’re the cause
of the very thing you blame;

if you invite their disdain
with measureless desire
why wish they well behave
if you incite to ill.

 

Two Weeks of Worthy Women: Gertrude of Helfta

My good friend Fran sent the following essay for Worthy Women.

As I think about worthy women, thoughts just keep coming to me over and over again, fed by a potentially unhealthy, but steady diet of church news. Reading about the frequently criticized work, and position of women in the LCWR, my mind keeps traveling back to the 13th century. Some might imagine as this era as the good old days, when nuns knew their place. I am imagining a saint and mystic of the Middle Ages, one deeply associated with devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, in the context of the recent assessment by the CDF of the LCWR.

Saint Gertrude, also known as Gertrude the Great, or Gertrude of Helfta was born in what is now Germany, in 1256.

In a move not unusual for her time, she was brought to a monastery to be raised at the age of 5. It was in that monastery that she grew up, among women, books, music, liturgy, and God. It was in that monastery that she became a mystic and a visionary.

Gertrude was a particularly bright child, with an appetite for learning, and she ardently pursued all manner of studies. In fact, her first studies were more secular in nature, and it was only after a vision, a mystical experience of God, that she began to focus on God alone.

Once we get beyond the fact that she was a woman at a time when women were often little more than property, we can take in other facts. In Gertrude’s era, books were hand-copied parchment and other texts, yet she was well read. That must have been no small feat. Her studies included Scripture, theology and the early church. Gertrude also had interests in music and art, and of course, the liturgy that was so much a part of her life. It was out of this foundation that the saint also became a mystic and a writer. The incubator for her work was a community that was one of women.

Today we can look to Gertrude’s published works, The Herald of Divine Love, and The Exercises. There is some evidence today that she was not the sole author, but that they were authored in community. The Book of Special Grace, which is attributed to Gertrude’s sister and former Beguine, Mechtilde of Magdeburg, may have also been written that way. Devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus are thought to have come out of mystical experiences by Gertrude and Mechtilde, as well.

During Gertrude’s time, monasteries and communities were often isolated and separated, with news and information flowing slowly, if at all, from one place to another. The distance between Rome and these many monastic outposts in this pre-Reformation world had a profound impact on how these communities lived the Gospel. These women were not docile and passive, but they actively pursued knowledge, lived their faith and ultimately expressed so much in writing.

In the Middle Ages many communities of women were likely often without a priest in residence at all – or at least for significant periods of time – including Gertrude’s. What was the knowledge and practice of liturgy in these enclosures? Most importantly, what about the Eucharist? We don’t truly know all that there is to know, and may never will. Having said that, I see a picture emerging of strong women, focused on communal life as lived in Christ. This was true to the Church and teachings in a full and rich sense. It remains so today.

One of the criticisms in the current situation is that many women religious have forgotten their place in the church and the world. The assessment from the CDF says that they do not stand by enough of the moral teachings, and they tend to focus on issues that are in question. I wonder what those critics would say to a woman such as Gertrude? What was her place in that world, or in our own? There is a great tradition of women mystics in the Middle Ages that would challenge the many might find challenging if they scratched the surface.

If one of the concerns against the LCWR is that they are more self-centered than God-centered (which I do not agree with), it makes me wonder how the CDF would treat Gertrude the Great and her companions? These women were strong, bold, bright and extremely focused on God. They fought against all kinds of challenges to make their way in the world, and they prevailed.

We are called to live Eucharistic lives, centered on the great Sacrament. What happens when due to having no priest, the Eucharist is not available? This was a reality in the 13th century and it remains a reality today. What happens then? I am not saying – I am truly not saying – that anything goes. We all know that Catholic moral theology instructs us to know that the ends never justify the means. But what are we to do? How are we to live? Some feast and others starve?

The life of Gertrude the Great, also known as Gertrude of Helfta, gives us a unique look into the rich communal life of women religious. This look offers us great food for thought and prayer about how we live eucharistically and communally today. There is a world of remarkable women, hiding in plain sight in the Church, then as now. Thanks be to God.

 

The Sacramental Revolution of Pope Pius X

Liam suggested in a comment last week that a look at “(t)he century of reform might also take into account the sacramental revolution of Pius X,” namely two documents. First, Pius X’s 1905 Sacra Tridentina: On Frequent and Daily Reception of Holy Communion and the curial decree Quam Singulari, issued five years later.

