Monday, October 29, 2012


 


 


 


The Obama War on the Catholic Church


 

There is much criticism on the contemporary and chic upper west side condos of Manhattan ( and elsewhere) about the pathetic intellectual level of Catholics of the by gone fifties and sixties. Jokes are made, with the appropriate snicker, about Novenas, holy water and Nuns. It is observed that the mentality in those days was plebian, superficial and medieval. Kids were fed all kinds of garbage by ignorant priests and old Irish grandmothers who led them by their intellectually dwarfed noses to be told what to think and for whom to vote. This is all recounted, of course, by hip people who grandly announce, at the right conversational pauses, that they are "liberated" or recovering Catholics. Sometimes, to show how truly liberated and free thinking they are, they might very proudly proclaim that they were once altar boys. Which means, I suppose, that they were on the "inside" and really knew the "scoop."

I have been present at some of these outpourings and have observed the consequent "pick 'n choose" positions of these Pundits who in point of fact are the ignorant ones and who in turn make obvious why politicians so easily seduce them away from what we used to call " the faithful Catholics." That is, in the era so distortedly presented by such analyses as outlined above, people were actually schooled in their faith and had some pre-articulate sense of the meaning thereof. The easy criticisms, often accompanied by the needed Martini or other prop, are so largely untrue and easily demolished. Yet, sadly, poorly catechized Catholics, even those possibly well educated otherwise, are vulnerable to the secular influence so deeply embedded in modern society.


 


 


 

To mention the fair approach of consulting authentic sources like the "Catechism", is to surface wide eyed astonishment or empty stares. In effect, using the blunt language of the streets, they don't know what they are talking about. They have left the Faith they didn't really know.

Such a back ground so briefly outlined might explain, to some extent, the unbelievable statistic indicating that a surprisingly large number of Catholics voted for Obama in the 2008 election. Since justice and charity prohibit any judgmental stance on the strange conclusions of well educated Catholics relative to their support of a candidate clearly unfriendly to Catholic causes, I must leave that resolution to the "inexplicable." It would appear that they, though naïve and well intentioned, should know better. However, God alone is the real judge of anyone's decision.

But for the greater number of "free thinking" Catholics, seduction of the uninformed mind leads many to vote for someone ideologically opposed to their Faith. One more than subtle signal was Obama's insistence that specifically Catholic ( and indeed Christian) symbols must be covered while he delivered his presentation at an alleged Catholic University. Another (truly outrageous) instance was the Notre Dame incident. Despite the Local Bishop's legitimate protest the University administration fawningly invited Obama to give the Commencement address and crown him with an honorary Doctorate. In effect, the speaker invited the Catholic Church to join him in his position on abortion (which includes even botched abortions) How does one reach a "common ground" on killing unborn babies? How hypnotized can people get? Even the President of the University who invited the speaker, later confessed that he felt he had been
misled. A partial explanation rises from the need of some approval
seeking Catholics to appear Hip and "with it." To be socially acceptable level for some people is apparently the "summum bonum..


However, as Obama grew more confident (translate as arrogant) he apparently believed, on the advice of "enlightened" Catholics of the Biden and Sibelius type, that Catholics, in general, are passive and will simply roll over and take whatever he says as modern Gospel- -- - not be questioned. Catholics are peaceful and do not demonstrate or protest. So-called practicing Catholics are used to being told what to do. Further, he was informed by the sophisticated Catholics of his circle, that modern Catholics think for themselves and do not swallow the whole Catholic package. So handling the American Catholic bloc is not really a challenge. Some "progressive" Catholic theologian can be dug up to manufacture a useable spin to make it all look just dandy.

Vice President Biden, one of Obama's advisors in gathering the Catholic vote claims to be a practicing Catholic. Yet he is complicit with Obama's public abortion stance. Biden wishes, he says, not to force his convictions on others but refuses to surface his alleged belief in Catholicism. Nor does he seem to understand that there is intrinsic evil in killing pre-born babies. He does not seem to engage on any kind of public suasion for his Faith which he piously claims defines his life!

His debate with Paul Ryan interestingly illustrates the point. He unbelievably claimed that the Catholic Bishops of America agreed with the position of his administration relative to abortion and related matters. The very next day the Bishops published an explicit denial to what he said.

No one of this administration fairly acknowledges the Catholic position that even one intrinsically evil component of a moral position (such as abortion) makes it impossible for a practicing Catholic to accept. Obama, however, mandated that henceforth all Catholic institutions such as hospitals, schools, orphanages, adoption agencies will pay the insurance costs to cover abortifacients, sterilization, contraceptives and eventually abortion of their employees. Failure to do so will result in huge fines, in effect, shutting all such operations down. He graciously gave the Church one year to find a way to "adapt" to his wishes. For those of us old enough to remember the collectivist Fascistic mentalities of the forties and thirties of the last century, the present day trend is more than disturbing. In effect, Obama seriously threatens our freedom to practice our Faith as guaranteed by the First Amendment. He will grandly give us freedom of worship, but not freedom of religion. A distinction which is gigantic! Is it that he misunderstands that the granting of rights comes, not from government ( him) but from God, the Creator, a fact of Americana fairly easily found in the Declaration of Independence?

