I was reading...

Here is another post from the Multiply days.  This one is from 2010 and still relevant, perhaps ever more relevant as things continue to get weirder.  I pray that I will be like the seven brothers and like Eleazer who scorned to take refuge in subterfuge but boldly defied the evils of his day.

 

The Maccabees are two interesting books--really a pity more people aren't actually acquainted with those books outside the Protestant canon that were part of the old canon....but then again, it's also sad that more people are not even acquainted with the "usual" books of the Bible, and I digress.  The point of this was to talk about II Maccabees.

The book is addresses to the Jews of Alexandria as an abbreviated history of the events it describes.  But at the very beginning it has this beautiful blessing written: "May God prosper you, remembering his covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, his faithful servants.  May he give you all a heart to worship him and to do his will with a generous mind and a willing spirit.  May he open your hearts to his Law and his precepts, and give you peace.  May he hear your prayers and be reconciled with you, and not abandon you in time of evil."(iiMac.1:2-6)
I had been going to share that a few evenings ago, but said "tomorrow," which didn't happen.  So it is this evening that I again thought, "tomorrow," but decided to go ahead and write tonight.
It is some chapters later into the history of this particular time.  The treasurer was envious of Onias the godly high-priest and exaggerated how much money was in the treasury to the king, who sent Heliodorus to collect the money.  Onias protested against this and made it clear that the money was for the orphans and widows and they could not break the trust of those who had placed the money there.  Onias and the priests then pray to God and Jerusalem follows their example.  Heliodorus is prevented by a miraculous apparition from looting the temple treasury.  His followers ask Onias to pray for Heliodorus life, which he does, and the glory is given to God. 
Time passes and Onias has been displaced by his brother Jason a hellenizer, who in turn was deposed by someone even worse.  People have taken to following pagan practices even on the temple ground. Jason attacks his successor in ch. 5 and is repulsed but when the king hears, he figures Judea is in revolt and attacks Jerusalem killing indiscriminately the inhabitants and even penetrating the temple and "with his unclean hands he seized the sacred vessels;...Antiochus, so much above himself, did not realize that the Lord was angry for the moment at the sins of the inhabitants of the city, hence his unconcern for the Holy Place....the Lord had not chosen the people for the sake of the place, but the place for the sake of the people;" That really struck me.  The temple was set aside for the sake of the people--a place to present sacrifices and worship God....How often do we act as though the church building is more sacred than the church itself?  We don't want to profane the church (referring to the building) but it's fine to tear down the Church (the body of Christ) by our actions and words....?  It is we humans who were chosen, the buildings and places are secondary.
The book continues.  Abominations are carried on within the temple grounds and Jews are being forced into pagan practices, being killed for noncompliance.  There is this old man Eleazar, though, who spits out pig's flesh that was forced between his teeth.  "Those in charge of the impious banquet, because their long-standing friendship with him, took him aside and privately urged him to have meat brought of a kind he could properly use, prepared by himself, and only pretend to eat the portions of the sacrificial meat as prescribed by the king;" Eleazar could escape death this way, but he refused because the example it would set for others.  People would think he had conformed and might be led astray, and he would much rather die a positive example, "of how to make a good death, eagerly and generously, for the venerable and holy laws."  His companions then turn on him and bludgeon him to death and his dying words: "Th Lord whose knowledge is holy sees clearly that, though I might have escaped death, whatever agonies of body I now endure under this bludgeoning, in my soul I am glad to suffer, because of the awe which he inspires in me."
The next chapter tells of a mother and her seven sons who are tortured for their  faith but likewise remain resolute. When the third son was asked for his tongue after the first two have already been tortured and killed he makes the statement, "It was heaven that gave me these limbs; for the sake of his laws I disdain them; from him I hope to receive them again."  It continues until the youngest.  Antiochus asks the mother to encourage her son to relent.  She has been forced to witness the deaths of her other six sons but she still holds to the faith. "My son, have pity on me; I carried you nine months in my womb and suckled you three years, fed and reared you to the age you are now (and cherished you). I implore you, my child, observe heaven and earth, consider all that is in them, and acknowledge that God made them out of what did not exist, and that mankind comes into being the same way.  Do not fear this executioner, but prove yourself worthy of your brothers, and make death welcome, so that in the day of mercy I may receive you back in your brothers' company."  and the son says, "What are you waiting for? I will not comply with the king's ordinance; I obey the ordinance of the Law given to our ancestors through Moses.  As for you, sir, who have contrived every kind of evil against the Hebrews, you will certainly not escape the hands of God.  We are suffering for our own sins; and if, to punish and discipline us, our living Lord vents his wrath upon us, he will yet be reconciled with his own servants."

They were faithful.  They took on themselves, in a way, the guilt of the people and willingly accepted death.  Could these stories have encouraged the early church who suffered persecution similarly?
I don't want stuff like that to happen, but I do wonder, how would I respond?  Would I take the chance to live that was offered to Eleazar?  or would I scorn to make use of that sort of subterfuge and accept death willingly for the sake of my fellow people and my convictions and remaining faithful to my God?

I Thirst

 

“I thirst.” and the damp settled.

And my languid arms like languid branches

Sagged beneath unwanted weight.

A cloud, a breeze would cheer

Or butterfly with bright orange wing

Would lift a smile in a moment

For a moment.  Then in dry heat

Again, it settles, wearied with that old

        Hunger. 

                I seek. 

He whispers, “Take and eat.”

Around I look and see the waving

Of singing branches, my eyes

Too full of tears for singing.

Soon this all is dust.

There, beneath my feet I feel

The forgotten cracks throughout this crust

Of earth in which I stand. A sense

Of something warm, immense--

A whisper, “Come and drink.” 

 Sink my roots more deep. He says,

“Eat and Drink. And you 

                       shall never die.”

There touches fire

That does not consume.

Revived, my branches lift and face the sun

Ah, there are those from whom I come--

One smiles, “Where your roots?”