If Vatican II is fading into a historical memory to be advanced or retreated on political spin or even whim, then Pius X’s efforts at urging the laity to receive the Eucharist regularly and from an early age must surely be dissolving in the mists of time.

Each of these is a brief document, and so shouldn’t take up much time or e-space on this blog. My hesitation on tackling these pieces is that the commentary on them is a very well-worn path, and largely lies within the domain of scholars these days. But the same could be said of Vatican II, and certainly the new Roman Missal. I also wonder if looking at these documents might not suggest an analysis of Pius XII’s encyclical Mediator Dei. Frankly, that doesn’t hold much interest for me at the moment.

Blogging will be light the next few days as I attend to family and financial matters. I’d like to ponder how to set up this discussion. I’m leaning to these two shorter, earlier documents. Then perhaps it will be time to look at the dedication rites and Built of Living Stones. I also confess my energy is lagging for the push to complete the GDC. But we’ll keep that going, too, given that we’re only one-fourth of the way from the end.

 

 

 

Five Not-So-Easy Pieces

I had noticed Jim Martin’s piece before on the new site, The Jesuit Post, but Liam emailed it to me with this commentary:

An inspirational break from the dispiriting

Indeed. So I read “The Five Best Pieces of Jesuit Wisdom I’ve Ever Heard” with a little more attention this time. I commend it to any serious believer. After reading it, I also had to do my own examen because just in the last hour I’ve had battles with numbers one, two, and four. And the other two are still pretty lukewarm for me.

It never gets easy to deal with envy. I think Fr Martin is an outstanding writer. I actually caught myself thinking, “I wish I could write like him!” before realizing that I have other things I do better that don’t involve the internet or writing books and articles. Stick with what the retreat showed me, I thought gently.

Piece number four was sparked by a difficult fellow novice. Fr Martin:

At one point in my Jesuit training I lived with a difficult person in community.  (Imagine that!)  He had many good qualities, but he was also argumentative and combative.  (Eventually he would leave the Jesuits.)  Since I was always running into him, it seemed that I was slowly changing in response.  I was always on guard – combative and argumentative myself – in order to protect myself.

The Jesuit community? Sounds more like the blogosphere to me.

At one point, I told my spiritual director that his personality seemed to be making me into a different person, someone I didn’t like.  I was becoming someone in reaction to him.

The advice:

Don’t let anyone prevent you from becoming the person you want to be.  He has no right to do that, nor does he really have the power.  God desires you to become loving and charitable.  Don’t let him distract you.

It may only have taken fourteen years, but this piece seems very appropriate for the Catholic blogosphere these days, at least from my perspective. Maybe I stick too close to the flock just to make a point of not being part of it. There might be something to just going my own way for a time. It won’t be easy or overnight, and Fr Martin is wise to realize that …

It was hard advice to follow.  But it was essential.  Rather than let someone else’s problems mold you, become the person God wants you to become.

Sounds good to me. Thanks Liam.

 

Looking Back on Baptism of the Lord

Liam sent me the link on what your parish should have been celebrating yesterday if it observed Epiphany this past Sunday.

Here’s a riff on that theme …

Many feasts of the Lord lend their names to parishes: Nativity, Transfiguration, Sacred Heart, Corpus Christi, Christ the King, etc.. Have you ever wondered by some feasts do not inspire such patronage? Baptism of the Lord strikes me as one of these.

The celebration of the Baptism of the Lord has been given a place of honor through the reform of the General Roman Calendar, which has assigned it to the Sunday after Epiphany. This is meant to facilitate observance of the feast by the whole Christian community gathered together on that Sunday, since in the history of salvation and in the liturgical year this feast has highly important doctrinal, pastoral, and ecumenical dimensions.

If this is true, I would expect more parishes dedicated to the Baptism of the Lord.

 

The Armchair Liturgist: Continuity for the First Weekdays in Ordinary Time

Liam offers another armchair liturgist bit for us today:

Studying my new daily missal for the coming week, I see that it provides that, when the Baptism of the Lord is celebrated on Monday, as it is this year in the USA, then the readings for the Monday of the First Week of Ordinary Time may be added to the readings of the Tuesday of the First Week of Ordinary Time, so that the continuity of the passages is retained. This is true for the Gospel in cycles I and II. It is also true for the first reading in cycle II (which is what we are in this year); for cycle I, the merit of this approach for the first reading is less clear.

