Pre-Lenten Reflections: Road to Assisi, Part I

It seems fitting, according to the overriding theme of my life’s pilgrim journey, that I should begin my personal weekend retreat to Assisi by waiting alone for two hours in an ugly train station. Particularly when I should be on my train now, but – due to my ever increasing forgetfulness these days – I forgot to validate my ticket, and as a result was politely asked to exit at the next station (it was, ironically, this increasing scatterbrainedness that motivated me – with the disconcertingly emphatic support of my boss – to take the day off in the first place). Having sought the conductor the moment I realized my mistake, I was, thankfully, spared both the patronizing lecture and the 50 euro fine. But booted from the train I was, nevertheless. I rather mourn the days when I could talk my way out of such messes, with big clueless American eyes and endearingly pathetic Italian. Unfortunately for me, my capacity for the language – while far from where it should be – has become good enough to make it clear to the authorities that I have been living in Italy quite long enough to know better.

With one more hour to wait, and nothing to stare at but, well, an ugly train station, I’m consoled by the fact that most of my truly rich spiritual pilgrimages have a habit of beginning in places that are as paradoxically filthy as they are sterile. It was last Holy Thursday (coincidentally April 1), for instance, that I went to the Questura for my Permesso di Soggiorno appointment. The entire day consisted of trains, metros, and the ugliest, most dilapidated neighborhoods of Rome that are so industrial, so barren, so far from its holy center that one could hardly believe them to be part of the Eternal City; the irony of the fact that April Fool’s Day corresponded with my spending one of the Church’s holiest days in an area of the city devoid of any symbol of faith did not escape me. After a long, dirty, spiritually barren day, I finally returned to the real Rome, now after dark, to catch whatever seven Churches I could find, in order to venerate the chapels where the Blessed Sacrament had been reposed in a beautifully decorated throne, per the ancient tradition. In spite of the loneliness of that day, nothing can compare to the profound poignancy of finding one Church after another, each gloriously and tenderly decking its Eucharistic alter in flowers and gold, in the knowledge that the following day would see the ignoble yet Salvific death of the One who was enthroned therein.

There is something about the barren darkness that makes one see the Source of the Light in its most deeply intimate beauty. It is of this, (if I may digress for a moment), that John of the Cross speaks in his poem, “The Dark Night of the Soul,” in which he compares the sense of God’s absence to a young maid secretly seeking her lover in the dead of night, with no light to guide her but the love she feels in her heart:

Oh night thou was my guide,

Oh night more loving than the rising sun!

Oh night that joined the lover to the beloved one,

Transforming each of them into the other.

(per the interpretation of Lorenna McKennit)

In His mysterious mercy, (if I may continue the digression) God has created an unexpected union between human sin and the loving tenderness of the dark night of the soul. When we fall in love with God, we do not become magically immune from sinning. Neither does love of God mean that, when we do sin, we love Him any less (we are, after all, still quite concupiscenced, and will remain so until the end). Rather, the only real difference between someone who has fallen in love with God and someone who has not is that the one in love feels their sins more keenly, for they recognize sin as an offence against their lover. “What puts the real twist into our hearts after our faults and small betrayals of grace” says the Poor Clare Sister Mary Francis, “but the aching knowledge that God loves us so tenderly and that we continue to disappoint and snub His love?” In this way, sin becomes, in an odd and unconventional way, a grace, for it sends us running back to Him for forgiveness, instead of laughing benignly at an indiscretion that, in our minds, harms only ourselves and offends no other. Within the heart of God, sin is transformed into a dark night of the soul, purifying and even strengthening the union between God and the one He loves.

- - -

Happily (and legally!) on the train now. With my luck, today will be one of the days when the conductor decides to not check for passenger tickets. I has also occurred to me that my cell phone is about to run out of battery, necessitating me to keep it off in order to save it for emergencies. God is putting His own hand into forming the course of my retreat, it seems. It’s just as well that He does; I’m terrible when it comes to organizing such things.