“What you have found beneath this ground,”

One says, “cannot be truth.”

Roots deep, veins aflame, branches sweep

In breeze and sun--what shall I say?

"Come and see, that Heart

                that never lies."

Just wondering. . .

(Another old post from the Multiply days, but the initial question is one I still ponder from time to time.  Now, though, I realize that a big part of the problem is interpretation and authority.  We need the Church to guide us in that reading of scripture and living out its precepts.)

 

 What if all follower's of Christ read the Bible and sincerely tried to live out its precepts?  

I read 1 Peter on the bus today and different verses just really stood out like: "[Have] your conversation honest among the Gentiles: that, whereas they speak against you as evildoers, they may by your good works, which they shall behold, glorify God in the day of visitation."  Sometimes it is difficult to distinguish between some labeled Christians and labeled others in ordinary conversation. In simpler terms, I am sometimes a bit shocked by the amount of profanity and vulgarity of some who profess to be Christians. 
"Honour all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king."  What if we did make a regular practice of honoring everyone else?  Showing God's love? Loving our fellow Christians? wow, that would be amazing.  Gossip wouldn't go far. What about giving God the proper reverence and honour? I think that would create in me a greater love for the rest of humanity, also.  I wouldn't think so much about little personal sacrifices as I would His glory.
What if we gave authorities the respect due to them? "Servants, be subject to your masters with all fear; not only to the good and gentle, but also to the froward."  You people, respectfully obey your authorities even if you think they are unnecessarily mean and harsh.  That would be pretty amazing.
Look at our example, Jesus Christ, himself: "Who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth righteously:"
We are to bless, not to return evil for evil "but overcome evil with good"
So if we suffer, Christ suffered before us. We have no cause to be ashamed when we suffer though not guilty.
Part of all this is humility. I could use some more of that. 
"the God of all grace, who hath called us unto His eternal glory by Jesus Christ, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.  To Him be glory and dominion forever. Amen."

catchy tune, but what does it say?

    (Originally posted on Multiply.  This is from a long time ago, back when I was at Lindenwood University.  The lesson was memorable and definitely influenced the way I listen to music to this day.)

       

     I had previously pretty much gave a brief on the LCF lesson by the same title (but it was stolen by evil computer gnomes) but now instead I will tell about it with only a few particulars and –well, you will see.

            The discussion was about the messages that songs tell.  We listened to a variety of music, “secular” and “Christian” and discussed what the song said and what the Bible had to say concerning what it said. 

            It was interesting to note that even in secular music there can be found “echoes of the truth” (the world’s in trouble, something wrong with our eyes, we cannot save ourselves) while there are some “Christian” songs with a less than scriptural message (Everything is fine because God believes in you, everything matters if anything matters because you). 

    Point: consider the messages that you allow to be in your head.  What are you listening to?  What are they saying?  On the note of what are they saying–The two songs that were hardest to understand were perhaps the most strikingly dissimilar in word.  The first was bitter and vengeful (not a Christian song even in pretense) the last told how nothing mattered compared to knowing God, and asked Him to purify and renew the heart.  

            So I wonder, what am I listening to?  I can’t control what they play in the office, but what do I listen to on my computer or when I turn on a(n internet) radio?  Most of it actually lacks words, but not all the time.  What am I putting into my head?

 

(Right now, “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been”   I’m sorry for who I was, I’m ready to change,)

Is it akin to Nostalgia?

What is it, when you find yourself in a place unfamiliar yet it feels like home? It is as though one was to go to the other side of the world and discover a path that feels oddly familiar, like you had been there before somehow, perhaps in a dream. It is like hearing a song of which you know the tune before you ever heard it.

The first time I remember this sort of experience was when I attended mass for the first time. From the first moment of walking in I noticed an utter difference to what was familiar in “going to church”. It was quiet. There was an awe-inspiring austerity and beauty. 

Instead of painted walls and industrial lights in a building that used to be a wellness center there were cinder-block walls, stained glass windows, and great wooden beams to a pointed wooden ceiling for a building built for the worship of God. Instead of a band around a stage with the drums center back was a place for the altar and a crucifix in the center back. Where the drums had been flanked by guitarists and bassist and fiddle off to the left, the crucifix was flanked by statues of the Virgin Mary and Joseph the Carpenter. Off to the left was a tall, small wooden table on which was a round metal case with a cross up top; the cross being the only visible part usually, as it was covered with a cloth. Instead of a long time of singing, a little scripture, and a long sermon, that might also be a long prayer service with lots of singing, was a structured service of prayer and scripture with a short sermon and the focal point obviously being Holy Communion.

Almost none of the songs were familiar, and yet, when the psalm was being chanted (as it was that first mass), it just fit. That first time, I don’t know that there was any choir or organ, but when I did become aware of it, I noticed that the choir loft was out of sight up and behind the congregation. This instantly made sense to me, to have the choir out of sight. The notes of the organ hovered above us inviting us to join in the song, but the eyes were left free to contemplate our crucified Lord.

I mentioned the quiet. People would talk about church being a house of prayer, I remember being prayed over to receive the Holy Spirit in a prayer meeting. The person praying was obviously trying to effect something, but it felt hollow. A friend of mine spoke in tongues at one such event. It was a common occurrence to hear the babble of tongues whether during “praise & worship” or during a prayer event. In contrast, when I walked into St. Catherine’s for the first time and it was quiet, it was obviously an actual house of prayer.

There was also this sense of questions being answered without words. The praise team up front had been a familiar feature of churches that I attended while growing up, but when I was asked at the previous place about playing my instrument with them, it suddenly seemed very questionable. Why were they up front? Why did they often seem to overshadow the preacher in a way? They might leave when he was preaching, but the instruments would remain in place; the drum kit in the center particularly stood out. The comparison between a concert and “Sunday morning worship” was too apt. So, when we went to St. Catherine’s and the organist and choir were all hidden away, it just seemed so obviously right. Here, the choir was serving as an aid to something higher and more important than themselves. Whether the individuals were personally modest or not is irrelevant, the placement of the choir was modest.