William Donahoe in his publication "The Catalyst" notes that in May of 2012 the United States Council of Catholic Bishops made a serious complaint through their lawyers, notably P. Picarello Jr, and Michael Moses thusly. "We believe that this mandate is unjust and unlawful. It is bad health care policy and because it entails an element of government coercion against conscience it creates a religious freedom problem." One central objection was the "unprecedented" attempt to re-define religious employer entities that hire and serve mostly those of their own religion. This would nullify religious exemption traditionally offered to Catholic schools hospitals, colleges and humanitarian institutions.

Some contemporary Catholics are beginning to see the truth of the Obama bias against the Catholic Church. The percentage of the Catholics who said the administration is unfriendly to religion ( read: Catholic) has jumped in the past 3 years from 15% to 25%/ Among white Catholics the per cent who say that the administration is "unfriendly" has gone from l7% TO 31%. Obama's administration recently denied funding to a Catholic agency for women and children simply because it is pro life (Catalyst May 2012). K. Sibelius has been at war with the Church for decades. She was appointed to Obama's cabinet, Connection ? Obama tried to get a big post for a woman who was the ACLU point person trying to strip the Church of tax exemption status. Obama hosted a forum of the biggest Catholic bashers when he welcomed the Secular Coalition which in 2010 opposed school choice for indigent parents for a Catholic school while supporting funding for "choice" to abort babies.


 

The term "social Justice" is a sacred and serious one for Catholics. However, Obama uses it in a manner which has little to do with Catholic doctrine. When a Catholic says he will fight vigorously for Social justice, he speaks in the vein of our Tradition so clearly taught by Pope Leo Xlll in his encyclical "Rerum Novarum".
Obviously, people use the same term but with totally different meanings. When the Pope used the term "social justice" he spoke specifically of subsidiarity which requires government not intervene in matters that can be taken care of or resolved by families or communities. Only when these families or communities cannot or will not fulfill their rights and duties in regard to its members can government intervene. Government should be at the service of the family not vice versa. Inappropriate intervention by government should not do what smaller communities for families can do for themselves. Such intervention can destroy the virtues that build a productive society where virtue can be taught and practiced most successfully.

Similarly, our sense of social justice involves participation wherein each of us is allowed to participate in building up society. When government takes this opportunity away, it is no longer social justice. Likewise solidarity requires us personally to help others of the community when they cannot help themselves. Government should not interfere unless absolutely necessary. Further, Catholics, as articulated by Leo Xlll, believe in the right of private property. When one labors to cultivate land and make it fruitful, he should be allowed to possess that into which he has so heavily invested himself. For government to take this away from him is tantamount to stealing. Subsequent Popes like Pope Pius Xl and Pope John Paul ll have developed these ideas more extensively.


 

I believe that Barry Barak Hussein Obama ultimately supports social and political positions inherently opposed to Catholic thought, belief and practice. and he knows it! I heard only yesterday (10/27/12) that Cardinal George of Chicago recently stated, as appears in First Things, on line, that while he can expect to die in bed, his successor might well die in prison and his successor might well be executed for the Faith. Exaggeration or not, there is something which is realistically frightening in this speculation.

But I suspect many Catholics do not even know Obama's plan to gag and corral us in our desire to carry out our God-based charities in our nation.

At the same times, there are many Catholic groups which are intelligent and brave and which take a public stance so clearly required by Jesus. For example the Sisters of Life, a religious order of nuns given to an heroic community charity, issued this statement:

" This mandate is an offensive and dangerous infringement upon the natural and Constitutional rights of American citizens. The only just solution to this infringement of rights is to rescind the HHS rule. We call upon members of Cong-gress and the Executive Branch to reverse this decision as soon as possible, and we invite our fellow citizens to join us in prayer and fasting that our Nation may be protected from this great threat against liberty."

Would that American Catholics in general had the insight and courage and generosity of these Sisters. This President has not united us. He has harassed us and as the title of this little reflection indicates, he subtly is making war on our Catholic Faith.

It has been said that Catholics would give Jews a good run for their money when it come to which group has more of self hating types. Which is worse self hate or ignorance? One is psychological, the other inadequacy. In either case real healing of harm already done could begin by recognizing who is hurting us. Stand or fall, the buck stops with the guy on top. I'll bet you can guess for whom I will vote, God willing.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

I Love My King But I Love God More!


 


 


 


 

I Love my King But I love my God More!

(or why Government domination of religion is unacceptable)

It is alleged that when St. Thomas More, once the Chancellor of England, was being led to the gallows to be beheaded, he said those powerful words quoted in the title. He was being punished, in effect, for refusing to renounce his Roman Catholic Religion as required by his King. He believed that by following his conscience and disobeying his worldly Master, he avoided eternal damnation and received the eternal happiness of Heaven promised by Jesus to those who would acknowledge the Father in heaven "before men." Chillingly, Jesus also highlighted the price one would pay for refusing to publicly acknowledge Him.

Inherent in More's choice is the recognition that true Conscience does not create truth but discovers it. The word "conscience" derives from two Latin words—cum meaning with and scientia meaning knowledge. Conscience means
"with Knowledge".

Many of his contemporaries, including his own family, believed that he could and should somehow bend his conscience sufficiently to allow him to escape the penalty of death. They argued that others followed their personal "conscience" and bent to the King's wishes with full approval from God. In effect, they argued, Truth is relative. It simply depends, they said, upon how one sees things. Even were that so, Thomas would have been bound to do what he did. any other stance would have put him in the role of hypocrite. However, it is more than a question of hypocrisy. It involves the whole foundation of human morality.