- - -

I finally landed in Assisi, a tad later than I had intended, but nonetheless happy. After settling into my room (in the “new” city, right next to basilica), I stepped out into the piazza and felt . . . freedom. There is nothing like taking a pilgrimage on your own, and Assisi holds a significance for me that no other city on earth can claim. The little house located inside the great basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli, where St. Francis first cut the golden hair of the exquisite St. Clare and exchanged her queenly silks for rags, marks the centuries-long chain of events that led to my own sister entering the cloister Poor Clare Monastery. This fact implies many things, one of which being I will only be allowed to hug my sister one more time before she dies: that will be on the 25^th anniversary of her “simple” vows (I have fifteen years to go). Yet, in being part of this sacrifice I cannot help but feel bound to something ancient, for my sister’s decision to enclose herself forever into a monastery is a sacrifice that has been nearly 800 years in the making, beginning on that clandestine night when Assisi’s most noble and lovely girl escaped her father’s house to espouse herself to God. Through my sister, I cannot help but find myself indelibly bound to a vast Franciscan family that can, with aristocratic pride, claim the noble Francis and Clare as its parents.

Goodnight, my dearest Assisi. I will see you in the morning.

(P.S. And for the record, the conductor did check our tickets in the end. Don’t forget to validate, folks!)

Pre-Lenten Reflections: Preparing for the Mercy of God

Any excuse to begin an article with a quote from Miss O'Connor . . .

"Mr. Head stood very still and felt the action of mercy touch him again but this time he knew that there were no words in the world that could name it. He understood that it grew out of agony, which is not denied to any man and which is given in strange ways to children. He understood it was all a man could carry into death to give his Maker and he suddenly burned with shame that he had so little of it to take with him. He stood appalled, judging himself with the thoroughness of God, while the action of mercy covered his pride like a flame and consumed it. He had never thought him self a great sinner before but he saw now that his true depravity had been hidden from him lest it cause him despair. He realized that he was forgiven for sins from the beginning of time, when he had conceived in his own heart the sin of Adam, until the present, when he had denied poor Nelson. He saw that no Sin was too monstrous for him to claim as his own, and since God loved in proportion as He forgave, he felt ready at that instant to enter Paradise."

~ Flannery O'Connor, "The Artificial Nigger"

Why are we, at times, inclined to dwell on our past transgressions? Doing so only leads us to fear the inevitability of our weakness in the future. It is true that all of us suffer from vices that we have not yet overcome, vices that are likely to attack us again and again. And, to be quite frank on the matter, there is a more than fair chance we will fail against our vices many more times before the end.

We must, nevertheless, fear neither the inevitable temptations that we have yet to confront, nor the sins that we have yet to commit. Through the teachings of the Church and the wisdom of the saints, we can find rest in the certainty that God will give us all the strength we need to fight temptation. Yet, we still fear our weakness; why? What do our weaknesses matter when we know that, each and every sin of our past and future, be they are graver than all the sins in the world, will be forgiven completely, so long as we ask for it?

Have confidence. His love is fierce, His mercy infinite, and even the greatest sin of our lifetime could never even conceive to withstand the terrible power of His forgiveness. Do not doubt reality of God's love; it is far more real than any human love. Therefore, when sins and human frailty weigh upon you, forget the eyes of the world. Turn, instead, to the heart of God.

Quirks in this here Italian life

I live in a little hobbit hole, and like many hobbit holes, internet access is sporadic at best, if one is lucky enough to have it available at all. Perhaps the hobbit holes of Middle Earth have, by now, advanced to such sophisticated and wildly available technological luxuries as having reliable internet in one’s dwelling, but Italy’s hobbits must still learn survive without such conveniences. Therefore, when my need for internet arises, I am obliged to a tiny little hotspot across the street, thanks to the unprotected network of the small community of nuns who live there. When I say across the street, though, I don’t mean within the confines of the religious community itself. I mean, on the sidewalk. One particular 10 foot area of the sidewalk. Sans anywhere to sit except the ground. It must be admitted at this point that the nuns do not seem to have caught on to what I am doing.

Working as a communications contractor (or head, or officer – we have yet to settle on a satisfactory English translation of my job title), not having ready means of communication with the outside world can create complications, but I’m learning to adjust. Perhaps it is that Italy, with such parents as Francis and Clare, can’t help but bring the Franciscan resourcefulness out of this poor student of communications. This morning, for instance, I conducted my business from the curb and its magical hotspot of internet glory (only what was necessary, mind you, because I do feel a little guilty using a religious community’s internet without their expressed permission for mere pleasure). I had everything I needed: my little netbook, my cell phone, my mug of Dunk’n Donuts Coffee (yes, I drink Dunk’n Donuts Coffee in Italy, and I’m not ashamed!), and my fuzzy slippers. In any case, there I was, happily crouched on the curb like a hobo, touching base with the journalist of one TV station via email, organizing a documentary with another via cell, managing invites to meetings, sipping my Jo, stealing internet from nuns, and being reprimanded by an Italian lady stranger for happily crouching on the ground like a hobo (because, to an Italian, young ladies who sit on the ground, especially in the manner of a hobo, will incur not only a horrific demise upon themselves, but will spread their misfortune throughout all the lands in the form of plague and birth defects and overall destruction of civilization. Coincidentally, it should be noted that going barefoot indoors, going out of doors with wet hair, and drinking ice water and hot coffee at the same time, also have very similar catastrophic consequences).

