Plunging

Todos, todos…

So, Russell Brand announced this morning that he’s getting baptized this weekend.

Baptism. This Sunday I’m taking the plunge! How was it for you? pic.twitter.com/DnwcUrzoqa

— Russell Brand (@rustyrockets) April 26, 2024

(Add that to the oddness of say, Naomi Wolf interviewing folks from the Lepanto Institute and Bill Maher going off on genderwoo, and you’ve got …something in the air.)

I’m not interesting in critiquing another person’s faith, faith journey or gatekeeping or even “celebrating” in the way that some like to when a celebrity converts (to anything), but when a public person makes public statements in this way, it offers an opportunity to think about the issue at hand – in this case, baptism.

It doesn’t seem to me that Brand is getting baptized in a Catholic context – he speaks of it maybe happening in the River Thames (?) and also – and this will be my focus – speaks of it rather generically and individualistically – as a chance, essentially, to start over.

Which is a good thing!

(Although weird, maybe for Hallow, which decided recently to have him be a face for their app? Shrug. )

But not a complete understanding of Christian baptism, either. So it’s worth thinking about, not to hold up Brand’s decision or rationalization as flawed, but simply to have an opportunity to rethink, for ourselves, what baptism – and therefore, faith – is.

How do I think of my own faith and my own faith journey?

Of course my faith starts with me, the subject here, created by God, made for life with him, broken by sin, who can only be redeemed and restored by Christ.

But I’m not the only one here. My recognition of my need for Christ joins me to, yes, Christ, who in turn does not exist only for my benefit. Dying and rising with him in baptism has not just benefitted me personally, and set me on a fresh new path, but has joined me to Him, the Lord, the redeemer, joined me to all others who are in communion with him, who are a part of his Body, and calls me to keep journeying, to continue being transformed, hour by hour, day by day, into his likeness. (2 Corinthians 3:18)

So it seems to me that a public conversion is an opportunity to step back and reflect – not so much on the faith journey of another person, whose heart we cannot know – but on that of the only one we can even begin to know – our own.

Does a public convert seem to hold political or social views that conflict with mine, that don’t seem consistent with my understanding of the Faith? Well, what about me? Where are my own gaps, struggles and inconsistencies? Does a public convert articulate an understanding of faith that seems to fall short of what historical Christianity, even in its diversity, has proclaimed? Well, how deeply have I apprehended and am living out a deeper, more grounded understanding myself?

In other words: splinter, beam, etc.

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From someone a lot smarter than I am:

Therefore, being baptized means being united with God. In a single new existence we belong to God, we are immersed in God himself.

Thinking of this, we can immediately see a few consequences.

The first is that God is no longer very distant from us, he is not a reality to be discussed – whether he exists or not – but we are in God and God is in us. The priority, the centrality of God in our lives is a primary consequence of Baptism. To the question: “Does God exist?” the answer is: “He exists and he is with us; this closeness to God matters in our lives, this being in God himself, who is not a distant star, but is the environment of my life.” This would be the first consequence, and therefore would tell us that we ourselves must take into account this presence of God, really live in his presence.

A second consequence of what I have said is that we do not make ourselves Christians. Becoming Christian is not something that follows from a decision of mine: “Now I am making myself Christian.” Of course, my decision is also necessary, but above all it is an action of God with me: it is not I who make myself Christian, I am taken up by God, taken in hand by God and in this way, saying “yes” to this action of God, I become Christian.

Becoming Christian is, in a certain sense, “passive”: I do not make myself Christian, but God makes me a man of his, God takes me in hand and realizes my life in a new dimension. Just as I do not make myself live, but life is given to me; I was born not because I made myself man, but I was born because being human was given to me. So also being Christian is given to me, it is a “passive” for me that becomes an “active” in our, in my life. And this fact of the “passive,” of not making oneself Christian but of being made Christian by God, already somewhat implies the mystery of the cross: it is only by dying to my egoism, departing from myself, that I can be Christian.

A third element that is immediately opened in this perspective is that, naturally, being immersed in God I am united with all others, I am united with my brothers and sisters, because all the others are in God and if I am drawn out of my isolation, if I am immersed in God, I am immersed in communion with others.

Being baptized is never a solitary act of “me,” but is always necessarily a being united with all the others, a being in unity and solidarity with the whole body of Christ, with the whole community of his brothers and sisters. This fact that Baptism inserts me into community breaks my isolation. We must remain aware of this in our being Christian.

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Also:

The Cardinals’ Train

As the Eucharistic Pilgrimage and Congress approaches, some (aka me) will be inspired to look into the history of Eucharistic Congresses, especially those held in the United States, and especially the 1926 Congress in Chicago. If you want a brief introduction, this is a good one.