The present Pontiff, Benedict XVI, has consistently held that a fundamental error in human thinking is Moral Relativism. While his observation of the widespread modern reality of relativism is true, certainly, it is nothing new in human history. We have always had those who rationalized evil into good in order to escape difficulties or gain some desired object. And often under the guise of "conscience." (The Catholic Church has always held to the supremacy of properly formed conscience not of any kind of conscience.)

But, likewise, there have always been martyrs whose consciences put them in uncomfortable places because of their belief in unchanging truth. For example, Thomas a Becket got into difficulty, in 1164, with his King for conscience reasons similar to More's. In T.S. Eliot's play Murder in the Cathedral there is a line (p.74) which portrays the underlying theme. "…… I give my life to the Law of God above the law of man…." A Catholic Archbishop is murdered because he will not bend to the attacks of a political leader who demands that the Church accept a view contrary to Church belief. There are numerous historical precedents showing that people die for perennial truths in the face of relativism. They obviously believed that even great pressures from powerful sources cannot change reality.

The Pope, as Cardinal Ratzinger, wrote in 1991 that "…..Morality of conscience and morality of authority, as two opposing models, appear to be locked in struggle with each other…" (10th Bishops' Workshop of Nat'l Bioethics Center.) Catholics and many other fellow Americans presently are "locked" in a struggle for human conscience, specifically religious liberty, with the present Federal administration. The manifest sore of the conflict centers around the Administration's insistence that all health insurance programs provide for abortion inducing medication, sterilization and contraception. As clamoring as these subjects are for attention, more deeply and strongly screaming is the question of basic freedom. Specifically, Religious freedom but not merely the right to worship only within the walls of the church, synagogue or mosque, but freedom of religious thought, expression and viewpoint in every public square.

Cardinal Dolan, speaking for the Bishops of the United States noted: "Never before has the Federal government forced individuals and organizations to go out into the marketplace and buy products that violate their consciences. This should not happen in a land where free exercise of religion ranks first in the Bill of Rights." It is interesting to note that the important expression is free exercise of religion not of worship which inexorably confines the practice of religion to the physical strictures of buildings. archbishop Chaput of Philadelphia described this mandate as "coercive and deeply troubling in its implications for the rights of conscience."

Of course, there then arises the thorny question: What is a rightly formed conscience? How does one decide which is which? Is there any authority with the power and insight to be the "Ultimate" Voice? Doesn't everyone have the right to form his own conscience? To follow his own star?

If the role of conscience is to discover the good and the true, how would one square the "conscience" of the Nazi Doctor in the camps who experimented on human beings for the sake of what he called "good"? Can one question the legitimacy of the Nuremberg trials, in light of some modern notions of Conscience? If those on trial testified they did what they thought was right in following orders, how could the modern condemn them since they were following their own star? If one holds that there is some kind of human consensus about rights and life, does this not place the world on a shaky basis? Hitler, Stalin, and others in history have worked from a consensus. Remember the consensus of the French Revolution with its unspeakable barbarisms? Perhaps, It is my Jewish genes again but I quake at consensus since Dachau is not far behind.

In the early 20th century people said "It's simply not possible It couldn't be. We wouldn't kill millions of babies by making abortion legal. Impossible. Men marry men. Impossible Women marry women. Impossible. Kill people simply because they are Jewish. Impossible. Government enslaving millions of people. Impossible. Governments crushing religious freedom. Impossible. Government telling citizens what is right and wrong. Just couldn't be possible."

It is all possible if conscience is decided by consensus. If there is not some kind of fixed absolute norm apart from any government or viewpoint there is potential for disaster. Unless conscience is entwined with human nature itself, everything is relative and flexible capable of becoming whatever consensus decides. Who or what decides how far is too far? This is not evolution or growth. This is denial with potential for chaos. The complexity is clear when even a Supreme Court Justice suggests, relative to the Constitution, that "it means what we say it means." This would seem to me to imply that the Constitution's meaning could possibly change with the advent of any new panel of Justices who have a different view. An absolute and objective truth might be a factor more utilitarian than utilitarianism.

Is there some kind of absolute which exists beyond government and convenience? I sensed a direction to the answer in Jeremiah 31,33 where the Lord declares: "I will place My law within them and write it upon their hearts." Some great human thinkers seem to me to follow this point. Thomas Aquinas, for example, in his Disputed Questions on Truth writes that the judgment of conscience is made by considering an action in the light of the principles of the Natural Law placed in our souls by God Himself. So it is the duty of good people to search for this Truth already within them. Congenial to this insight is the conclusion that a rightly formed conscience must be respected. Conscience is the voice of God and the echo of God's law within us. Catholics believe that the clarification of this "Natural" law is through the Catholic Church's Magisterium whereby God Himself teaches the full Truth. This is based on Jesus Himself Who founded His own Church for precisely this purpose. (Matt, 16,18) with His own backing of the Church's Leadership.