What else could anyone want outside of the simplicity of life? I am grateful that I am not one of the rich folk, who come here for short periods to see the sites, to drink fine wine and dine in the most authentically famous Italian restaurants. I, rather, am the poor, homeschooled, socially awkward feral child of a miniscule Virginia town, who stumbles my way month after month through a foreign city, trying to make my way in the vast and professional world of communications (in Italian, no less) . . . and I could not be a happier misfit. My endeavors in the world of communications have not yet made me rich, and quite frankly, I’d be rather sad if they did (with the exception of having my debts paid off, that is). There is a glorious color in life’s eccentricity, especially when the eccentricity is naturally occurring, and when it is born of poverty.

For a little American from a backwoods Virginia town, living in this city can be a constant assault of noise, confusion, humiliation, and heartbreak. In order to survive, therefore, it is utterly imperative that one have a love for poverty, a love for the will of God, and a joyfully fierce sense of humor in the face of absurdity.

the vocation

The peace that comes from finding ones vocation (or at the least, when one finds the grace of discernment of a vocation) is like having a sword, dull and wooden as the Cross, plunged into your heart, where it is anchored into the Heart of Jesus. It is in this way that vocation brings peace, for it is anchored firmly in love, the security and safety of being in love.

But what is not foreseen is that an act of love of a Creator entering into and becoming one of his own creation cannot happen but through violence. Instead of bringing earthly peace, the true vocation -- which is the face by which God wins over the heart of his beloved -- opens chasms of torrents and uncertainties, as well as graces and blessings. But, in the grace of vocation, one has eyes to see through the storms the towering pillar that is the love of God.

A Lenten thought or two for the Pontifical student . . .

“I have come not to bring peace, but a sword.”
Matthew 10:34

“Fallen man is not simply an imperfect creature who needs improvement: he is a rebel who must lay down his arms.”
–C. S. Lewis

The lay Pontifical student’s life in Rome is woven with more questions than our veins are with cappuccinos. When did I become more comfortable with men in collars than with men who have not taken a vow of celibacy? Have I fulfilled my “humiliating-moments-in-the-Italian-language” quota for the week? Why does the small chapel in our library smell never of incense, but always of apples? Was the reason some saints had the gift of bilocation so that they could make it to all of their pontifical classes? Why is night the only time when Rome becomes truly radiant? What is the sad story of the widowed barrister who works in the local bar, where coincidentally one can find the best coffee in all of Rome?

And what on earth was God thinking when He called me here?

The reality of living in this city cannot be condensed into classes, language, delicious food, beautiful architecture, and the historical and tangible affirmation of our Faith, all neatly and benignly suspended about us. Rather, these elements, along with our passions, our insecurities, our talents, our friendships, our love for our families back home, and everything that makes us who we are, clash into one another at every moment with a celestial violence that leaves all of the pieces lying in ruins at our feet.

Yet, such is ultimately the destiny for all of us, whether we live in the Eternal City or the backwoods of West Virginia. It is not enough to simply acquire accurate knowledge and good habits; these alone, while giving us means by which to identify truth and to follow the motions laid out by it, simply do not have what it takes to lead us all the way to the very heart of the matter. True fulfillment of our humanity comes, rather, by surrendering ourselves to the reality that Redemption demands that we must first be devastatingly destroyed. It is not simply a purification of our poor habits and worldly attachments; it is an actual death to ourselves, our entire selves. The calling to take up the Cross is not only a call to suffer; it is a call to die, for it is only through death that we can become who we truly are. “Love, as mortals understand it, isn’t enough,” says C.S. Lewis. “Every natural love will rise again and live forever in this country; but none will rise again until it has been buried.”

But though, in the process of being rebuilt, we feel the pain of the nails being driven in, and our beams pulled apart, those of us who are called to be pilgrims in this city are surrounded by constant reminders that what we are being reconstructed into is a palace for our Father to live in. This is the special gift of being called to live in Rome, for here is the only city on earth where we fully witness the majesty of our faith in such a way as to not only give us courage to strive for Heaven, but more importantly, joy in the knowledge of what is waiting for us when we get there.