One would have to verbally ask and get a response to know what was the focus of the congregation in the former wellness center. As soon as I walked into St. Catherine’s, the crucifix proclaimed this central mystery of the gospel in one striking image—the incarnation and suffering of God. I would learn the messages of the windows later.

Going to mass was like nothing I had ever experienced, and yet I knew that it was good to be here, that it, in a manner of speaking, felt like home.

I am more accustomed to feeling like a “stranger in a strange land” wherever I am. Even so, when I go to mass, now more than ever, I know that in point of fact I am home; I am am where heaven and earth meet in the sacrifice of Christ. I am in the midst of the communion of saints adoring our Eucharistic Lord.

Pollyanna Grows Up: a very American tale

I listened to the conclusion of Pollyanna Grows Up. It is very much of its era, not entirely in a bad way. It is also understandably an American classic. I do want to go back and reread or listen to Pollyanna. I say it is “of its era” because it betrays the worries of that time, the beginning of the twentieth century, of blood, genetics, and poverty. It does so in the most natural sort of way—attitudes and conversations rather than narration of the concerns. For example, in Ivanhoe, the author observes things in the “in those days people thought this or that” sort of mode.  That is not the case here.

In Pollyanna Grows Up, it is simply noted that surely that person has good blood. It is also an objection to getting married that nothing is known of the family, they could be anyone and what of hereditary disease or such? Pollyanna herself as a girl of twelve first encountering poverty in the city, wonders how some can be so rich while others are so poor? She is jokingly called a little socialist by an adult. The way the conversation goes kind of makes me wonder if the author had socialist sympathies?

Early on and throughout is expressed the opinion of many that “you could not understand, because you never experienced it” or the corollary, “she understands, because she has experienced”. The assumption is a little belied by one of the proponents of the belief in that he knows the stories of Arthur’s Knights and feels the need for heroic deeds and glory, though they seem unobtainable in his current circumstances and he is able to relate the stories and some of his own with such vividness and detail that it is described in at least one point like weaving a spell on his listeners. Nevertheless, the assumption is made throughout—if you have not experienced it, you cannot understand it. I have heard this assumption expressed throughout my life. I disagree. Much can be learned through reading and observation and imagination. I grant that observation is not identical to experience, but I also observe that experience can blind a person to the fullness of what a thing is. For example, a man and a woman may be very much enamored of each other and inclined to act upon their passions. An observer might sympathize with the feeling, but nonetheless be able to see that in no wise should they act upon their passions because one of them is married, so no matter how they feel, that would simply be adultery and betrayal, which they have already begun to enter into by letting their passions—lust—go so far. Someone else who has experienced adultery by participation may have a harder time seeing the error, unless he had already repented and worked towards reconciliation if possible. Of course, now our whole moral landscape is so corrupted that no one seems to accurately the gravity of most any sin. I guess they had to experience them for themselves in order to understand? Just had to take a bite of the fruit...Anyway.

Going to Church is treated as customary, but for most of the story you would have no idea that these people believe in God or an after-life. They are all oriented to earthly, material happiness. This is especially evident in the attitudes towards poverty and death.  As for poverty, Pollyanna cannot figure out anything to be glad about it other than, she doesn’t have that poverty, which makes her sorry for those who do, or she could be glad to help them materially, except that at first she can’t. Aunt Polly is a striking exemplar of their reactions towards death. It is all grief, pride, bitterness, and anger. No one speaks of heaven. No one speaks of God connected to this loss. It is just-he died. Now, how are we going to pay for this and that? How are we to live?  It does not seem that any know how to deal well with the pain of loss.

There is a focus on being happy, but the happiness is material. This leads to a moral dilemma which should not have been a dilemma in the way that it was. Some of the story focuses on the question of a missing boy Jamie Kent. His father was not approved of by the mother’s family, and when she died, father and son had disappeared. There is a Jamie and a Jimmy who are about the right age, one of them adopted by the aunt of the lost boy. He believes he is Jamie, or at least desires to be him in point of fact. When conclusive proof of who Jamie Kent is surfaces, it is decided not to tell Jamie, others may know, but not Jamie, because that would kill him, or something. His emotional belief or desire is more important than the truth. They would rather lie to him and let him believe a lie, but so would he. This is vicious. I cannot approve of such a moral. It darkened the end of the book for me.

All of these attitudes have only metastasized in American culture. We are obsessed with indicators of worldly success and comfort. We push away thoughts of death except to give respect to those who take death into their own hands or deal out death for their own perceived good.  We value lived experience more than truth.

I say “we” but it is a culture that has never felt like home to me. Is it that I loved hearing and reading Aesop, Grimm, & Anderson? Is it that we read the Bible regularly at home and I read it personally before I could understand much beyond the broadest strokes? Is it that I read more British literature than American? Is it that my melancholy disposition inclined me to relate more to Jeremiah and love books like Ecclesiastes? Is it that in traveling across the country to a place I knew not before I was ten prompted me to look more earnestly at Abram’s wanderings and apply that to the Christian life? Who knows. But at least since we traveled across the states when I was a child, I have had the sense of being a stranger in a strange land.

It still takes me by surprise when I hear the same tones of disdain towards religion in newspapers from a century ago that can be heard even today. It still catches me a bit off guard when I hear of people worried about bloodlines today as they did at the heights of the eugenics movement. It shouldn’t; I know well enough that there is nothing new under the sun, what has been will be and every new thing has already happened, still, I would have thought we could have learned from our past.

The Count of Monte Cristo and Lord Ruthven

 I was just commenting again how much I would love to see a truly good rendering of the Count of Monte Cristo in film.  The seventies one was pretty good, I never finished the black and white that stands a good chance of being the most faithful adaptation in my experience, I never finished the French one with Gerard Depardieux who was too big and blond for Edmond Dantes, Gungutsou I did finish and it was brilliant in its portrayal....but was lacking a vital point.  These, though, I watched all via Youtube.  The shorter film, that is perhaps familiar to more people, does not do justice to the story or the characters.