So, who will be advising celebrants and lectors of this option? What’s your preference?

Another choice for liturgists: how would you handle an instance like this where the Lectionary doesn’t give you the merged option? Are your lectors skilled enough to start on “Monday’s page,” then flip to the next day? Same for the priest–flip back and then finish up with Tuesday?

A small editing observation: on the USCCB page linked above, a typo on the choices of Gospel readings.

 

The Armchair Liturgist Ponders Epiphany

Liam suggested I pose some armchair questions for you liturgists-to-be:

The new Missal, finally, contains propers for the Vigil of Epiphany. The readings (including the psalm) are the same for the Vigil and the Day. The collects, offertory prayer and communion prayer are different. So, too, the spoken entrance and communion antiphons (which would be used for those unusual weekend Masses without music). Whose celebrants know this? If you were the parish liturgist, would you proactively advise the parish priests?

Does this feast need its own Vigil readings? What gospel would possible work for this? John 1:10-13? What about the other readings? Baruch 5:5-9? Psalm 2?

 

Just Desserts

Liam sent me Jonah Lehrer’s piece, “Is The World Just?”

It turns out that we all have an intuitive belief in justice – people get what they deserve. This instinct makes all sorts of social contracts possible, but it comes with a perverse side effect, causing us to ignore stories of suffering that directly contradict that assumption. Because we believe in justice, we ignore stories of injustice.

This article has been sticking with me for a while. I meant to blog on it and with a few stories popping up about divorce and Christian persecution, the connections seemed to be clicking.

I suspect that everyone is predisposed to ignore injustice when it’s beyond their circle of comfort. Divorced people might have suffered any sort of abuse while they were married, but it was their own fault for getting married sleeping with the enemy in the first place.

The martyrs fared even worse. Even though this victim was supposedly performing an act of altruism – she was suffering for the sake of others – the witnesses thought she was the most culpable of all. Her pain was proof of her guilt. Lerner’s conclusion was unsettling: “The sight of an innocent person suffering without possibility of reward or compensation motivated people to devalue the attractiveness of the victim in order to bring about a more appropriate fit between her fate and her character.”

Maybe Christian martyrs in the modern world are devalued. Even other Christians (but certainly secular media and government) can dismiss them as loony holy rollers who are too in-your-face about their faith. So they get what they deserve. Never mind that many martyred Christians in these countries have a religious legacy longer and deeper than, say, the United States.

The situation in Iraq is compounded by the Bush legacy. Conservative Christians seemed to align with adventurism in southwest Asia. That the Iraq War would lead to catastrophe for Christians is just incomprehensible to many. The war was supposed to be about extremism in Islam. Of course, Iraqi Christians may be easy to dismiss–they don’t profess in so many words Jesus as personal Lord and Savior. Plus they don’t look white.

What to do? Perhaps realize that it is human nature to have blind spots. When confronted with any possibility we are wrong, we can ask, “What have I missed?” We can also presume the best of any victim, regardless of ideology.

Read the whole Lehrer piece, especially the stories.

 

Infrequent Sacramental Encounters Good?

A few weeks back Liam sent me this quote from a NLM guest contributor, Maurizio Bettoja:

In the first place, there is the fact that communion is evidently a particularly important and exceptional rite. Communion as practiced today is essentially due to St. Pius X’s encouragement of frequent communion but before then, communion was sparingly given and almost all faithful communicated only at Easter (the “precetto Pasquale”) and perhaps one or two times a year. In the late 18th century frequent communion meant once a month. Msgr. Barbier de Montault’s Année liturgique à Rome (1862 and 1870) lists the few Roman churches where general communion was distributed, showing that generally communion was not included in ordinary Masses. In fact, very often communion, especially at Easter, was not part of the Mass: the faithful would go to confession in Lent or Easter and a priest distributing communion would be placed immediately next to the confessional so that penitents passed directly from confession to communion without time to sin! Generally speaking, in the past one would go often to confession and rarely to communion, whereas now it is the opposite. All this contributed to the reverence, sacrality, and exceptional importance of holy communion.

… along with this comment:

So, I guess that means infrequent confession has contributed to the reverence, sacrality, and exceptional importance of Reconciliation.

Or that the real Catholics out there are the ones who come only on Christmas and Easter.