"Gethsemane"

let us not now wake the sleeping hours that with mountains into this valley break. let the faltering woods that crowd our souls from the One who sees through the ashes burn. until this child of ebony seeks a fallen grace, yet fallen but redeemed. I've left all things, but You are not here; forgotten by my foolish pride, yet stand You there, to weep.

I little something that I wrote many years ago . . .

The life of Job

One of the greatest snares to one's life is a false trust in Providence, in which we believe that He is taking care of us on the basis that things are going right and well in our lives. But actual trust must transcend this. The fact that things sometimes fall into place, it is true, is a testament of God's love, and His desire for us to be as happy as possible in this life, so long as that happiness poses no threat to eternal life. Yet, real trust in God must prevail when things go rather badly, maybe even rather terribly. Because the greatest happiness for which all events in life lead us to is beyond this world; if God takes away all semblance of earthly happiness, it is not because He doesn't desire our temporal happiness, but it is because there is some hindrance in our lives that is a detriment to an unimaginable eternal joy. This hindrance may come from us, or it may come from something completely out of our control.

God does not desire suffering on this earth that we may obtain happiness in the next. He allows suffering to help us see, but He does not desire to see us suffer, and would have us suffer as little as possible.

God does not redeem us through the evils of the world. He redeems us in spite of them.

Some recent thoughts on Christianity and the future of the Church . . .

It has been so long that I don't know where to begin, and have no particular direction at the start. Therefore, I must excuse my lack of direction and organization, as well as any generalizations that I may have made.

Life has moved me another small step in the direction of adulthood, increasing my awareness of the childishness of each step before this one, especially those steps that I, at the time, believed to be the most significant and wise in my life. The more I observe intellectualism and spirituality of the most "sophisticated" kinds, the more I realize what children we are, trying to imitate Heaven, not aware that our high exaltation's are an infant's babble, almost unintelligible to the angels. I have found that I have both improved and declined. As I let myself go in childish happiness, I find that I am wiser; but at the same time, I have grown too much, and have begun to descend back into spiritual incoherency.

Through my observations of both the Church and of myself, I have started to see -- although I'm very far from fully understanding -- just how corruptive it is to liturgy and tradition to dichotomize these historic elements from what it means to be a Christian. It is true that the Consecration takes place in the traditional rites regardless of the sentiments of those participating in the Mass, and that God, being present, provides infinite grace; however, when such tradition is clung to, to such an extent where those who partake in it are hypocritical, hateful, cruel and perverted, the efficaciousness of the Mass is affected.

God is infinite, and there is not a single person who participates in the Mass without sin. But the community is part of the Mass; many modern Catholics have misinterpreted this concept and turned the Mass into a get-together instead of the worship of God that it is intended to be. Nonetheless, community is implied in the celebration of the Mass. Do not, therefore, the hateful sentiments held by some in the traditionalist community have the capacity to taint the reception of grace even in the Holiest of celebrations and worship? It is not that such hypocrisy dampens the "feelings" of holiness; but such company, even in a liturgical celebration, has the power to dampen the ability to perceive and remember virtue.

Is it better, when one has a choice, to participate in a technically higher for of worship when you are entering into a community that loves tradition and hates Christ, while one can go to a simpler but equally valid mode of worship where the community may be simpler, but are seeking to love God? Some say that there is greater risk of sacrilege in the simpler liturgies; but is a perfectly celebrated traditional Mass free of sacrilege when its celebrated by people who are shamelessly open about their hypocrisy and perversion? And is this sacrilege better simply because it occurs in a traditional format?

The traditional liturgies are historical, beautiful, and should be maintained and participated in. But in all honesty, the world isn't capable of understanding it, because Catholics both liberal and ultra-conservative have forgotten that they are Christians. The problems began long before Vatican II -- the council would never have resulted in such abuse had the Church been so disconnected from Her roots that she was able to be torn to shreds so easily.

Therefore, before orthodoxy can return to the Church, She must first return to Christianity. The benefits of such a return have already been seen in England, through the Catholic Literary Revival and its followers. By returning to the Gospels, the Epistles, and the Fathers, prominent members of the Church of England found themselves in a conversion of both intellect and faith to the Catholic Church. Even C.S. Lewis, who never took the step to become Catholic, came closer to the truth of the Church than most Catholics will ever come; many converts attribute their conversion to Catholicism -- Catholicism, not merely Christianity -- to Lewis.