I found this note from last October.

I finally read the story of Lord Ruthven.

Eerie and short. I understand why the Count of Monte Cristo was compared to Lord Ruthven and why the Lady, I forget her name was not fond of him.

He had learned to suppress his natural feelings of repugnance towards violence and terror and was pleased to see vicious people or people connected to evils falling prey to their vices. Lord Ruthven delighted in the fall of the innocent, whereas the Count takes a grim pleasure in seeing the downfall of the guilty, but if one does not know the guilt or innocence of an individual...It would look the same.

I still want to see a brilliantly executed Count of Monte Cristo, with gorgeous costuming, moody lighting, music that fits and transcends the time, dramatic looks and textures. Why, o why has none in the English speaking world that I am aware of drawn upon that imagery suggested in the book of the vampire and the gothic novel? And why have they not drawn on that rich symbolism of the freed prisoner before the cross? Why have they not explored how he becomes a monster and is saved by the love of good and honest people?

I think Gungutsou draws upon the vampire imagery, but he is left a monster and must die. The letter is still there at the end, but it is a letter from the past.

The book, more brilliantly, portrays a double redemption.

To be or to do...

“You do you, and let me do me.” 

Besides being grammatically bad, this little compound sentence is philosophically questionable.

What does it mean to “do me”? I do not “do me” I am myself. What I do is not me, though it may reflect on

 who I am and certainly other people are prone to define people by what they do.

We call someone who steals a thief, unless it was from a family member or friend or from a bad guy. (As 

everybody knows, if it is done to a bad guy, it doesn’t really count. At least--that's what the movies tell us.)

 Now, let’s take a look at this.  Stealing is the thing done. Who is the person, though?  Maybe this is 

someone who lost his job and whose children are hungry.  Maybe this is the one time he has ever stolen. 

Do we say, “Thief! That is who you are”?

I do a lot of things; I have been an amateur actress, artist, poet and writer. I dream and scribble and 

converse within myself. I sing and even lead songs, I teach and I study.  If I do not act, I am still myself. 

If I lost my hands or my voice I would still be “me.” Take away my work, I still exist, for all the doings are 

merely expressions of me. Divide my soul from my body, I still exist, but now beyond this present life on 

earth, I go to judgment and, by God’s grace, to live eternally.

What need will there be in heaven for teachers or scribblers or actors? 

But, there may we lose ourselves in the wonder of God and find ourselves in His embrace.

On the virtue of modesty

Modesty is too often a topic fraught with unnecessary anger and defensiveness. I was listening to a fascinating series on modesty by Fr. Rippeger, posted by Sensus Fidelium (who posts to both youtube and bitchute). It was fascinating because it did not stay on mere dress, but addressed the roots of modesty as well as its expressions outside of clothing in behaviour and speech. In behaviour, modesty was naturally portrayed in terms of moderation and courtesy. Attention seeking behaviour is obviously immodest, but what does that look like?
Dance can be modest—he pointed out how certain types of ballroom and folk dancing can actually help teach men and women how to comport themselves well with each other and as composed and graceful humans, whereas modern dance was decried for its immodest self-expression and provocativeness.
Vulgar speech was also presented as transgressing modesty, while a distinction was observed from the profane and the vulgar. It seemed that while both were to be avoided, particularly in mixed company, the profane was absolutely to be avoided. Again, it seems a straightforward matter—if you are a believer in God, you should want to honour Him; swearing or otherwise using His names apart from talking to or about Him is disrespectful and breaks the command. Moderation came up in the topic of speech, one can talk to much.
When Fr. Ripperger did talk about clothing he addressed it from a rather nuanced view, I thought. He took into account current custom, the inherent distinctions between men and women, the different purposes of dressing between men and women as a result of that, as well as the simple question of what does the clothing reveal. One distinction to be made in that last was “does it reveal more of the body or more of the person?” which distinction I have heard before. Fr. Ripperger did talk about how the clothes also affect mannerisms, posture, and behaviour, which I have heard less noted. Most controversially, while noting that the wearing of pants by women is not inherently sinful now, he did note that dresses and skirts are inherently more feminine, therefor modest skirts and dresses ought to be preferred to pants for women. Similarly, since care to attractive appearance is naturally more feminine, he described most jewelry, makeup, and focus on clothing and style for personal statement in men to be immodest. Fr. Ripperger sees men’s dress as being more about function: it is for your job, it shows what you do, it demonstrates externally your virtue (I was not entirely clear on his use of that term, but he did note things like the appropriateness of a wedding ring or a pectoral cross, jewelry that signifies a man’s position, as opposed to mere decorations). Even with the observations about things like makeup being inappropriate for men ordinarily, he did observe the appropriate use in acting or even to cover or make less distracting some physical deformity. The key seemed to be on the use of makeup for women, it should enhance what is already present and should not be done in order to draw attention to yourself, and for men and women it might be used to cover something that otherwise would be excessively attention getting. Moderation, moderation, moderation, and a respect for people around you.
Something that was striking down in the comments: While there were those who simply commented on this point or that with maybe further observations or questions and those who just left thank you notes, there were also some other responses. Fr. Ripperger noted various times that women were more naturally tender or sensitive than men. A woman objected to that adding the word, “weak”.
 There were also comments that said how “out-of-touch” people think the father is, sometimes accusing him of calling things sin (like women wearing pants) even while he made it clear that he does not in general consider it sinful, just not as excellent as wearing modest dresses. Some also simply went off topic to ask why he didn’t address other issues first. On the other hand, during one talk, there was a lady who was asking things like, “Isn’t wearing makeup sinful?” seeming in general to want to put the “Sin” sticker on things that don’t necessarily deserve it.
All told, they were an interesting set of lectures and homilies.

Toxic Masculinity?