In another day or two, we’ll be seeing lots of those “old-style” Catholics–the ones who receive Communion only once or twice a year. I wouldn’t mind making a few converts to Pius X Catholics.

 

Thank God for Satellite Radio: A Jimmy Mac Travelogue

(This is Jimmy Mac)

As we all know, once one gets about 50 miles from a major metropolitan area, radio rapidly descends into the bowels of political insanity, theological inanity and musical vapidity.

Ergo –

Thank God for satellite radio!

I am amazed at the extent of road repair in the Western half of the US.  Not so much interstate roads, but local state roads.  Wyoming and Montana must have powerful friends in high governmental places (does “Shoot ‘em up” Cheney still wield power in Foggy Bottoms?) because they are undertaking massive repaving/rebuilding of state roads which, to the eyes of an urban-based and driving Californian, already look pretty good to me!  Denver is awash is street, bridge and viaduct repairs.

WalMart is ubiquitous.  Even Othello, WA, population 6,900, has a large one!  There is no hope.

Even in the most outbackish places in remote parts of Wyoming, Idaho, South Dakota and Montana, when you visit a café/diner/whatever that is surrounded by dirty obviously working pickup trucks, you find many cowboyish and farmerish types —- text-messaging on iPhones!  There is no hope #2.

Speaking of pickup trucks, are there ANY that are smaller than a battleship?  One just doesn’t see them on the roads anymore.

One thing about the plains states, there are miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.

This is truly a beautiful country!  The scenery (not referring to national parks in this case) is breathtaking, unspoiled, healthy-looking and remote as all blazes.  Why some people live that far from “civilization” is beyond me.  But they obviously know and appreciate something that this city boy doesn’t know and appreciate.

With the kind of local radio to which local denizens are subjected, it is no wonder that there are huge swathes of the country that are politically backward, religiously depraved and foster dependence on firearms and remoteness.

Thank God for satellite radio!

There is a direct correlation to buildings with large displays of the (KJV version, of course) Decalogue and “Impeach Obama” signs.  That word would, of course, be unfamiliar to them, so there are big letters that let you know, in case you don’t, that you are looking at the 10 Commandments.

In case you are not familiar with the arcane language of the KJV, here ‘tis (Deuteronomy chapter 5):

I am the LORD thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.

Thou shalt have none other gods before me.

Thou shalt not make thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the waters beneath the earth:

Thou shalt not bow down thyself unto them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me,

And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me and keep my commandments.

Thou shalt not take the name of the LORD thy God in vain: for the LORD will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.

Keep the sabbath day to sanctify it, as the LORD thy God hath commanded thee.

Six days thou shalt labour, and do all thy work:

But the seventh day is the sabbath of the LORD thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thine ox, nor thine ass, nor any of thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates; that thy manservant and thy maidservant may rest as well as thou.

And remember that thou wast a servant in the land of Egypt, and that the LORD thy God brought thee out thence through a mighty hand and by a stretched out arm: therefore the LORD thy God commanded thee to keep the sabbath day.

Honour thy father and thy mother, as the LORD thy God hath commanded thee; that thy days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with thee, in the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee.

Thou shalt not kill.

Neither shalt thou commit adultery.

Neither shalt thou steal.

Neither shalt thou bear false witness against thy neighbour.

Neither shalt thou desire thy neighbour’s wife, neither shalt thou covet thy neighbour’s house, his field, or his manservant, or his maidservant, his ox, or his ass, or any thing that is thy neighbour’s.

(I was surprised at the last one – but didn’t let my hope run wild about reference to “manservant.”)

Thank God for satellite radio!

MSNBC and, to a lesser degree, CNN are obsessive about the minutiae of the news of the moment and beat it to death!  Hour after hour after hour after ….

Rural Catholicism is a mixed bag:

• Gregory County South Dakota (as of the 2010 census, the population was 4,271 in a total area of 1,053 square miles) has 4 Catholic churches – all served by one priest — who is from Uganda!  I met him and I asked him how he happened to chose moving to this remote location of the country.  He didn’t:  his bishop called him and told him to pack his bags.  There is one other Ugandan priest in South Dakota.  Now THAT’S what I call lonely.  We went to Wednesday 4:00 mass at St. Anthony’s in Fairfax, SD (on a good day whenever everyone is around, the population is about 100, 2 of which are 3^rd cousins of mine) which was held in a 1970s building and at which 8 were in attendance (we significantly increased the attendance for that day).  Normally there is a mass on alternative Sundays; the other Sunday it is held in Bonesteel, SD (population 275).  St. Anthony’s has a parish membership of about 40.