 

Bl. John Henry Cardinal Newman wrote that "conscience is a connecting principle between the creature and his Creator." And this is why the Obama administration is so clearly wrong when it offers to those who oppose it, in the MHS mandate, the opportunity to "adapt" their consciences to the new rule. Catholic Tradition and teaching insist that the judgments of conscience are to be preserved, nurtured and respected

In the end it comes down to the requirement of Jesus to give to Caesar what is Caesar's but give to God what is God's. It may require that the Catholic Church in America be forced to exit the good works of hospitals and schools and clinics and orphanages and old age homes. This is tragic and unnecessary. Millions will suffer for this but it is brought on by the invasion of religious rights so preciously guaranteed not only by our Declaration of Independence and of our founding Fathers but by the very nature of being human. Our right to follow our conscience comes from God not from any ruling group or smiling oppressor. Apocryphal or not, a ruling principle of integrity is that earlier attributed to St. Thomas More:

" I love my God and am his loyal servant but God's more."


 

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

SHOULD KIDS BE TAUGHT A RELIGION WHEN THEY ARE VERY YOUNG? Originally posted 1999


     Let us examine the explications of raising the children which with NO specific religion but that our children be raised in a kind of religious vacuum. The obvious if naive hope would be that we would generate a whole new group of young people, full of compassion and love and that there would be no longer bigotry or prejudice. We would all live in harmony and life would be beautiful.  
 
     It is a king of spinoff from the beautiful and poetic fantasy of the American naturalist--the one who says that we should leave it ALL to Nature who or which would allow us to develop with a lovely wholeness undiscovered by the religions of history. Sounds nice but is totally unrealistic from the point of view of an traditional Catholic like me. This is simply because I (and millions like me ) believe in a WOUNDED HUMAN NATURE which is always hurt and inclined toward evil even in the pristine air of the mountain top. So put me in the forest. Give me just a lin cloth. Let me develop naturally and you will see--not a noble savage--but a ruthless, self centered human monster. Alas, human nature has discovered this somewhat brutal reality whether in Freud or the kibbutz or in the protected walls of the nunnery.  
 
     We NEED laws or strictures or boundaries or commandments to socialize us. This is why religion on an institutional level has always been considered a must for a stable society. So, my advice is (take heed you simpletons out there), give your kids SOME religion. Give them something clear and definite. Give them something to hang onto. There is no such thing as a completely reliant person or the completely independant peron. We ALL need structure of belief and virtue. Teach them about God and His love and mercy. If in adulthood they wish to rebel, they can, at least, rebel against something The "vacuum" type person is sadly without a force to rebel against. There is the unhappy atheist who can't even than God when he feels grateful. Give your kid something to believe when he inevitably encounters the big smashing difficulties of human experience. Have a heart, for Pete's sake or for you kid's sake but more precisely for God's sake. 


 Editor's note Looking back on this, I must say it sounds pretty good but where did I get all that stuff?
January 8, 1999

A Man Called Chud (Originally posted in 2001)


A Man Called Chud (Originally posted in 2001)


                                                 
 I visited him in the Carmelite Nursing Home, the acme of compassion, care and respect for the priesthood. He was sitting in a wheelchair, decked out in a Roman collar, hiccupping, and looking very frightened. There was an empty look in his eyes. He spoke no word but hunched in his chair almost as if he expected some kind of blow.
 He was my classmate. We were ordained together over 50 years ago when we were full of enthusiasm and hope and laughter. He had been orphaned early in life when he and his brothers were "farmed out" to different families which took them in for rearing and healing. Their name had been Skomro and my classmate was called Karol like his look alike, John Paul II. But under the weird thinking of the 1940's he was ordered to change his name to White. No longer could he glory in the gorgeous Slavic tradition of bearing the beautiful Eastern European nomenclature. He had to try to "pass" as some kind of hybrid Wasp or "Standard American." But Karol or Charlie or Chud (as his close friends called him) obediently accepted what seemed (to most of us) an irrational artifice.
 He had difficulty with studies in the seminary but like another "marginal" student called John Vianney, Chud had some utterly remarkable qualities. Everyone could see that we had an extraordinary candidate here. He wouldn't write fancy books or give illustrious lectures or be elected to leadership posts in his community. Everyone sensed by a kind of pre-rational radar that Chud would be a "dandy" of a priest.
 Everywhere he went- Clemson, Los Angeles, New York, Boston - he was a sensation. Was it that captivating eternal smile he had? Was it his gentle understanding? His unconditional acceptance of everyone he met ? His ferocious loyalty to what and whom he admired? Was it his generosity? His willingness to drive any of us to the airport or Philadelphia or North Caorlina? Nothing seemed too demanding for him. If you want his help, you've got it. Was it his profound need to be accepted? To be a part of a family he never really had?
One thing was obvious. He profoundly loved being a priest. This identified his self concept above all. If he were asked which held priority in his life, priesthood or community, he needed only a millesecond to respond. He really felt the he---Karol, Charles, Chud--was, in fact, the Alter Christus. When he was clearly "losing it" he insisted on saying Mass in the chapel each day. It mattered not whether there were attendees there. He believed that he was offering the Perfect Sacrifice before the very court of Heaven. A sound Theologic base recomended by John Paul II.
 Alone at Mass? Not at all. He was surrounded, he believed, by angels and saints and the Mother of God and Jesus Himself. He told me --before he lapsed into his present quasi vegetative state---that he was able to say Mass every day during that trying time.
 His devotion to Christ in the Eucharist was patent. He would sit in the front pew and simply gaze at the tabernacle for long periods of time. As his disease progressed, he slept before his Master and seemed comforted by the Blessed Sacrament.
 A simple, humble and holy man was this man Chud. If there was any single trait that drove his confreres to distraction, it was his need to talk at great length----just so we would understand what he was trying to say. The common wisdom was that Chud always had a good introduction to his presentations (even in one on one conversations),a reasonable body of thought---but--man--he never had a conclusion.
 But his goodness and brotherhood more than overrode such a tendency. He was just a loveable and holy child of God. What I saw in the nursing home was some kind of shell. It looked like Chud. But it wasn't truly Chud. The Lord knows what He is doing obviously. We accept the basic proposition of Life's intrinsic value--even in such a depressing and incomprehensible situation as this. Perhaps, Chud is simply doing his mission in another form. But let us forget the hot shot big talk. This is the bottom line of life. May we all be blessed under God by Chud's simple, direct awareness of the Lord. Would that we could share some of his holiness. It was a privilege and honor to have known him.
                                                