So, I was reading this article from the U.S. Catholic Historian – available at JSTOR (and remember al you have to do is register at the site and you can read it) – “Appealing to the “Movie Mind”: The 1926 International Eucharistic Congress and the Rise of Epic Film in America.”

It’s an exercise in correlating social and cultural phenomenon – the rise of the epic film with the way that the Eucharistic Congress was planned, reported and received. Nothing groundbreaking, but interesting.

Anyway, in the article, the author mentions “The Cardinals’ Train.” From another website:

Chicago Archbishop George William Mundelein was about to put his town, and the United States, on the map — at least with the Roman Catholic Church. It was a tremendous coup for the Chicago Archdiocese to be chosen to host the event, and over one million people attended from June 20-24, 1926.

These were the days before the Pope traveled internationally, and Papal Legate Cardinal Bonzano, the Pope’s personal representative, was to travel from Italy to Chicago to address the faithful.

Enter the Cardinal’s Train. To transport a trainload of clergy from Manhattan to the Chicago site, the New York Central Railroad and the Pullman Company teamed up to operate a special train along most of the route of New York Central’s 20th Century Limited from New York’s Grand Central Terminal to Chicago’s Park Row Station (a special detour onto the Illinois Central Railroad).

Seven Pullman cars were repainted in cardinal red and gold for the special train — pulled by a New York Central steam locomotive — that carried Cardinal Bonzano, Cardinal Hayes of New York, and seven visiting foreign cardinals (and their substantial entourages) to Chicago in almost exactly 24 hours, leaving New York City at 10 AM on Wednesday June 16, 1926.

More:

The special train left New York’s Grand Central Terminal in New York City at 10 AM and basically followed the route of the New York Central Railroad’s 20th Century Limited. The train was pulled by an electric locomotive to Harmon, NY where the change was made to a Pacific-type steam locomotive.

Sixty-six people were aboard, among them engineer John A. Hoyt, fireman W.P. Kelly and two Chicago Policemen — Hugh McCarthy and John Leddy. The Pullman conductor was James A. McNamara.

Luminaries on the train included Papal Legate Cardinal Bonzano from the Vatican, George William Mundelein the Archbishop of Chicago, Cardinal Patrick O’Donnell of Ireland, Cardinal Patrick Hayes of New York, Allessius Charost the Archbishop of Rennes, France, Henry Reig Y Casanova of Toledo, Spain, Louis Ernest DuBois the Archbishop of Paris, Michael Von Faulhaber the Archbishop of Munich, Gustave Frederick Piffl the Archbishop of Vienna and John Czernoch the Archbishop of Hungary.

The train stopped in Utica for 10 minutes where 10,000 people showed up. Then Syracuse where 25,000 people greeted the train. At Rochester (from 7:50 to 8:15PM) 30,000 people were reported. Arriving in Buffalo at 10:42 PM, 5,000 people were on hand. A change of locomotives was made (to another Pacific-type steam locomotive) and the train continued on.

Each car had a name, either after figures – Father Marquette, Pope Pius IX – or a place – St. Mary of the Lake (the location of the recently opened seminary, now called Mundelein, and a site of some Congress events)

A quick search failed to turn up any good photos of the train, but Lionel has released a model version – which can be yours for a little over 2k!

With its bright red and gold paint gleaming, this train is sure to attract attention and comments. The complete seven car consist is available including a four car set, add on cars and StationSounds diner. The locomotive features LEGACY and Bluetooth control along with all of the other great features found in the Pacifics shown on pp. The set will have a gloss finish to replicate the high polish of its one day in the sun.

What would be the equivalent today? Suggestions welcome. Be nice.

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From a previous post on some EC ’26 trivia:

I  came across these recordings of a 30,000 voice children’s choir singing the Kyrie and Sanctus from the Mass of the Angels at the 1926 Eucharistic Congress in Chicago.

Recordings at the link.

Thursday Random

Well, that was quick. Fr. Bot was forcibly laicized (although word is he has joined The Coalition of Canceled Priests) It was, indeed, a unifying moment for American Catholics, wasn’t it?

Seriously, though, the incident does give us the opportunity to think about the relationship of technology to faith and evangelization once again. Here are some old thoughts of mine.

Today’s the feast of St. Mark. Here are the traditional symbols for the evangelists from The Loyola Book of Catholic Signs and Symbols. BTW, the Loyola Kids books are on sale at 40% off from the Loyola site. If you’re going to order any, please consider ordering direct from the publisher – especially with this discount – or at the very least from a Catholic retailer, either online or brick and mortar.

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Speaking of brick and mortar – Discalced Carmelites in Australia are building their new convent using rammed earth methods – traditional, long-lasting, environmentally friendly and a method with which non-professionals can assist.