Graveyard shift just did a sort of commentary on the Gillette ad and responses to it. It was interesting to hear a different take, but I must say I did not see the positive as the main message. When I saw the ad, I saw an assumption that men in general require shaming. It came across as a moralistic finger wagging. It reminded me of a scene I have too often seen. A child becomes angry and the teacher or parent lectures that child on how he needs to be kinder, better, more patient. But that child has been putting up with a sneaking, manipulative little twerp and has had it up to the eye-balls.

The twerp has been successful. The twerp knows how to say the right words or look generally innocent or at least repentant for the authorities. The twerp also will often stay just inside the lines, invading space, but not touching, saying something quietly in order to get a louder reaction, making insinuations about the other child or someone the other child cares about, name calling but saying “It’s just a nick-name”. The sensitive child with a slightly bigger bubble will likely get in trouble.

The ad is like that twerp. It is nudging the message that men ought to be ashamed, because men have done bad stuff. It presents a stereotype of men being at least stupid at worst perverse and suggests that that is the normative state that must be changed.

Growing up, I did hear a little “boys will be boys” from my father concerning my brother who came after six girls and before one more sister. It was usually in reference to his not being a early talker, wanting to play outside, and not wanting to sit still which led to some difficulties with early schooling. Mama would become frustrated with something that she had dealt with with my older two brothers, but had long NOT needed to deal with because she had girls, who presented their own issues. Sometimes, I still think the expression was overused, but I also saw that it was partly a response to a bunch of girls and the mother weighing in on some traits that needed to be allowed a positive outlet. He has grown into a rather responsible young man, who generally is considerate of others. He sometimes lacks subtlety when it comes to social niceties, but I’m not much one to talk about that.

On the child v. manipulative twerp—not only have I observed it happen to other children, I have been the child. I have been disciplined for shutting a sister outside the bedroom. I was avoiding her because she kept talking and invading my space when I wanted quiet. I was nearly disciplined another time for “stomping” on her glasses. We had gotten into a fight and I knocked her glasses off her face, but that is not the story she told. On the other hand, later she got into trouble for talking in class when she was responding to another student in her “inside voice” that was always just a bit loud. I was not the other student.

Back to the ad—it has not come to be in a vacuum. In my history class at college, toxic masculinity came up a number of times. The message was that men, and white men in particular had a tendency towards toxic masculinity, that somehow men, and white men in particular, were prone to violence and insecurity, that men, and white men in particular, were the ones to blame for most if not all of societies ills.

Can we at least have some honesty? Following Chesterton’s quote, “I’m what’s wrong with the world.” Rather than looking to point the blame on this or that group for all the problems, let’s first take honest stock of ourselves, acknowledging circumstance without blaming it, acknowledging other people’s contributions, while taking responsibility for my choices, not lumping today’s men with everything bad their father’s did or everything bad that the news reports. When it comes to reporting, remember the “Man bites dog” rule. Newspapers are not likely to report ordinary incidents, they want to report what is exciting. “Dog bites man” is not a worthy headline, “man bites dog” might be. Another thing to take into account with reporting—the fake rape cases. Whether it’s hockey or football, young men get into a lot of trouble when a woman accuses them even if she has no evidence. This is not actually good because it presumes guilt. When someone brings an accusation of wrongdoing, we should remain agnostic until we have evidence. I accept that you are saying this, but if the other party says otherwise, rather than privileging one or the other, let’s have due process. Who are witnesses? Is there any physical evidence? Do either of these individuals have a record of lying or truth-telling? I do not want the crap of emotional delivery being a proxy for evidence. I want men to grow up to take responsibility for their actions, to be virtuous men, and especially to be good Christians. I don’t want them to be burdened with an imaginary debt that they owe the world because their gender or their ethnicity.

Not so honest debates and message driven storytelling

I listened to an annoying “debate” between Raphael Lataster and Trent Horn. The question presented was “Does God Exist?” Trent Horn argued the classic contingency case as well as making an appeal to recognition of moral absolutes. Raphael Lataster stated that those arguments didn’t measure up and that Mr. Horn needed to argue from probability and said that things like polytheism, pantheism, and deism could also be options on the basis of the arguments that Mr. Horn made. He also asked why God did not simply reveal himself, if he was all-good, all-knowing, all-powerful. He claimed that he was agnostic but not unfriendly to theism or Christianity in particular, that he was willing to believe if God would just reveal himself. This he described as “troubling”.

As the debate went on, Mr. Horn continued to explain deductive reasoning, give examples, defend his arguments and ask Mr. Lataster to make an argument. Mr. Lataster continued to make statements about the necessity of considering alternative theisms and his not needing to defend his position since his position was agnosticism while saying that Mr. Horn was not sufficiently proving his point and that he was using controversial premises and that God, if extant, ought to just show himself.

In the cross examination, though, it seemed pretty clear that he was not actually willing to see God. He favours pantheism and materialism, but is agnostic.

I then was listening to Dr. Taylor Marshall and Timothy Gordon talk about Tolkein and Thomas Aquinas on Analogy of Being. As they were talking about the story telling, and the ridiculousness of explaining in the midst of a story or a game the symbolic nature of something, Dr. Marshall said, “You have to let the person listening do some of the work and risk them not getting it.”

One of the comparisons they made was of playing with children (they have eight and five children respectively). If you are playing cops and robbers, you do not explain “Now, you realize this isn’t really a gun.” or “This isn’t really a jail, it’s a tree,” because that ruins the fun. The children know that the gun is fake, the tree is a tree, but for the purpose of the game, the tree IS a jail and the guns are dangerous.

Too often in Christian fiction and movies, the authors make things too explicit. They are message rather than story driven. Think of God’s not Dead. This one actually had some decent stories set up, but they allowed the story to be dictated by the message. The atheist professor had to be a jerk who kept his girl-friend waiting on the table of her superiors. He was an atheist because God did not heal his mother. They made sure to tell you, “God’s not dead,” but then, while they set up a premise of a debate happening in the classroom, they did not follow up on that by actually having a debate. And all the Christians go to the concert to sing “God’s not Dead” while the atheist gets hit by a car and is given the opportunity to say a death-bed prayer.