 I visited him in the Carmelite Nursing Home, the acme of compassion, care and respect for the priesthood. He was sitting in a wheelchair, decked out in a Roman collar, hiccupping, and looking very frightened. There was an empty look in his eyes. He spoke no word but hunched in his chair almost as if he expected some kind of blow.
 He was my classmate. We were ordained together over 50 years ago when we were full of enthusiasm and hope and laughter. He had been orphaned early in life when he and his brothers were "farmed out" to different families which took them in for rearing and healing. Their name had been Skomro and my classmate was called Karol like his look alike, John Paul II. But under the weird thinking of the 1940's he was ordered to change his name to White. No longer could he glory in the gorgeous Slavic tradition of bearing the beautiful Eastern European nomenclature. He had to try to "pass" as some kind of hybrid Wasp or "Standard American." But Karol or Charlie or Chud (as his close friends called him) obediently accepted what seemed (to most of us) an irrational artifice.
 He had difficulty with studies in the seminary but like another "marginal" student called John Vianney, Chud had some utterly remarkable qualities. Everyone could see that we had an extraordinary candidate here. He wouldn't write fancy books or give illustrious lectures or be elected to leadership posts in his community. Everyone sensed by a kind of pre-rational radar that Chud would be a "dandy" of a priest.
 Everywhere he went- Clemson, Los Angeles, New York, Boston - he was a sensation. Was it that captivating eternal smile he had? Was it his gentle understanding? His unconditional acceptance of everyone he met ? His ferocious loyalty to what and whom he admired? Was it his generosity? His willingness to drive any of us to the airport or Philadelphia or North Caorlina? Nothing seemed too demanding for him. If you want his help, you've got it. Was it his profound need to be accepted? To be a part of a family he never really had?
One thing was obvious. He profoundly loved being a priest. This identified his self concept above all. If he were asked which held priority in his life, priesthood or community, he needed only a millesecond to respond. He really felt the he---Karol, Charles, Chud--was, in fact, the Alter Christus. When he was clearly "losing it" he insisted on saying Mass in the chapel each day. It mattered not whether there were attendees there. He believed that he was offering the Perfect Sacrifice before the very court of Heaven. A sound Theologic base recomended by John Paul II.
 Alone at Mass? Not at all. He was surrounded, he believed, by angels and saints and the Mother of God and Jesus Himself. He told me --before he lapsed into his present quasi vegetative state---that he was able to say Mass every day during that trying time.
 His devotion to Christ in the Eucharist was patent. He would sit in the front pew and simply gaze at the tabernacle for long periods of time. As his disease progressed, he slept before his Master and seemed comforted by the Blessed Sacrament.
 A simple, humble and holy man was this man Chud. If there was any single trait that drove his confreres to distraction, it was his need to talk at great length----just so we would understand what he was trying to say. The common wisdom was that Chud always had a good introduction to his presentations (even in one on one conversations),a reasonable body of thought---but--man--he never had a conclusion.
 But his goodness and brotherhood more than overrode such a tendency. He was just a loveable and holy child of God. What I saw in the nursing home was some kind of shell. It looked like Chud. But it wasn't truly Chud. The Lord knows what He is doing obviously. We accept the basic proposition of Life's intrinsic value--even in such a depressing and incomprehensible situation as this. Perhaps, Chud is simply doing his mission in another form. But let us forget the hot shot big talk. This is the bottom line of life. May we all be blessed under God by Chud's simple, direct awareness of the Lord. Would that we could share some of his holiness. It was a privilege and honor to have known him.

The Movie "Chocolat" Originally posted in 2000

                                                
                                
                       On Seeing the Movie “Chocolat.”

Is the mission of the Great Media society to move the masses away from their “superstitions and bigotries” to the bright and clear New Age where everyone loves one another without the restrictions of the God-thing   and traditional values?  Rarely have I been so struck by such blatant misuse of the powerful medium of modern film as I was yesterday (2/17/01) on seeing the movie   “Chocolat.”


A beautiful unmarried woman arrives in a quiet village with her daughter driven by some kind of mystical and poetic “ North wind” which speaks to her about her mission to travel around the world and  “Save” people from themselves and their chains of  “faith.” She is presented as sweet and loving and tolerant but who blatantly and calmly announces to the villagers that she does not worship as they do. She proceeds to “free” them  (read: seduce) through chocolates which are subtly laced with a narcotic mixture she brought with her from central    America where she herself was born illegitimately from a French father and a free loving Indian mother.