If returning to the Christian roots, simple common sense though they were in many ways, could lead to such a powerful revolution of intellect and faith in the minds and hearts of Anglicans, one can only imagine the possibilities if such a "revolution" were to occur within the Church Herself.

John Paul 2 High

"One start-up school. Seven mismatched kids. Catholic truth. . . . Craziness . . .

When their parents decide to start a new high school, George, Celia, Liz, J.P., Brian, and James are all thrown together, although they have almost nothing in common. George and Celia attended the local Catholic high school, Brian and James were homeschooled. Liz just wants to attend a school where she can play sports, and J.P. just wants to make trouble.
Then there's a shooting at the local public high school,and Allie Weaver joins the class . . ."

This is a great series for Catholic teenagers, and is important in the ever growing effort to promote good Catholic art to youth in our secular-driven world. The first book in this series, Catholic Reluctantly, has finally been published, and we are now asking for all the support that we can get to help us promote it so that we can keep going with this project.

The John Paul 2 High series, written by Christian M. Frank, deals with the everyday challenges of Catholic teens, following the main characters as they search for truth while trying to live a good life in the real world. The everyday trials and struggles of these average teenagers are presented in a way that is accessible, without being preachy. The story itself, moreover, is a solid blend of humor, intrigue, and real-life hardship and joy.

Catholic Reluctantly is available for purchase at www.amazon.com and www.sophiainstitute.com. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review telling other readers what you think! You can also find more information at the main website, http://johnpaul2high.com/, as well as their main blog at http://johnpaul2high.blogspot.com/.

"Signposts in a Strange Land"*

People break down into two groups when they experience something lucky. Group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I'm sure the people in Group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they're on their own. And that fills them with fear. Yeah, there are those people. But there's a whole lot of people in the Group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they're looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever's going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?

M. Night Shyamalan ~ Signs

Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

The Prince's Bride

Providence is at once our greatest reality as it is the greatest question mark that dictates the fragility of faith. There are rare moments when we catch a glimpse of the path that God has led us down, and we can see the incredible wisdom and precision with which every breath of our life has been assembled. Yet, these visions grow further apart with growing skepticism as we fall further and further into the realization of suffering, and the question of our vocation. Does God desire a child to die -- or worse -- as part of His Will? If the man (or woman) who is our perfect spouse chooses a life without us, was this because he or she was simply not the one who God intended for us to begin with, or does God's will "change" in such a way that we are redirected to God's second choice for us? If we do our best to follow God's will, how can we reconcile Providence in light of the actions of those who do not, when their choices seem to indelibly effect the course which our life takes? How do we reconcile the happiness of following our God-given vocation with the sins of those who seem to prevent our vocation from taking place? Does Providence move with the inconstancy of free will, or is it philosophically possible to believe that while we are fully free, the path that God has laid out before us is always and intimately protected?

There are two problems that we face in considering Providence. If God's will depends solely on human free will, we run the risk of becoming deists; God is there, but in the end we are on our own. At the same time, if God is in complete control, we run the risk of believing in the wrong kind of predestination. This harmony between Divine guidance and free will is a difficult concept to reconcile, yet as Catholics, this harmony is fundamental. How is this possible? How does it reconcile with vocation? And what about this problem of suffering?

In regards to our vocation, it is my belief that if we try to follow God's will as best we can, there is nothing that can affect our vocation, nor the ultimate joy that comes from finding it. Everyone desires true love, whether it is through another person, or through the religious life. This is not to say that vocation isn't painful. True love -- requited or not -- hurts tremendously because the suffering and imperfections of that other person become your own, except amplified by a million. But God does not give these transcendental desires to leave them unfulfilled, because He does not desire suffering, only allowing it when He must. Losing the "man of our dreams," therefore, or being prevented from entering a religious order, is not the tragedy that it may seem to be at the time. If God desired it, He would find a way to make it happen. And even if it is true that the "first" vocation was God's first choice, what does it matter in terms of our happiness? Original Sin was not God's first choice; yet His second choice was to dignify our humanity with the Incarnation, with a far greater dignity than we ever would've known had Eve just told the serpent to bugger off in the first place.

We are not redeemed by suffering per se, but by our ability to hope in spite of suffering. We are wholly free, yet wholly protected from everything that fallen nature can inflict upon us, so long as we resign ourselves to mercy. We choose, falter, stray, and cause one another to stumble. But Providence is far greater than our choices, and the sufferings and losses that we experience either by our own hands or by the hands of others. Our one and only power is our ability to choose, but our free will would have no power without His grace. We choose our vocation, and are even free to choose between two relatively equal goods; but our ultimate vocation remains protected.