They have charged Sydney architect Michael Suttie, lead designer of the Benedict XVI Retreat Centre, with their vision for a beautiful and environmentally responsible build that will last for centuries.

When I called him up to ask him what was so good about building with rammed earth, he explained that the current building culture supports structures that will only hold up for a mere 30 to 100 years “if lucky” before they start to fail “catastrophically.”

“Our culture has an obsession since World War II times with every building utilising reinforced concrete, which while it is strong doesn’t have long-term durability,” he explained.

“Eventually they’re susceptive to concrete cancer, but by returning to traditional load-bearing masonry structures using traditional methods such as rammed earth you get buildings that we know can last hundreds or thousands of years.

“And really, if our society is going to be paying anything beyond lip service to environmental sustainability we need to be re-engaging with these traditional construction methodologies.”

Story found via Wrath of Gnon, one of my favorite X follows – an advocate for traditional design and construction.

Incidentally, the WPA, CCC and CWA worked together in the late 1930’s to construct a small model neighborhood of rammed earth houses north of Birmingham, in a community called Gardendale (or Mount Olive). The houses are still standing and Wrath of Gnon has a thread about them here.

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Speaking of nuns and X, I was pleased to see that my suggestion for the account “Nuns Holding Things” was accepted and has generated a lot of views!

Sister Hyacinthe, a Dominican Sister of St. Joseph at St. Dominic's Priory in Lymington England @DomSrStJoseph, holding a bound copy of her doctoral thesis. Photo from the Sisters' X/Twitter at https://t.co/NTE9tOPEqu and suggested by @amywelborn2. pic.twitter.com/N4IYUhQ81p

— Nuns Holding Things (@NunsHolding) April 23, 2024

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An AP photo essay on Holy Week processions in Quesada, Spain.

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Thanks to a longtime reader, news of an exhibit at the Cleveland Museum of Art:

Africa & Byzantium considers the complex artistic relationships between northern and eastern African Christian kingdoms and the Byzantine Empire from the fourth century CE and beyond. The first international loan exhibition to treat this subject, the show includes more than 160 works of secular and sacred art from across geographies and faiths, including large-scale frescoes, mosaics, and luxury goods such as metalwork, jewelry, panel paintings, architectural elements, textiles, and illuminated manuscripts.

Lent from collections in Africa, Europe, and North America, many works have never been exhibited in the US. Most were made by African artists or imported to the continent at the request of the powerful rulers of precolonial kingdoms and empires. The art and faith of these historical kingdoms—including Christianity, Judaism, and Islam—resonate with many worldwide today.

Related, and previously posted – Ethiopia at the Crossroads, currently in Massachusetts, but coming to Toledo this fall.

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I’m pleased to have an essay in this month’s edition of the webzine Dorothy Parker’s Ashes. The theme of the issue is “Wounds” and mine is called “Separation Anxiety.”

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My podcast partner, Villanova prof Chris Barnett, has another podcast on theology. Here’s the latest episode, which is a discussion of works by Simone Weil and Joseph Ratzinger.

And here’s his “Theological Playlist” on Spotify.

Fr. Bot Instructs Jackson

Well, anyone depressed about division within the Catholic world should have found hope yesterday in the almost universal and immediate horror that met Catholic Answer’s rollout of its new feature:

The ratio is fantastic and the responses/quotes are hilarious.

My take:

First off, this would be way more fun if CA had an “Choose your avatar” feature here. In fact I am waiting for the Catholic Digital Creatives to get on that right away.

It’s interesting that CA read the room so poorly, as this rollout received such immediate, widespread and boundary-breaking disdain. I’m always interested in social bubbles and boy, did we have one here.

It’s actually a heartening thing to see! Makes one optimistic about the Catholic future! We are not as divided as it appears!

Now: The use of a fictional Catholic priest to answer questions or provide apologetic material is not new. The most famous example is Father Smith Instructs Jackson – written by Our Sunday Visitor founder Archbishop Noll – a fictional dialogue between an inquirer and a priest.

There are others as well, in books, pamphlets and comic books. These, of course, are clearly fictional (although often written by clergy) and are in print and static, which is a completely different media and has a different effect, even subconsciously, than an avatar who has a name and is “responding” in a dynamic fashion to real-time inquiries.

I’m not saying that anyone is going to think Fr. Bot is “real” – but the blurring of boundaries is problematic. This morning, someone has posted on X a “dialogue” they had with the bot in which it responded to his doubts by assuring him, “I am a priest.”

Er, no.

I think the problem is even clearer if we consider what we’d think about a YouTube series, for example, featuring an actor playing a priest answering apologetics questions offered in real time by viewers. That would clearly strike us wrong.