There is a reason Christian movies have a reputation for being cheesy and preachy.

I enjoyed Priceless more than God’s not Dead in the end, but even that one has the dude who just sounds like a preacher sermonizing rather than being the sheriff that he was supposed to be. Still, overall it was driven by the story of a man who took a job at a low point in life, only to realize it was a bad job. What happens next? They follow the story through.  It does have a happy ending, but they did allow the characters to grow and the story to build.

Led by a spirit

"..., but he had no principles that were not common to others, if not to all; for others believed in the direct teaching of the Spirit, and these mistook their feelings for the effects of the Spirit, and their transient thoughts for emanations from the Spirit; and being thus enlightened according to their leisure and to the encouragement they gave to their thoughts and fancies, they could frequently see farther than other people into the Scriptures and the will of God, or fancied they could;..."
 How is it that so many people, claiming to be led by the Holy Spirit, claiming to follow Jesus, wind up going so many different directions? The above quote is from a book that was written about Matthias and his “Kingdom of Zion” that he tried to set up in the early nineteenth century. He was able to attach himself to a Bible study group who accepted him first as a prophet and then as ruler.
How is it possible for sincere people, involved in Bible study and prayer, to develop the idea that heaven and hell only really exist here on earth and the idea that souls go to another body when the people die, consequently your spirit match is of greater importance than your legal marriage?
Now, to be fair to the folks in the Kingdom of Zion, people today do many of the same things excusing their behavior on God’s will. We still interpret things idiosyncratically, and we still tend to rely on personal interpretation or whatever preacher/teacher we respect to tell us what scripture means (all while saying that it is just scripture). They had spirit matches, we have soul mates and incompatibility. Plus ça change…

Robert Matthews (Matthias actual name) denied Jesus functionally. He claimed to be the Spirit of Truth, having the spirit of Jesus and Matthias the apostle in himself and speaking on behalf of the Father while claiming the title of Father for himself and Mother for his “wife”. It was a bit eerie hearing that Jim Jones demanded that his congregation call him Father and his wife Mother.  While Robert Matthews never denied the existence of God and indeed stressed his own version of Old Testament understanding, Jim Jones ultimately wanted to get his people to leave Christianity, the entire Bible, and any god outside himself behind.
Both men were extremely controlling of those around them. While Jim Jones ultimately was more successful in drawing a large body of people around him and died in their midst while causing many to die rather than relinquish the dream, the control, Matthias did not. After he was accused of killing one of the members of the “kingdom” and beating his daughter who was married, he basically was abandoned by all but one person and wound up wandering the west before fading away into obscurity. We do not know where he died. We do know he had a run in with Joseph Smith.
What spirit led these men to death? I see the seemingly sympathetic smile of the gentleman with cloven foot from the fairy tales I grew up reading. “You want power? You want security? Money? Love? Trust me, I’ll give you what you want. Just follow me.”

Robert Matthews was apparently a natural leader and may have been responsible for a couple of physical deaths to say nothing of the spiritual. Jim Jones was even bigger, more successful, more set against Christianity, responsible for more death. He, too, was a self proclaimed prophet. He too made the claim of being what people called god.
While Jim Jones had a vastly larger following, both of them had people who otherwise would have been considered respectable following after them. How do so many people, some well educated, some apparently devout, become caught up in these movements that bare the fruit of Satan--lies, immorality, and death?

In favor of Segregation

We are all a part of the human race, so that is not what I am talking about.  No, something much more intrinsic. Male and female.

As a student teacher, I had a middle school geography class that I had to train for their tests. Now, one class towards the end of the day physically stank.  It was almost all boys, almost all of them were or had been under IEPs. They were a class that was being integrated into the “mainstream” of classes. They were the most engaged in the material.  They talked and batted the ideas around, asked questions, went off topic, but they were involved with the material. The other classes were neither as loud nor as physically stinky, and I certainly had more involvement from the middle school students than from the high school students when I was there, but they were less involved with the material, more hesitant to ask questions or answer them out loud.

As a teacher, I saw this played out in smaller classes.  If I had mostly boys, there were fewer behavioral issues and they stayed on task better.  If I had all girls, they were more relaxed and would talk much more freely about the subject.  They would engage with the material better.

With fairly evenly mixed classes, or classes with more girls than boys the students seemed more concerned about their peers opinions and the attention of the opposite sex.  This was true even down in 3rd, 4th and 5th grade. On days when the girls were absent or out of the classroom for whatever reason, the boys would settle down and work; when there were girls in the classroom, they were more apt to goof off or try to be clever.  When the boys were absent, or when I had a class of just girls, the girls worked more steadily and were more ready to give answers to questions and enter into conversation about the subject material; when boys were present, they were more apt to be giggling or rolling their eyes at the boys or hesitant to answer on one side or becoming super condescending on the other.  These are overall patterns. This is not every boy and girl every day, but it is enough of a pattern to make it much easier to teach all boys or all girls rather than mixed classes.

The all-girls school and all-boys school sort of approach makes sense to me, but what if we were to segregate even just classes? This is the young ladies English class, the young men's English class--same curriculum, just separate classes? Bring them together for set activities and presentations--they do, after all, need to learn to communicate with each other--but allowing them space from each other in order to, ideally, grow more freely.  This, I am certain, would encourage academic growth in the students, but only if the teachers themselves were committed to teaching academics and not ideology.

A Woman who communicated

        Arrival is about so much more than aliens coming to earth and a linguistics professor and a physicist working with their teams to try to communicate. It is pretty amazing.

So, Emily was probably going to pick this movie that none of us had watched and I blanked out on that bit of info and watched it on my own before we watched it together. It is a movie well worth a re-watch. In a way, it is like watching 6th Sense over again, I saw things from a different perspective having seen the ending, and consequently, I saw a lot more of what was going on. For that reason, I am not going to tell many details, I will however say that this shows an amazing development in the main lady, from desolate to really consciously living. She becomes captivating.