"One Day Late" by Sam Philips

Refrain:
Help is coming
Help is coming one day late
One day late
After you’ve given up and all is gone
Help is coming one day late
Help is coming one day

Try to understand
You try to fix your broken hands
But remember
That there always has been good
Like stars you don’t see in the day sky
Wait ‘til night
For(refrain)

Life has kept me down
I’ve been growing underground
Now I’m coming up
When time opens the earth
You’ll see love has been moving all around us
Making waves
So (refrain)





*Walker Percy

In Defense of Art, Diversity, and Catholicism

Originally published October 11, 2006

Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace."

~Oscar Wilde

One of the more interesting arguments against Catholicism, from an artistic perspective, is that in living by a single truth, diversity is limited. But what about the alternative?

If you believe that there is no God, no objective truth, how is infinite diversity possible? Even the abyss of the universe is finite. And the answer isn't simply to do what hasn't been done. If art is simply pushing the limits and doing what no one else has done, you're being original without being creative. Art becomes limited to the created world, by the created world.

In the converse, when art is meant to more than entertain, when it reaches towards objective truth, towards God, it is appealing to something that is infinitely more vast than the created universe. God is infinite, and He Himself is an artist. When art moves toward God, there will necessarily be elements in it that would be impossible to achieve by appealing to nature alone. Even when agnostic artists achieve some level of supernatural beauty, it is through the grace of God, not nature. With God, the possibilities, to be cliché, are endless.

The Poetry of Truth

Here is a reposting of an article that I wrote a while back, for your enjoyment.

The difference between philosphy and poetry is that philosophy reveals and identifies, while poetry reveals the unidentifiable. This is why a good poet must be a philosopher, while a philosopher must not necessarily be a poet. Often, the more literalistic philosopher downplays the importance of poetry for the very reason that he cannot see the truth of poetry, because he cannot identify it. However, the purpose of all good art is to touch upon something that is far greater than human experience can acheive on this earth. Poetry acheives what philosophy aims for, which is truth. The only difference is that the truth acheived by poetry is so profound, it is inexpressible. This is a testament to the mysterious power of poetry, for the poet has the ironic talent of using words to express a truth for which there are no words.

Academy Awards in Retrospect

In honor of the Acadamy Awards, and in absense a conscious Muse, I'm going to reprint an old article on the topic. Enjoy!

Since I've been on my own, I've been happy enough to not have the temptation of cable, and consequently of flipping to the E! channel. When I do have access to it, however, I am somehow compelled to watch as who-knows-what-aged women with implants and hair extensions talk about who's hooking up with whom and who's shopping where (both on equal par). It is almost impossible to determine their ages, not only because of the complete facelifts and measurable thickness of make-up, but because the older they get, the more they speak with the crassness and immaturity of a very badly-behaved teenager.

Watching E! News Live, I feel like I am in highschool; they are the cool kids, the ones from the rich families, with the fancy scholarships, and with the best clothes in town . . . and we're the chess club, the ones with glasses, headgear, and matching sweatshirts. At least, that's what we're made to feel like. Our noses don't look like theirs; ours still have cartilage. That, in addition to the fact that we look, how should I put it, not like a silicon Barbie doll, puts us beneath their notice, and if we are graced with their notice, it is not for a flattering reason.

What a job these entertainment journalists have! They probably went to a top college, and had all sorts of fascinating opportunities for journalism, newscasting, etc. And what are they doing? Telling the world about where Paris Hilton was last seen, showing clips of actors and actresses running away from the camera, which actress was seen coming out of which actor's home in the wee hours of the morning, or what Lindsey Lohan is saying about her feelings on the Iraq war (what she doesn't realize is that one of the reasons the Muslims love us so much is because of people like her). What artistry to talk about who Biffy is boffing today, to quote the Gilmore Girls (I think I'll pretend I don't know what "boffing" means . . .). What a way to spend your God-given talent!

Is Hollywood really this idolized by the public? I know I could care less about what flavor lip gloss Jessica Simpson is wearing this Fall, but are there people who do care? If no one cares, why are these shows still on the air? It is a show about the personal lives of people I don't know, and probably never will know, and it gives us information that is incomplete and selectively politically correct when it is accurate at all. Why is Hollywood still appealing?