But there might be a difference between that and a series featuring an animated Father Smith Instructs Jackson, right?

The issue, it seems to me – is in the dynamic element – that Fr. Bot is “answering” “your questions” in the present. We all know that when we enter queries into search engines or through AI elements what we receive is fallible and incomplete. We hope it’s as complete as possible, but we know – especially now – that what we receive is mediated and incomplete.

Anyone will know this is true of Fr. Bot as well, but the appearance of having these results conveyed involving the image of a “priest” with a name implies an authority that the answers just do not have.

Finally, this is not the “evangelization” anyone needs right now. We need more actual human beings, we need a call to find the answers to our questions in person, in community, IRL.

The Bomb

Over the past few days, there has been discussion on X/Twitter – and I suppose elsewhere – of the morality of the United States dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Not that this is a new discussion, but it rose again because of Tucker Carlson’s strong statement on Joe Rogan’s show that the act was immoral.

As I perused various arguments on That App, especially among Catholics, one person I didn’t see mentioned – and this rather surprised me – was Catholic philosopher and Oxford Don Elizabeth Anscombe.

Anscombe was a fascinating figure – Catholic convert, student of Wittgenstein, married, mother of seven and important figure in 20th century philosophy.

Gertrude Elizabeth Margaret Anscombe was one of the most important philosophers of the twentieth century. She worked on an unusually broad array of topics: the entire range of the history of philosophy (ancient, medieval, modern, recent), metaphysics, epistemology, philosophy of language, philosophy of mind/psychology, philosophy of action, moral philosophy, political philosophy, and the philosophy of religion. As a result, this entry will have to be very selective. Despite the fact that her work is often cryptic and difficult, it greatly influences philosophers working in action theory, moral philosophy, and the philosophy of mind. Like the work of her mentor Ludwig Wittgenstein, studying Anscombe’s work generates insight after study and struggle.

In the Catholic non-philosophical world, aside from her stance on the atomic bombing and aggression against non-combatants in general, she is most well known for her stance against contraception, articulated in a 1972 article called Contraception and Chastity.

In 1956, Oxford was due to award Harry Truman an honorary degree. Anscombe objected. The degree was awarded and Anscombe wrote up her objections in a pamphlet called Mr. Truman’s Degree. You can read the pamphlet here.

From an excellent brief introduction to Anscombe, published in 2019 in Commonweal.

“Indeed, in writing her pamphlet “Mr. Truman’s Degree,” Anscombe saw that many of her Oxford colleagues were prepared to accept a conclusion that she and Daniel had presented as a reductio ad absurdum. These philosophers endorsed a doctrine that Anscombe came to call consequentialism, according to which there are no kinds of action—such as murder, rape, torture, and adultery, for example—that any person is prohibited from doing regardless of the situation he or she is in. According to this doctrine it can be right to “attack any one anywhere,” as long as the balance of the consequences speaks strongly enough in favor of it. Faced with a group that found this conclusion acceptable, Anscombe needed to try a different tack.”

If you are interested in her life, I highly recommend this episode of the BBC Radio’s In Our Time – which give due attention to her conversion story, as well as ably explicating the basics of her philosophy, although I fear for some of us – aka me – even the ablest explanations are for naught.

St. George – April 23

Those who had been scattered by the persecution
that arose because of Stephen
went as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch,
preaching the word to no one but Jews.
There were some Cypriots and Cyrenians among them, however,
who came to Antioch and began to speak to the Greeks as well,
proclaiming the Lord Jesus.
The hand of the Lord was with them
and a great number who believed turned to the Lord. (Acts 11:19-21)

Both this first reading from Mass today and today’s memorial of St. George jostle our consciences with reminders of the role of courage in the Christian life – its source and why it is always needed. In other words – there’s always resistance to the Good News, from within and without.

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Today is the commemoration of St. George.

St. George is in the Loyola Kids Book of Saints.  In the first part of the chapter I try to strike the balance between what we think we know about George and the legendary material. But I also always try to respect the legendary material as an expression of a truth – here, the courage required to follow Christ. He’s in the section, “Saints are people who are brave.”

Here’s a bit more on context of this feast from The New Liturgical Movement:

The Byzantine Rite has no such reservations about St George, as is often the case with some of the best loved legends and traditions about the Saints. He is honored with the titles “Great Martyr”, meaning one who suffered many and various torments during his martyrdom, and “Bearer of the Standard of Victory”; in the preparation rite of the Divine Liturgy, he is named in the company of martyrs second only to St Stephen. His feast always occurs in Eastertide, unless it be impeded by Holy Week or Easter week; one of the texts for Vespers of his feast refers to this in a very clever way.