• St. John the Baptist in Clancy, MT (population 1,406) is a satellite church of Sts. Cyril and Methodius of East Helena, MT and seats 90.  The Sunday we attended the 6 pm mass, it was almost a full house.  I was impressed by (1) the number of young families, (2) the degree of participation, (3) the good selection of music, and (4)  the rather enthusiastic singing by the majority in attendance.

• St. Rose in Cuba City, WI (population 2,156) is the parish in which I was raised.  The 10 AM Sunday mass saw bodies in about 50% of the seats.  There are also masses on Saturday at 5 PM and Sunday at 8:30 AM.  The liturgy was pedestrian, the music lackluster and the homily way too long.  The presider was vested ONLY in an alb and stole and he shouted everything he said.  I’m not much on liturgical frou frou, but this was basic black without the pearls!

• Blessed Sacrament Church in Rapid City, SD (http://www.blessedsacramentchurch.org/), a diocesan seat and the second largest city in SD, has a population of 67,956 as of the 2010 census.  There are  3 Sunday masses – 7, 9 and 11 – and we peeked in on the 11 AM.  If the attendance demographics are any indication (and I hope they are not!),  the parish will be unpopulated in about 25 years.  So many white faces and so much white hair.  “Diversity” hasn’t seemed to have found its way to BS church.

• Then there is the parish of Pope John Paul II in Bigfork, MT.  (http://johnpaul2.catholicweb.com/index.cfm)  The population was 1,421 as of 2000.  Their website says that the name has been changed to Blessed JPII parish, but the sign out front hasn’t changed.  The building is quite striking on the outside, but the inside was disappointing.  Then, too, the name gave me cause to pause and be concerned.  As I ran through their website, I noticed that their Cry Room doubles as a Reconciliation Room – hopefully not at the same time (but, then, maybe so.)

In each of the first 3 parishes we happened to get the into to the new liturgical language.  In general there was a lot of apologizing, saying that the mass REALLY isn’t changing, etc.  In Clancy the speaker even went to go so far as to answer his own question:  Why are these changes happening?  Because JPII and BXVI want them.

In closing, may I say:  thank God for satellite radio!

 

Britain Resists the Great War

We used to call it the Great War, but in the sense of glory or accomplishment, there is nothing “great” about it. Ghastly would be a better term. Several years ago I read a substantial history of it, and I’m convinced that the period 1914-18 was nothing less than an experience of utter evil under the guise of near-total incompetence. Generals/aristocrats sent soldiers/commoners to their deaths by the hundreds of thousands because they failed to graduate from cavalry and rifle warcraft. And it wouldn’t have been much better if the western aristocracy had trained for stone knives and flint arrowheads for all the good it did brave men at Gallipoli and other places. And for what? All it did was usher in a generation of bitterness followed by an even worse hemorrhage of violence two decades later.

Liam sent me a link to Adam Hochschild’s essay on the antiwar movement in Britain. A comparison with our own day:

Unlike, for example, American opponents of our wars in Vietnam, Central America, Iraq, or Afghanistan, the Britons who opposed this war had no major news­papers and only a tiny handful of legislators on their side. For someone in a prominent position to advocate any compromise was considered close to treason. When Rev. Edward Lyttelton, the headmaster of Eton, proposed some possible peace terms, the resulting uproar forced him to resign. From Parliament to pulpit, ferocity reigned. “Kill Germans! Kill them!” raged one clergyman in a 1915 sermon, “ . . . not for the sake of killing, but to save the world. . . . Kill the good as well as the bad. . . . Kill the young men as well as the old. . . . I look upon it as a war for purity. I look upon everybody who dies in it as a martyr.” The speaker was Arthur Winnington-Ingram, the Anglican Bishop of London.

If I gave you all but the first two words of the Winnington-Ingram quote for you, would you be quicker to attribute it to a Nazi than to an Anglican bishop?

Love this:

Recruiting posters appealed to shame: one showed two children asking a frowning, guilty-looking father in civilian clothes, “Daddy, what did YOU do in the Great War?” (Keir Hardie’s friend Bob Smillie, leader of the Scottish mineworkers, said his reply would be: “I tried to stop the bloody thing, my child.”)