She is presented as normal and balanced while everyone else is rigid, fearful, Unloving and hypocritical. The Count of the village who tries to keep alive the traditions of the Faith and country, is presented as a priggish, phony and dominating tyrant whose own wife (who never appears in the film but is referred to occasionally) has left him and his loveless way of life.  A young mother, grieving for her dead husband, tries to raise her son in an upright and traditional manner but is presented as stiff, bigoted and straightjacketed. Her son is depicted as repressed by mother, certainly   unhappy and a loner. Of course, our Missionary woman saves him through chocolate and loving acceptance. She even has him reconcile to his grandmother who, herself, has been an outcast from society because she dared to reject the faith and Catholic tradition.
Our missionary lady alone shows compassion and by chocolates and love brings this old lady to a peaceful and integrated end of her life. She rescues a poor beaten wife from her lout of a husband who just snores away in a rocking chair and who expects his wife to prepare his meals and be available when, in a drunken stupor, he wants sex. He beats her brutally but our brave missionary takes her into the chocolate shop and in an incredibly short time transforms this near psychotic woman into a charming, intelligent and productive human being.

The parish priest is presented as a total wimp, utterly dominated by the Count and who wanders through the film wide eyed, apparently mystified by the whole panorama of life so much so that he forgets to give absolution to penitents and almost terrified, loudly slams the confessional panel after giving mechanical penances. The confessional sequences are presented   in such a way that the practice is shown to be a farce.

The brave new woman coaches a shy older man to pursue his interest in an older woman and lo and behold again she is successful. She is now transforming the village from a world of darkness into the beautiful clarity of the  “ new age.”
An Irish drifter on a ragtag boat enters the village life via a nearby river. He, too, rebels against society strumming the inevitable guitar. He is presented as balanced and charming—and while nicely stating his non-faith in tradition, articulates the beauty of “ freedom.”  He and our lady friend, of course, sack out   in a loving and interpersonal fashion as all good New Agers should do—without any restriction of “ morality” or faith. And of course, he is IRISH representing the best New Gaels, now free of the shackles and guilts of the  “Older generation.”

But the nasty old Count has someone burn the boat in awful Nazi like style and again—see how the faith people act—how intolerant they are—how repressed they are—how really unhappy they are--- oh—how good it is have the New Light driven by the North wind !  Even the count himself, after a Lent of abstinence breaks into the chocolate shop   and binges on the sweets until he falls asleep as if in a drunken stupor. Our noble New age redeemer finds him, smiles understandingly, forgives him and promises to tell no one.

Her victory is complete, because it is EASTER SUNDAY. She throws a huge party right in front of the church to celebrate the pagan feast of spring. The mounds of chocolate which a grateful townspeople has helped her prepare during the night become the basis of  joy and happiness and freedom and light. We even have a Druid-like priestess dancing around the “Maypole” with flowing white gossamer veils. The Count is incredibly and quickly cleaned up from his binge and he smiles at his Redemptrix who sweetly encourages him. The wimpy priest is there  (not in the church, of course) drinking a little glass of wine while he sports his soutane in support  of the New Faith. Meanwhile the North wind tells her to STAY here and Don’t Move!   How happy that makes everyone!

The picture mocks the supernatural, the Christian faith, any faith. It smacks of devil worship as the lady becomes God. It has a slight message of lesbianism. It is a totally pagan presentation using valid concepts like tolerance, freedom, dignity and love and divorcing them from religion as we know it.  It dares to make such a presentation because, in fact, this is where many people are at!—There was enough   support for this distortion  that it received  nominations for awards from the Academy.  The acting is, of course, top level. The producers have the money to hire capable people for a goal----to de-Christianize society. Nothing is forbidden. Do what you want. There is no God. No after life. No morality.  Just be nice and smile and give people narcotic laced candies and all will be well. Let us live in LaLa land. But don’t tell me the truth.   God be with us when such powerful crypto-pagans rule the media. Rudy Guilani looks better to me every day.

Doesn't Everyone Have an Irish Grandmother?

                                   Doesn’t Everyone Have an Irish Grandmother?



When I was about five years old I thought that everyone in the whole world must have at least one Irish Grandmother. While I knew that somewhere in the world I had a Russian-Jewish Grandmother whom I was not allowed to see (because of my Christian Baptismal status), my childhood perception allowed only for the Irish woman I called “Gramma”.

I knew that she cooked seven days a week for us, that she shopped for food in the neighborhood “grocery store”, that she made everybody’s bed, that she spent hours bent over the washboard ( the antecedent of the washing machine), that she hung  the clothes and bed sheets  on the “line”  in the tenement backyard, that she cleaned the “apartment” each day and generally took care of the seven of us under her care. Two of us were children and the other five were out trying to make enough money to support us.  We were huddled together emotionally against the outside world which we intuited as hostile and unfriendly.

Gramma, who was paid no salary, would (it was apparently understood) be our de facto servant. It was as if this was totally accepted and understood by the whole group. Looking back over sixty years ago, I can only now really appreciate something of this unusual woman. She didn’t want money or approbation. She wanted only the opportunity to show her love for all of us. I cringe as I remember my superficiality. Perhaps it was part of being immature and inexperienced simply to expect that the meals would be there on time and that I would have a clean handkerchief as I set off for my First grade classroom.