Thou didst suffer along with the Savior, and having willingly imitated His death by death (thanato ton thanaton … mimesamenos), o glorious one, thou reignest with Him, clothed in bright splendor, adorned with thy blood, decorated with the scepter of thy prizes, outstanding with the crown of victory, for endless ages, o Great-Martyr George.

The phrase “having willingly imitated His death by death” makes an obvious reference to words of the well-known Paschal troparion, “Christ is risen from the dead, by death he conquered death (thanato ton thanaton … patesas), and gave life to those in the tomb.”

St. George from Daniel Mitsui

He shall reign

Last Friday night, I attended a marvelous performance of Handel’s Messiah at the local Episcopal cathedral.

The performance featured the Cathedral Choir, professional soloists from out of town and the North Carolina Baroque Orchestra.

I will freely confess that this is the first complete performance of this work I’ve ever attended. The reason, I think, is that performances of the piece almost always occur in the weeks before Christmas, and you know…that’s a busy time of year. Especially when you have kids in school and then your own musician in the family. But I have always wanted – and hopefully will someday – attend a Messiah singalong concert most of all. This wasn’t that, of course, but someday.

The only element of the performance that I wasn’t a fan of was the use of a countertenor rather than a (female) contralto or mezzo-soprano. Countertenors kind of skeeve me out anyway, but that’s nothing to be proud of, I suppose. I mean, he sang beautifully, but I would have preferred hearing a more full-throated contralto, for example.

I had assumed that the choice was made because this was supposed to be a performance that evoked something of the original vibe – (although a mixed-sex chorus would violate that) – but no. According to this article, Handel wrote these solos for female and male voices, and men were rarely used for that mezzo/contralto voice.

(Also interesting for the explanation of the difference between a countertenor and castrati voice and vocal physiology.)

Anyway.

Not having ever listened to the whole piece from beginning to end, I was struck, most of all, by the context of the Hallelujah chorus.

(And yes, per tradition, the audience stood.)

Here’s the libretto.

The section begins with verses reflective of the Suffering Servant and the Man of Sorrows. These are followed by a number of verses highlighting the corruption of earthly powers and God’s power over them:

Air (Bass) Why do the nations so furiously rage together, and why do the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth rise up, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord, and against His Anointed. (Psalms 2 : 1-2)

Chorus Let us break their bonds asunder, and cast away their yokes from us. (Psalms 2 : 3)

Recitative (Tenor) He that dwelleth in heaven shall laugh them to scorn; the Lord shall have them in derision. (Psalms 2 : 4)

Air (Tenor) Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel. (Psalms 2 : 9)

And THEN ….Hallelujah!

Chorus
Hallelujah! for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
(Revelation 19 : 6)
The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ; and He shall reign for ever and ever.
(Revelation 11 : 15)
King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.
(Revelation 19 : 16)
Hallelujah!

Followed, in the final section, by praise for the Risen Lord.

Let me add that during the performance of those God-will-strike-the-mighty-down verses, thunder began to roll and lightening flash. By the time we got to the Hallelujah chorus, the storm was pounding, the thunder audible even through the stone walls, and the lightening illuminating the large crucifixion in stained-glass on the right.

I knew that the Hallelujah chorus came at the end of the crucifixion section of the piece, but had no idea that it centers our experience of the crucifixion as the manifestation of God’s victory over earthly powers, including those ultimate earthly powers of sin and death, but all other would-be usurpers to divine power as well. It’s fierce and strong and stirring – especially with that extra soundtrack thundering above and illuminating the paradoxical way of divine victory – through love.

St. Anselm – April 21

Today is the memorial of St. Anselm, medieval philosopher and theologian.

I will always, always remember St. Anselm because he was the first Christian philosopher/theologian I encountered in a serious way.

As a Catholic high school student in the 70’s, of course we met no such personages – only the likes of Jonathan Livingston Seagull and Man of La Mancha.

Anyway, upon entering the University of Tennessee, I claimed a major of Honors History and a minor of religious studies. (Instapundit’s dad, Dr. Charles Reynolds, was one of my professors). One of the classes was in medieval church history, and yup, we plunged into Anselm, and I was introduced to thinking about the one of whom no greater can be thought, although more of the focus was on his atonement theory.

So Anselm and his tight logic always makes me sit up and take notice. From B16’s General Audience talk on him:

A monk with an intense spiritual life, an excellent teacher of the young, a theologian with an extraordinary capacity for speculation, a wise man of governance and an intransigent defender of libertas Ecclesiae, of the Church’s freedom, Anselm is one of the eminent figures of the Middle Ages who was able to harmonize all these qualities, thanks to the profound mystical experience that always guided his thought and his action.