In the Golden Age of cinema, the actors and actresses, though not always perfect, maintained class. Even if their personal lives were falling to shambles, they at least made the effort to put up a front that demonstrated the importance of giving the example of maintaining dignity. For this reason, in part, Hollywood became our royalty. They had their faults (artists, after all, aren't exactly known for being the most emotionally well-adjusted), but one could still respect them.

George Clooney made an interesting statement at this past Academy Awards. He said that people say that Hollywood does not represent the rest of the country. He then referenced the Academy Awards of 1939 when the wonderful actress Hattie McDanial (in one of my personally favorite roles of all time) became the first African American to win the award for Gone With the Wind. He said that Hollywood did not represent the rest of the country then, and he was right. Her taking that award was truly a beautiful moment.

However, George Clooney is missing something. Yes, Hollywood once stood heroically against the evils of the world. But what Mr. (albeit very handsome) Clooney does not realize is that, if Hollywood does have the power to stand up against the world, it therefore has a greater responsibility to do so. Hollywood was admirable in 1939 in many ways; but it is not so now. In 1939 it still had the capacity to stand against the evils of the world because it upheld the belief that femininity, gentlemanliness, and ultimately dignity were essential to humanity (not to mention the fact that religion and morality were still considered respectable); it was this sense of human dignity that gave them the capacity to see the injustice of segregation. But where is the dignity now, in a culture that has no bounds, where exposure rather than talent is key to success, where few children born can say that their mother and father were married when they were conceived, or that their mother and father were ever married at all, where strength and bravery consist of how close to nakedness you can get on the red carpet without "technically" exposing yourself? Does not Mr. Clooney realize that the Hollywood now bears little resemblance to the Hollywood of 1939?I guess it just comes down to the fact that we should look to the Church for moral guidance and direction, the Church which has been solidly constant and consistent for 2000 years, and not to a culture of people who spend their lives pretending they are someone who they are not.

There is my rant for the week. Definitely a sign that I need to get out more. Ciao a tutti!

Our Lady from a Graveyard

A picture that I took from my travels, and then played with the resolution.

My break from the blog

To open with a cliche, I have been neglecting my blog. Obviously. Now, this is partially due to lack of time, largely through lack of inspiration, somewhat through my computer having inexplicable differences of opinion with blogger.com, and mostly through the realization that, while I am most inspired to write when I am stressed or under pressure, that's usually the last time I should write if I want to be seen as an even remotely reasonable person. I write fairly well when I am venting, a talent which would serve me very well if I was a liberal Bush-basher/Fox News hater/anti-organized religion/ editorial writer. However, since I find such writers rather perturbing, I have waited until the stresses in my life (normal stresses, but stresses all the same) have subsided somewhat.

And since I don't ever want to become one of those bloggers who honestly believe that someone will care that their latest epiphany about the true meaning of the universe comes from the geometric shape they found in a defective cheerio, I will stop talking about myself, and try to scrounge up something interesting to be opinionated about.

The Subtlies of European Culture

This is a sign that was posted on the side of a tourist bus in Paris.

Europeans aren't into being subtle, that's for sure.

What I've been up to . . .

For those of you who actually read my blog occasionally, here is my very specific reason for why I have not updated my blog for the past month.

This was our view from our small country house in Arezzo, where we stayed for about two weeks. It was about an hour by train from Florence, and was right in the centre of Tuscany (the Chianti region, specifically).

Bellano, Italy, is a small town along the coast of Lake Como, about an hour and a half away from Milano by train. This is the view I saw every day for almost a month.

It was quite lovely.

Remember the fallen

Let us especially remember the family of Cho Seung-Hui, and the families of all of those who were killed.


Eternal rest grant unto them, oh Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace, Amen.

"House" Redeemed?

I've been watching "House" off and on for the past three seasons since its Pilot, but only recently have I really started to pay attention to it. Although the writers often sashay dangerously to and over the edge of impropriety, they are most often just very candid, a quality I am personally attracted to. The unorthadox methods excercised by the title character, Dr. Gregory House, are often admirable in terms of the fact that he acts for the benefit of the patient, despite convention or legality, and also make for some fascinating and unexpected storylines.