Her name was Mary Gallagher  McArdle. She was from the strange world across the Hudson called Jersey City where she was strictly raised by her Irish Mother and Father (who had served his adopted country in the Civil War). She would often tell us of her fun loving brother (whom Gramma’s children  called “Uncle Tom). His reputation for heavy drinking and chasing girls was apparently legendary. With just a hint of invitation, he would entertain anyone with his personable renditions of  “I was walking through the park  one day in the merry, merry month of May” and “I’m a dude, a dandy dude….” or any song  from his large and sometimes raunchy repertoire. But since his easy going nature made It difficult for him to keep a job, he was usually unemployed.  Gramma, with her usual loving care style, would “put him up” until one day he dropped on the street and went to his Maker Whom he might eternally amuse with his singing and joking and livening up the celestial Party!

The 15 year old Mary Gallagher presumably bored with the limitations of Jersey City and, looking for some kind of action and excitement (might we say “boys”?) would take the Ferry across the river to what we now call the Big Apple. Being a very pretty Irish lass with a quick quip and outgoing personality, she attracted the attention of a tall, handsome young Irish bartender, who wore a vest and  a pocket watch with a gold fob!!!  Did they meet in a bar? Why not! After all, she was Irish, too - -  a  beer or two never hurt anyone, right?

He was Edward McArdle from a tiny village called  Dromcondrath in County Louth and was very ambitious. He later acquired TWO saloons (or what we currently call gin mills).Besides, he wore a derby,  a kind of  sign of affluence.  Although he was about ten years her senior, the Great Love Bug bit them both. So they were married and began what looked like a Paradisiacal Phase. The now Mrs. Mary  McArdle  loved kids and babies and appropriately good sex with her husband  - - - so - -  they had ten children. Edward brought some of his family from Ireland to share his good fortune and happiness - -  and of course Mary, his little wife, was totally agreeable. There now was laughter and love and very good times. Grampa was even able to offer a free Lunch with every five cent glass of beer. It was a jolly time.
                                                                                  
But life was not without heartaches. Her first pair of twins died shortly after birth. Her 12 year old  son, Matty,  fell down the saloon stair case and broke his neck. Since Medical skills were not what they are today the boy died shortly thereafter. After 20 years of relatively happy married living, in March of 1906, Edward fell ill with pneumonia and with the unbelievably poor treatment then available, he died, within ten days in the flat above the saloon on 52nd and Tenth avenue in  New York.


Mary (Gramma) was told that due to her husband’s debts the saloon had to be sold leaving her totally penniless. She with her seven surviving children was “dispossessed” from her apartment. That meant that they literally were thrown out on the street. There was no Social Security or Widow’s pension. No one helped except her Church which found her some kind of primitive housing for her brood.

Something called  “ The Gerry Society” offered to take her kids and put them in what sounded like orphanages, a fate that was whispered around as worse than death. This gallant, little woman instantly refused the offer, preferring to keep her children with her believing with her staunch Faith that they would “make it somehow.” And indeed they did!

Gramma told me that she had to scrub floors for a dollar a day and  to scrounge  even to survive in the cellar-like digs  they inhabited. The children who were old enough all went out to make a few pennies for the common “pot.” None was able to finish even high school except Margaret who gained a Master’s degree from Columbia University with 13 credits towards her Ph.D. All the others went to “woik.” They entered the various worlds of photography, Automobile repair, domestic service, education, theatre, postal service

While modern De-constructionists wax poetic about the philosophical need to be tolerant, Gramma wove the tapestry of real tolerance. All her children married contrary to her ethnic instincts, save one. Her in-laws were generally NOT of her Irish preference but were German, Italian, Pennsylvania Dutch, Jewish, and even English. She loved and accepted them all, nurturing them, kidding with them, sharing what little of this world’s wealth she personally possessed. 



Her sense of humor was gigantic but her ability to characterize people with a phrase would send us all into  laughter spasms in seconds.  There was a verbally abusive  young woman who was instantly named “Mouthy” by Gramma. And the young lawyer with the huge head and little boy’s body became  “The head on a stick” and Mrs. Brennan with a huge posterior and a forward tilt became “ Here’s me head, me arse is comin’.” And the woman upstairs who was afflicted with excessive activity of the articulatory organs  became “ Babblin’ Bess.”


                                                      
                                                                                                                        
 When her fortunes improved through the combined contributions of the now grown kids, she wanted to grow flowers in   the pots around her back yard.  Since our street  was used by horse drawn carts and carriages, there was a plentiful supply of the valuable substance so helpful for plant health. So, one day, Gramma in a very loud voice commanded one of her very favorite grandsons, named “Chick,” to scoop up a large supply of the droppings and bring them to her for the beloved plants. In spite of Chick’s pleadings, she demanded he obey her - -  which he did, not only interrupting a  stickball ball in progress, but a  at the same time suffering the jeers and guffaws of the  insensitive West Side kids.  Gramma was a strong woman who knew clearly what she wanted.


Clearly, her strong spiritual “spine” was her Catholic Faith. Though totally unaware of past Christological heresies and Biblical subttleties of the Synoptic Gospels, she was “in touch” with God. She knew all about the Eucharist by pre-articulate Faith. She knew the power of the Rosary which she “did” everyday. She knew all about the effectiveness of Holy Water which was in a little font at the door leading outside and which we all piously used going “out” into the world.