St Anselm was born in 1033 (or at the beginning of 1034) in Aosta, the first child of a noble family. His father was a coarse man dedicated to the pleasures of life who squandered his possessions. On the other hand, Anselm’s mother was a profoundly religious woman of high moral standing (cf. Eadmer, Vita Sancti Anselmi, PL 159, col. 49). It was she, his mother, who saw to the first human and religious formation of her son whom she subsequently entrusted to the Benedictines at a priory in Aosta. Anselm, who since childhood as his biographer recounts imagined that the good Lord dwelled among the towering, snow-capped peaks of the Alps, dreamed one night that he had been invited to this splendid kingdom by God himself, who had a long and affable conversation with him and then gave him to eat “a very white bread roll” (ibid., col. 51). This dream left him with the conviction that he was called to carry out a lofty mission.

At the age of 15, he asked to be admitted to the Benedictine Order but his father brought the full force of his authority to bear against him and did not even give way when his son, seriously ill and feeling close to death, begged for the religious habit as a supreme comfort.

After his recovery and the premature death of his mother, Anselm went through a period of moral dissipation. He neglected his studies and, consumed by earthly passions, grew deaf to God’s call. He left home and began to wander through France in search of new experiences. Three years later, having arrived in Normandy, he went to the Benedictine Abbey of Bec, attracted by the fame of Lanfranc of Pavia, the Prior. For him this was a providential meeting, crucial to the rest of his life. Under Lanfranc’s guidance Anselm energetically resumed his studies and it was not long before he became not only the favourite pupil but also the teacher’s confidante. His monastic vocation was rekindled and, after an attentive evaluation, at the age of 27 he entered the monastic order and was ordained a priest. Ascesis and study unfolded new horizons before him, enabling him to rediscover at a far higher level the same familiarity with God which he had had as a child.

When Lanfranc became Abbot of Caen in 1063, Anselm, after barely three years of monastic life, was named Prior of the Monastery of Bec and teacher of the cloister school, showing his gifts as a refined educator. He was not keen on authoritarian methods; he compared young people to small plants that develop better if they are not enclosed in greenhouses and granted them a “healthy” freedom. He was very demanding with himself and with others in monastic observance, but rather than imposing his discipline he strove to have it followed by persuasion. 

Upon the death of Abbot Herluin, the founder of the Abbey of Bec, Anselm was unanimously elected to succeed him; it was February 1079. In the meantime numerous monks had been summoned to Canterbury to bring to their brethren on the other side of the Channel the renewal that was being brought about on the continent. Their work was so well received that Lanfranc of Pavia, Abbot of Caen, became the new Archbishop of Canterbury. He asked Anselm to spend a certain period with him in order to instruct the monks and to help him in the difficult plight in which his ecclesiastical community had been left after the Norman conquest. Anselm’s stay turned out to be very fruitful; he won such popularity and esteem that when Lanfranc died he was chosen to succeed him in the archiepiscopal See of Canterbury. He received his solemn episcopal consecration in December 1093.

Anselm immediately became involved in a strenuous struggle for the Church’s freedom, valiantly supporting the independence of the spiritual power from the temporal. Anselm defended the Church from undue interference by political authorities, especially King William Rufus and Henry I, finding encouragement and support in the Roman Pontiff to whom he always showed courageous and cordial adherence. In 1103, this fidelity even cost him the bitterness of exile from his See of Canterbury. Moreover, it was only in 1106, when King Henry I renounced his right to the conferral of ecclesiastical offices, as well as to the collection of taxes and the confiscation of Church properties, that Anselm could return to England, where he was festively welcomed by the clergy and the people. Thus the long battle he had fought with the weapons of perseverance, pride and goodness ended happily. This holy Archbishop, who roused such deep admiration around him wherever he went, dedicated the last years of his life to the moral formation of the clergy and to intellectual research into theological topics. He died on 21 April 1109, accompanied by the words of the Gospel proclaimed in Holy Mass on that day: “You are those who have continued with me in my trials; as my Father appointed a kingdom for me, so do I appoint for you that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom…” (Lk 22: 28-30). So it was that the dream of the mysterious banquet he had had as a small boy, at the very beginning of his spiritual journey, found fulfilment. Jesus, who had invited him to sit at his table, welcomed Anselm upon his death into the eternal Kingdom of the Father.