One of the more interesting facets of the show, however, is the internal conflict raging within House himself. Ten years earlier, a procedure had been done against his will in which muscles from his thigh had been removed to put a stop to a life-threatening infection, a procedure which has left him crippled, bitter, and in constant pain. This pain, along with an already depressed, self-centered, and neurotic personality, has caused him to become addicted to the narcotic Vicadin. He is a self-proclaimed rationalist, although it is unclear whether or not he is simply harboring a hatred for whatever higher order has left him broken and a cripple. He is a pessimist, insisting that "everybody lies; the only variable is as to what." His experience with pain, both of himself and his patients, in conjunction with a vast knowledge of science, causes him to reject any higher order, with the basic philosophy that we must treat life the best we can, because the future is ultimately without dignity or hope.

Consequently, the undertone of existentialism of the show, and the fundemental atheism of the main character, makes the overall treatment of objective truth, religion, and morality well-intentioned at best, but almost always somewhat strained. I was still questioning whether or not the rationalism was something I could look past in good conscience until I read the transcript (I never actually watched it) for the episode "One Day, One Room," where House convinces a young Christian woman to have an abortion after a rape. She argues that abortion is murder, and that she finds comfort in believing that there will one day be retribution (her character obviously written by someone who's knowledge of Christianity begins and ends with Dan Brown). House answers her by saying that God either doesn't exist, or that He is unimaginably cruel; if He does exist and is good, he wouldn't expect her to keep her "rape baby." My heart sank. Such a brillient, educated, well-written show had lost its integrity by falling into the anti-religious and liberal propaganda cliche that drives almost all art in Hollywood these days.

Nonetheless, I was intrigued by the premise of a following episode (which aired last Tuesday), in which Dr. House tries to convince a patient to end her crisis pregnancy. Since in almost every show the conflict is resolved when everyone finally agrees with House, which would imply that the mother would eventually give in and act according House's professional opinion, the end seemed tragically predictable. I wasn't optimistic. But my curiosity got the better of me, so I watched it, expecting it to be the last time I ever sat down to this show (if you want to be suprised by the ending, don't read what follows).

The episode is aptly named "Fetal Position." A 39 year old woman falls ill because of a rare disorder where the mother's body mirrors the distress of her baby. Her baby had an oversized bladder and undersized lungs, and was dying; as a result of the mother's disorder, the baby's illness was causing the mother to die as well. The dilemma: remove the baby at 21 weeks before the child is viable, thereby killing the baby, or both the mother and baby would die. The writers cleverly chose one of the most difficult moral scenarios for pregnancy, almost on par with a fallopean pregnancy, to complicate the situation.

Throughout the entire episode, Dr. House insists that the baby is a thing, a parasite, and not yet a person. He recommends a D & C (shutter!), but the mother won't hear of it, despite his insistence. Luckily for the mother and baby, Dr. Cuddy, House's boss, is an older woman also desperately trying to get pregnant, and therefore does everything she can to save the baby. Her emotions seem to be getting the better of her judgement, and she is portrayed as irrational. Nonetheless, after a series of extremely dangerous tests and procedures, Cuddy finds a sollution that may possibly save the baby. House recommends fetal surgery, while still blatently mocking Cuddy for calling it a baby.

So they perform the surgery, as follows:




To recap in case YouTube pulls the video for copywrite infringement, in the middle of the surgery, the baby reaches up and grabs House's finger, and he is visibly taken aback. The surgery continues, and the child lives. Believably, House hides any change in his attitude from his collegues, and the extent of the change is questionable. Also believably, in his last conversation with the mother, he calls it a baby for the first time in the episode. The show ends with him back at his appartment, staring questioningly at his fingers.

Can this episode, where the humanity of an unborn fetus is visibly shown to the point to where a pro-choice doctor questions his own view on the subject, justify a previous episode where that same doctor convinced a woman to have an abortion? I don't know. Is the network simply trying to cover its own rear-end by offending both sides instead of taking one stand? More than likely someone in the FOX's publicity department has that in mind. But the main character has been permenantly changed -- although we don't yet know the extent of that change. In any event, this change is significant.

The important question is, could House again convince a woman that abortion is the best way out now that the question of the unborn child's humanity has been raised in his mind? From the perspective of character development, the answer to this question is fundemental to whether or not the writers of the show are using a previously pro-choice character as a catylist for an ultimately pro-life objective. If nothing else, it is raising the right questions. Everything hinges on where they take it from this point on.

I'm hopeful, but I'm not going to hold my breath. The overall ethical nature of the show is too far from perfect for me to trust that it will take such a violent turn towards conservatism. Be that as it may, the choice to show an unborn hand was a bold one, so I'll remain cautiously optimistic for the time being.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for us!

"Mary Poppins"

A kindly nanny with magical powers -- clearly not as innocent a concept as we all thought. Hide your children.