If the Church had come to terms with the corruption and incompetence in European aristrocracy in the early part of the twentieth century, and sided with the cause of peace, I would suggest the Gospel would have a far greater appeal, especially in Europe, than it does today. The strength of the Church  would be enhanced by emphasizing those who resisted military service in a holy and heroic way–people like Ben Salmon.

This strength is needed still today. With Iraq we received the worst of both worlds: an immoral war, conducted with criminal incompetence. We should stand with others around the world to ensure that if we find ourselves unable to stop future violence, that we will resist it with all that is holy that is within our grasp. And expose war advocates as misguided and duped.

One thing that struck me in this essay was how authorities were scared of pacifists. The reality is no less true today.

 

Pre-Lent Catholic Culture

 

(This is Liam.)

Let’s talk culture for a bit, shall we?

Well, for the faithful on this side of the sanctuary rail, it was Carnival [or insert cognate term from your Catholic culture of choice - of course, in the Protestant-dominated USA, there was little Carnival culture outside Louisiana, Mobile and ethnic Catholic ghettoes (especially Polish, German, and Italian) that brought their respective Carnival traditions with them - the Irish being notably MIA in this regard, as their cultural pre-Lenten semi-pagan midwinter celebrations were deliberately euthanized (along with a lot of pre-Famine Irish cultural practices) by the Irish hierarchy in the wake of the Great Hunger in favor of sturdy Victorian bourgeois values (think Methodism in Catholic devotional drag, with none of the good music - considering the rich musical culture of the Irish, it's rather amazing how impoverished Irish liturgical music became)].

It was probably the most schizo time of the year for the Catholic church. Within the sanctuary rail, violet replaced green (which was very noticeable), the Gloria on Sundays was suppressed (likewise), tracts replaced the gradual psalm (not the most PIPs would notice much except for the omission of Alleluia) and breviary readings took a different turn (which the overwhelming majority of the faithful would have no idea about). Outside the sanctuary rail, the faithful were fattening up for the Lenten fast, and having a helluva grand old time (again, not those Irish). The gentry and aristocracy in Old Catholic Europe threw lavish entertainments; it was the height of the “social season”. The rich areas of Catholic cities were bathed in a kind of nightime light that was rare (and very welcome in the dark-but-lengthening light of late winter, though it would seem exceedingly dim to our modern eyes accustomed to electric light in the dark) until the advent of gaslight and then electric lighting.

Of course, this was all fueled by a sense that Lent was the main event and Eastertide (the period after Easter Sunday) had become something of an afterthought. The cultural source of this trend was probably in the late Middle Ages and was accelerated by the early Modern and Industrial Age trends to cut back severely on the way the Easter holidays were once celebrated. (It’s important to remember that, until late Middle Ages, Catholics not only abstained from meatflesh but also dairy and eggs and sex during Lent – while canons kept those precepts on the books until the 20th century, in practice they were greatly diluted by promiscuous indults. Still, try to imagine what Eastertide was like before this started to unravel in the late Middle Ages….)

The point of the post-conciliar suppression was to recover the sense that Easter and Eastertide is the main event, and Lent is a period of preparation for it. I think that is very right. For those who find suddenly descending into Lent odd, it is no less odd than suddenly descending into the schizoid former season of pre-Lent (if anything, it’s easier for the lack of the schizoid quality).

The decline of Lenten fasting during the 20th century has been accompanied by a decline in pre-Lenten festivities (except in Carnivale Disneylands like New Orleans, Rio and Venice that have cultivated a modern echo in return for tourist coin). Not that anyone complaining about the suppression of pre-Lent appears to notice that.

The English term “Shrove Tuesday” is a faint echo of when people confessed their sins just *before* Lent and did their penances *during* Lent. It’s been many centuries since that practice (the actual prevalence of which cultural historians continue to debate) was anything resembling a reality. That is the one link the Roman tradition may have had to something resembling a Forgiveness Sunday of the Eastern churches.

Which is a very long-winded way of saying the the pre-Lent that survived to 1962 was a withered scrap of liturgical detritus that had long since been unconnected to the real life of most Catholics outside cathedral chapters, monasteries/convents and certain oratories where the Divine Office was cultivated with care. The weeping for its loss by latter-day traditionalists outside those contexts is one indicator that it has more shibboleth ideological value than true traditional value.