“I pray, O God, to know you, to love you, that I may rejoice in you. And if I cannot attain to full joy in this life may I at least advance from day to day, until that joy shall come to the full” (Proslogion, chapter 14). This prayer enables us to understand the mystical soul of this great Saint of the Middle Ages, the founder of scholastic theology, to whom Christian tradition has given the title: “Magnificent Doctor”, because he fostered an intense desire to deepen his knowledge of the divine Mysteries but in the full awareness that the quest for God is never ending, at least on this earth. The clarity and logical rigour of his thought always aimed at “raising the mind to contemplation of God” (ibid., Proemium). He states clearly that whoever intends to study theology cannot rely on his intelligence alone but must cultivate at the same time a profound experience of faith. The theologian’s activity, according to St Anselm, thus develops in three stages: faith, a gift God freely offers, to be received with humility; experience,which consists in incarnating God’s word in one’s own daily life; and therefore true knowledge, which is never the fruit of ascetic reasoning but rather of contemplative intuition. In this regard his famous words remain more useful than ever, even today, for healthy theological research and for anyone who wishes to deepen his knowledge of the truths of faith: “I do not endeavour, O Lord, to penetrate your sublimity, for in no wise do I compare my understanding with that; but I long to understand in some degree your truth, which my heart believes and loves. For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this also I believe, that unless I believed, I should not understand” (ibid., 1).

Dear brothers and sisters, may the love of the truth and the constant thirst for God that marked St Anselm’s entire existence be an incentive to every Christian to seek tirelessly an ever more intimate union with Christ, the Way, the Truth and the Life. In addition, may the zeal full of courage that distinguished his pastoral action and occasionally brought him misunderstanding, sorrow and even exile be an encouragement for Pastors, for consecrated people and for all the faithful to love Christ’s Church, to pray, to work and to suffer for her, without ever abandoning or betraying her. May the Virgin Mother of God, for whom St Anselm had a tender, filial devotion, obtain this grace for us. “Mary, it is you whom my heart yearns to love”, St Anselm wrote, “it is you whom my tongue ardently desires to praise”

And from a letter to the Church in Aosta, on the occasion of the 900th anniversary of his birth there:

To Anselm “a boy who grew up in the mountains” as his biographer Eadmer describes him (Eadmer, Vita Sancti Anselmi, I, 2) it seemed impossible to imagine anything greater than God: gazing since childhood at those inaccessible peaks may have had something to do with this intuition. Indeed, already as a child he considered that to meet God it was necessary “to climb to the top of the mountain” (ibid.). Indeed, he was to understand better and better that God is found at an inaccessible height, situated beyond the goals that man can reach since God is beyond the thinkable. For this reason the journey in quest of God, at least on this earth, will be never-ending but will always consist of thought and yearning, a rigorous process of the mind and the imploring plea of the heart.

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Good Shepherd Sunday

This coming Sunday is “Good Shepherd Sunday,” and what many of us might not realize, as we hear homilies about 1st century sheep herders and Old Testament imagery, is that Jesus’ words about being a shepherd in today’s Gospel are part of a larger narrative.

Jesus alludes to sheep and shepherds in other contexts throughout the Gospels, but it’s important to realize that today’s passage, from John 10, doesn’t just exist as a collection of quotable sayings that Jesus is standing around tossing out. It’s actually the second part of another event – the healing of the man born blind, described in John 9. Go back and read it for yourself!

Jesus’ words about being a shepherd to whom the sheep respond and who gathers and protects, rather than abandons his sheep, is, in fact, not a general illustration, but a continuation of his attack on the Pharisees who had excommunicated the man born blind. This is a case in which the useful, but of course not original division of Scripture into chapters can actually hamper our understanding.

When I wrote about Jesus as the Good Shepherd in the the Loyola Kids Book of Bible Stories, I focused on this passage and placed it in this context.  I took a slightly different angle, though – appropriate to the audience of children, of course – and focused on listening to the voice of Jesus who cares for us and rescues us – and being able to recognize that voice in the midst of all the other voices that call to us.

The excerpts below are just the first and last pages of the section – the first so you can see how they are introduced, and the last, so you can see how each chapter ends – with a tie-back into Catholic-specific stuff and then questions for review and reflection.

Then, the first page of the entry on “Shepherd” from The Loyola Kids Book of Signs and Symbols. Remember how the book is organized – this first page has a basic explanation, and then the facing page has a more in-depth exploration of the symbol.

There is great depth and richness in the imagery of sheep and shepherd, not reducible to simplistic allusions to gentleness and lambs, as appealing as that may be. It has profound historical resonance in relation to Israel and its kings. It is about intimacy and recognition and protection, for, if you think about it, the rod and staff of Psalm 23 are not decorative. They are for support, they are for warding off enemies.

The critique of contemporary shepherds implicit in all of the Scripture readings is directed at their weakness and failure to protect the sheep.

Finally, the chapter on the Second Sunday of Easter (which was traditionally Good Shepherd Sunday until You-Know-What) from the 1947 7th grade textbook which I often share with you. 