It is a quiet sort of movie; I recall very little vulgar or offensive language; the violence is second hand; and there is no excessive sensuality at all. What humor is present is quiet. The colors are quiet, often blue-toned, lending to a sort of melancholy feel. There were a few moments when the music seemed a bit heavy handed, but I can kind of understand why they would play those sounds when they did—thematically. It still drove me out of the scene a little. Speaking of scene, the filmography was beautiful. I loved the use of clouds and wind on the one hand and TV and intercom screens on the other.

On the writing, I loved how minor characters still felt like living people; they made good use of background and side interactions. One character speaks pretty dismissively of a lot of the people at the camp that is set up near the alien shell in Montana. It seems as though maybe the writer was not quite so dismissive. Rather in contrast to that is the attitude of the colonel who fetches the civilians who are helping out. He tells Ian, the physicist, and Louise, the linguist, after they started sparring a little over the importance of math versus language, that “That is why you're both here. And I'll get your coffee.” He seemed like he would be one of those heroes that nobody knows about; he just goes and does his best to do whatever job he has with the least amount of fuss and fewest casualties possible.

For Louise's part, she is pretty intense as she gets into this figuring out the aliens thing keeping in mind the end goal. It was interesting to watch that, especially as a teacher interested in languages. One of her first, though not the first, break-through moments with the aliens comes when she removes some of her protective gear and identifies herself with her name instead of just the generic “human” identifier. That really made the guys backing them up nervous-- “Do we abort?” While most were concerned about security, potential dangers, the aliens as potential threat, Louise saw them as beings with which to communicate, potential teachers, even. She personalized the communication, and that is what started the breakthrough to be able to understand the aliens.

Like I said, I do not want to give away to much about the plot, so I will leave you with those tid-bits and one more: the aliens are named Abbot and Costello.

Cowards and Courage, a few little thoughts

Cowards no entran en la reina de Dios (It says so in Revelations 21, for example)

How can I live for God if fears control me? So I need then, to live inspired by the love of God. There is no room for hypocrisy, no room for timidity.
 “Seek first the kingdom of God.” Our heavenly Father knows that we need food and clothing, but calls us to seek first the kingdom. Not even a sparrow can fall to the ground without him knowing it. How much more aware is he of our needs, concerns, desires? But, seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.
God never promised luxury or ease, but he does promise to be with us, “even to the end of the age.” He bids us take up our cross and follow him. He promises, in essence, struggle and affliction, but he also tells us that his yoke is easy and his burden light. How can this be? Because as we rely on his grace, he is the one holding us up. Love makes even the greatest burdens light.
Love inspires us to surmount the insurmountable, to face down the dragons, to scale cliffs, to confront our enemies, to love our annoying siblings or classmates. Love gives us courage. Jeremiah could not face the Israelites, if it were not for a love for God. Catherine of Alexandria could not have faced down the scholars and the governor, had it not been for her passion for Jesus her saviour. I could not have become Catholic, facing my mother's disapproval were it not for the love of Jesus.

When God's love fills us, that is when we have courage. Couer—heart our heart is made strong by God's love.

Holding hands

Father asked us why we joined across the aisles holding hands.
Some gave response, “T’ show we are one community of believers.”
“To show unity in prayer.”
He observed that this tradition of ours was started in the seventies; it is nowhere in the mass. Fine as it may be, it actually disrupts the first part of the prayer. As we set things down and spread out seeking hands to hold, maybe forcing in some recalcitrants, we lose a beautiful part of this pivotal prayer in the mass. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
By the time we say “Give us” we are back into the prayer.

I wonder, is this part of our problem in Christianity today? We are so focused on the doings and the hand-holding. Do we forget to stand still in the presence of Our Father to seek his will? Do we forget that God Our Father has a transcendent will that is not encompassed by our missions, our desires and comforts? Do we forget Our Father because we are so caught up with our brothers and sisters?

Doubt

I sometimes listen to the Graveyard Shift podcast, a few pastors in Ireland rambling on in conversation that might be sort of started or centered on an event or article that caught one or more of their attentions. It can be interesting, sometimes funny, sometimes thought provoking. In the one with a title playing on “nuns” and “nones” it was said that doubt is not the opposite of faith, certainty is. There was a statement made that, while we believe certain things, we have to admit that it is not certain. This reminded me of the annoying saying that “to question is the answer”, as though it would be any good to go through life asking questions without seeking answers. To sincerely question, one must be seeking an answer; if there is an answer, it could be that somethings are, in fact, certain. Anyway, one of them in particular helped to clarify a position that made more sense--that while we question and seek, doubt should not be idealized.
A few days later I ran into a Youtube series by a friar talking about Harry Potter and the Catholic Faith. He, when talking about faith as a virtue, described two different types of doubt--a doubt that is felt and a doubt that is chosen. I might feel as though I am alone, but know that God is with me and accordingly act in faith. If I feel that God is absent and act according to that feeling--that is another story. I might feel like a wretch of a sinner--in for a penny, in for a pound--but knowing God’s grace and by his grace, I can stop and pray with the angels and saints to our merciful Lord and Savior. If I act according to that feeling--how wretched I am!

If the doubt they are speaking of on the Graveyard Shift is the first class of doubt, I can at least agree with doubt not being the opposite of faith. The problem is that the concept is proposed with saying things like “I believe this, but it might not be true.” Ok. On some things, fair enough. I believe Joan of Arc really had visions; I do not empirically know that, and, sure, I could be wrong. I doubt it, though. However, That is not a matter of salvation. Believing that Jesus is the Son of God who was born, died, buried, rose on the third day--if we are not certain about that, are we even Christians? Again, I may not have empirical proof, I may not be able to touch his wounds or thrust my hands into his side, but I do have the witness of his apostles who did personally see his resurrected body. I do have the testimony of the Church that he founded that endured popular persecution and a time of regional popularity followed by popular scorn again. The point is, the gates of hell have never prevailed; she still exists just as Jesus said she would.
I have historical proof, at least, of Jesus existence, but what about the belief in the Trinity or the belief that scripture was inspired by God? I do not doubt that the Trinity is a good description of God. I do not doubt that the whole Bible, including the choosing of what books are in it, was inspired by God. I suppose, for argument’s sake, I could say that I might be wrong about these things. To say that, though, should not be mistaken for humility. That would be to say that the Church, which God founded, might be wrong about these things, which would be to say that maybe the gates of hell did prevail or maybe it was all only types and myths anyway. Why even believe in the actual historical Jesus? Surely a spiritual resurrection is a enough! But if that bodily Resurrection is not true, then, as Paul said, we are most pitiable.

 Where does that leave us? Maybe underground with a queen dressed in silks green as poison who says, “There is no sun.”
The point, then, is not what we doubt, but what we choose to believe.

One Long Day

His face was already bruised.  We idly looked at these men as they came in so very early.  It was probably because their holiday was about to start. They were dragging this man, shoving him, really, into our governor’s courtyard.  They would not enter the building, of course. It might defile them.

The accusation was that he had set himself up as some sort of king--pitiful king!  Even were it not for his bruises, there would be no greatness in his appearance. He was certainly no lord.

He was handed over to us to be beaten, but he did not ask for mercy.  We added to the bruising delivered by his own people. The lash was laid on his back hard.  His back was lacerated, but he did not cry out. We taunted him. The centurion yelled in his face, “Beg for my mercy!  Why don’t you beg for mercy?” and kicked him severely. The man looked at him with compassion.

A couple of us had twisted together some thorns that grew close by.  This false king would have a crown. He was dragged to his feet and held in place as we draped him with one of our cloaks.  We then pressed the crown into this Jew’s head.

“Hail!  King of the Jews!”  They took turns greeting him, striking him with reeds instead of saluting him.  Some spat on his face. Even then, he did not ask for mercy. Even then, he was resolute and, most disturbingly, compassionate.

It was time.  He was called for to be presented to the people, who were close to being a mob.  They would ask for one of their own to be released, and this our governor would do as a generous gesture of goodwill.  

“Behold, the man!”  He motioned to the Jew whom we had just brutalized.  The Jew was still wearing the soldier’s cloak and the crown.

The crowd was roaring a chant, “Crucify! Crucify!”

Our governor yelled over them, “You take him and crucify him!  I find nothing in the accusations against him.”

Some of the men who had brought him in so early that morning motioned for the crowds to quiet as they spoke, “We have a law, and according to that law he must die, because--he claimed to be the son of God.”

Our governor motioned for the Jew to be brought back inside.  Once away from the crowd, who were beginning to chant again, he asked the man, “Where do you come from?”  Blood was drying on the man’s face. He was bruised and his eye was swollen. The man’s expression was serene.

Our governor asked vehemently, “Do you refuse to answer? Hm?”  He took one turn, and then said into the man’s face, “Don’t you understand that I have the power of life and death over you?”

“You have no power over me but what is given you from above.  Nonetheless, they who handed me over to you have the greater sin.” This is what he stated.  In spite of his bruises and bloodied body, in spite of the beatings and the mockery, he was calm. Our governor was pacing and looking out to where the crowds were calling for the crucifixion of this impostor and trouble-maker, as they were calling him.  We awaited orders.

Our governor had a servant bring water, while he went to face the crowd.  Like a tragedian, he motioned the basin of water to himself. “I wash my hands of this innocent man’s blood,” he said as he rinsed his hands and carefully dried them.  The mob roared, “His blood be on us and on our children!” And the man was sentenced to death.

We jostled him down and took off the cloak.  We left the crown in place and put his own robe on him, but, when we were going to put the cross on his back, he reached for it.  His eyes said he knew what he was doing. Once again, they seemed to see straight through me.

We took to the road.  We had a couple of criminals to execute that day along with this man, so we made quite the procession.  The mob was shouting more than its usual imprecations.

The man fell.  It was a wonder he had not fallen earlier.  We picked him up and he took back his cross and plodded on, leaving blood and sweat on the road where he had fallen.  A woman dashed out of the crowd; we did not stop her. She wiped his face, weeping for him. He smiled tenderly at the woman and we urged him forward.  

He was stumbling some more.  I caught the eye of a Cyrenian and called him out.  “You! Take up his cross!” He came forward, and took it grudgingly, but his face changed after the man looked at him and said something I did not understand.  After the Cyrenian served his mile, we released him.

On we went.  If he fell, we picked him up and kept going.  At the gates the women mourners greeted the criminals, but when they got to the man, He told them, “Do not mourn for me, weep for yourselves and your children.  For the day is coming when you will say, ‘Blessed are the barren women, the womb that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us!’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us!’  For if people do these things when the tree is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

We finally reached the hill outside the city.  The crosses were laid down and the criminals had to be held to them.  Not The Man. He laid himself down. When the nails were driven into his hands he did not cry out like the others.  He sighed once they were in, along with his feet. He looked sorrowful, but it was not for himself. We tacked up the accusation: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

We raised him up between the other two, and one of the men who had brought him in this morning began jeering with his companions, “He saved others, why cannot he save himself?”  and “Let this Messiah, ‘king of Israel,’ come down from the cross that we may see and believe.” This and more they said, while a smaller group of Jewish women and one man stood by weeping.

The man on the cross spoke to the heavens, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

He also spoke to the small group; one of the women was his own mother.

It was as though the shadow of a snake writhed in agony across the ground, and the sun went black.  There was less talk. We watched.

It had been three hours.  The man cried out in a language I did not understand, but it meant something to the other Jews.  “He’s calling for Elijah!” They got him some wine, but it was too late.  As the sun came back, he cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”  The earth trembled. The people scattered; only the criminals were left to cry out weekly or to gape in horror, while we stood fast.  I knew then that the man was dead.

Surely, this man was the Son of God.