The Book of Clarence

Yes, yes, it’s Movie Week, apparently.

I had wanted to see this when it came out in the theaters, but never got around to it. So wait for the library it was. We watched it last night and well, it fulfilled my expectations, which, based on reviews I’d read, not high. But hey, you guys can spill all the ink and the bytes on The Chosen, now it’s my turn.

So? Well, good intentions, decent execution, surprising conclusion but overall disappointing and nowhere near as sharp as it could have been.

I will confess to you at the very beginning though, that one of the main reasons I wanted to see this is that it was filmed in Matera, Italy – as was The Passion of the Christ, Pasolini’s Gospel According to Saint Matthew and yes, the opening scene of No Time to Die.

Matera, where I spent a couple of days last year and is wonderful. You should go! I should go back! We should go!

The concept of the movie is: set in Biblical times, with a predominantly Black cast (the Romans and some of the enslaved people shown are white) – Clarence is the disciple Thomas’ twin (get it?) and a scoundrel. He owes a bad guy a bunch of money and possibly his life as well, so, seeing how his brother’s master, Jesus, is pulling in the crowds, he cooks up a scheme to do some preaching, fake some miracles and proclaim himself a messiah. Being a vociferous non-believer in God in any form, this is, at first, a conscience-free choice.

But events snowball and Clarence is eventually arrested by the Romans because, of course, he’s going around saying he’s a messiah. And a fellow named Barabbas is part of his crew, so that doesn’t help.

Throughout the last part of the film, Clarence’s conscience has started kicking into gear, he’s beginning to sense what the real Jesus is all about, and by the end, through his own sacrifice and suffering, yes, he’s become a believer.

At the time of its release, I read some comments on Reddit from viewers deeply annoyed at this – what is actually a kind of moving and faith-embracing turn.

But still?

I’d give it a 5/10. Maybe even 4.5.

First, the script is disjointed and not exactly subtle. There are weird, unnecessary touches of magical realism – like a hookah bar where people are actually floating around. Dumb. I like the basic story, but it’s just not smoothly told and has stupid moments.

Secondly, the faith stuff is not completely off, but it is also pretty far from “on.”  There’s no real sense of why people are believing in Jesus, no indication of what he’s actually teaching, why these disciples have come on board, what anyone means when they talk about a “messiah” or “savior.”

There are allusions to Gospel incidents and appearances by Gospel figures, but it’s all mixed up and not in a way that indicates anyone was trying to create some smart kind of pastiche. Mary Magdalene first appears as a tough gal racing a chariot (against Clarence) – which was fine, but then she’s the woman caught in adultery, so what?

In fact that whole incident from John 8 reflects what’s wrong with the movie. Mary (so that’s strike one) is chained to a wall, in the process of being stoned, when Jesus shows up, holds up his hand – and the stones freeze in mid-air, fall to the ground, Jesus breaks Mary’s chain without touching it and then utters the “first stone” words. Magic, in other words. Miracles are like magic.

It’s just dumb and shows what was missing:  Clarence, in his quest to be taken as a messiah, fixates on the miracles and fakes them – his redemption would have been more grounded and effective if we’d seen and heard Jesus doing and saying, well, actual Jesus things that prompt self-reflection and recognition of what Jesus offers that the world – and our flawed, sinful selves – cannot.

I did appreciate the scene with Alfre Woodard as Mary, Jesus’ mother, in which she vigorously and humorously defends the virginal conception of her son to the skeptical Clarence who’s sought her out to learn how Jesus does his “tricks.”

But OH OF COURSE – in an earlier scene, an apostle scorns Clarence (who’s shown up trying for a spot as the 13^th apostle) – because you don’t even believe in the Immaculate Conception. 

PEOPLE! GET IT RIGHT! JUST LOOK IT UP ON WIKIPEDIA!

I will say, though, that the last fifteen minutes almost redeem the stupidity and flaws in the rest of the movie. Clarence’s way of the cross is harsh and painful and what happens afterwards has been earned.  Ironically, the suffering he had sought to avoid has taught him that love, and more importantly, God is absolutely real. He’d begun the film proclaiming that he didn’t need belief because he had knowledge, you can’t “know” that God exists, knowledge is certainly superior to belief, ergo, God doesn’t exist. By the time he’s on the cross he’s challenged about God’s existence. Does he believe? No, he responds now – he knows.

Simplistic, yes. But the post-crucifixion business? It got some skeptics who were just there for laughs big mad, so maybe that simplicity served some purpose.

Final takeaway? Mildly entertaining, weak construction and writing, pointlessly absurd at points, an attempt at satire that would actually have been strengthened by more fidelity to the Gospel narratives, but with a surprisingly moving ending.