She took me with her to Evening Devotions in the Paulist Church where my eight year old mind was awed by the Great Golden Monstrance   showing forth the Eucharistic Presence of the Lord and the flickering candles and the pungent smell of incense and the exciting stories told about the saints who faced lions in the Arena and whose bodies were pierced by Roman arrows or were tortured for the Faith by evil Kings. The huge Organ pounded out mystical and rousing hymns about Jesus and the Blessed Mother and St. Patrick and the many inhabitants of Heaven. I was impressed and moved and loved it. We all wore scapulars,   tiny, cotton squares hung around our necks by little strings, and which were brown or blue or red, depending on which personal devotion we preferred. We all had little holy cards with saints looking dreamily up to heaven. Of course, it was de rigueur to have a Rosary and the lucky ones wore Miraculous Medals around our necks on a silver chain. Gramma approved all this - - -  so therefore we all  so acted.

How much she influenced me to consider entering the priesthood myself  is known only to God. I do remember her palpable glow when she would invite the local Paulists to dinner in our cramped little apartment on 61st street  - - - - and what presentations she would offer their Reverences!  These were the most overwhelming of repasts.   She would say, a little defensively,  “Nothing is too good for God’s priests.” I remember her telling me about my Grandfather’s framing and hanging over his bar one dollar bill that the local priest had given him for “services.” (Maybe a draft of good Irish beer!!!!)  I remember, too, her cherished friendship with the brusque but manly Fr. Peter Moran who stood six feet four inches, had a deep voice and a huge shock of sparkling white hair. He would sit in her kitchen sensuously drinking Gramma’s strong, strong coffee as he complained, very colorfully, about the deficiencies of the Rectory’s  “Protestant” coffee. I would respectfully meet the great man at the door and escort him to Gramma. Then, they would talk for hours, he, the master theologian and she who mastered only the complexities of the Third grade.

While her coffee was exceptional, she had a secret concoction called Beef tea”
 reputedly the cure for  pneumonia, warts, arthritis, anxiety  and belly aches. Priests, family and friends were dosed with it whenever she deemed it necessary. Once, however, in one of the very few times she gave in to what we might call understandable “self pity”, she got “bombed” and was singing away in her darkened bedroom. She called me in which she rarely did and proceeded to give me a lecture about life. With some ROTC training in my background, I had registered for the Draft in World War II.  So, Gramma was terrified that I would go to war and be killed like a  neighborhood  kid she knew who was killed in World War I.   Florid as the proverbial Lord she grabbed me by the hair I then had and said: “Jimmy, be the father of a fine family OR go into the Seminary.”  There could be NO in-beween status. No single life. No gender ambiguity. Be a Priest or parent. And the message had the note of urgency to it!  “Make up your mind” she seemed to saying to me:“Get to it.”

Since my parents, as vaudevillians, were “on the road” most of the year, Gramma, in fact, raised me. I became so attached to her that when I was about 6  years old, I made a deal with God that He should take five years off my life and add them on to hers so that she could be with us that much longer. How the Lord figured that one out is beyond me since I am now 83!  However, Gramma’s influence on my life - - even my approach to life - - - -  was apparently enormous. Even when I was a teenager, she nudged me to “righteousness”. At 15, I was preening what I considered to be an attractive head of red hair, and was admiring myself in the hallway mirror with typical adolescent narcissism. Gramma came by and quickly sizing  up the situation “ zinged” me  with her quick barb: “You stink.” Ever since I have been very cautious about the Imperfection called vanity. Of course I have no longer any temptation to preen my hair since my head  today looks like a peeled egg. Applied to other dynamics of my spiritual life her barb has been an ominous and strict conscience (or to my therapeutic minded colleagues, a powerful super-ego). Gramma’s approval of all of us was essential for happiness. Her scowl of disapproval (though infrequent) could lead to inner turbulence 

When she was dying in Roosevelt Hospital and delirious, she instructed her nurse that she must get well immediately since she had an Ordination to attend (mine). She was about three years too soon in her calendar but her appreciation of the priesthood was always with her. She was some kind of lady! She knew the score of life. As she often remarked:  “I did me bit.” She had known happiness  and some ecstasy, sadness and pain. She knew how to cry for her brood but also how to laugh with all. She was one of those rare people- a true believer in God and Life. I guess she was what we all need at some time or other in our lives - - - - - a real Irish Grandmother.

                                                                                                                -End-
The Greek diner on tenth avenue and 52nd street (2004).
In 1905, it was the McArdle saloon and immediately above
Is the apartment where Edward (himself) went to his Maker
And from which Mary was dispossessed with her brood.

1944 Grandmother visits me in Seminary 



                                              

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

An Old Man in a Garden Musing on Enjoyment in Life

An Old Man in a Garden Musing on Enjoyment in Life


I am sitting in a quiet, beautiful garden on the Eastern end of Long island. It is an ideal July day with cloudless blue skies and balmy, cooling breezes caressing me. There is a sweet smell of freshly cut clover. Birds are chirping some kind of love song to each other. An occasional single engine prop plane drones overhead with a strangely relaxing sound. A white sea gull periodically swoops gracefully down near the trees as its beady eyes seek some kind of prey.

 I am enclosed in my garden by closely packed lines of shaggy hemlock trees which remind my Rorschach oriented eye of the ogres from the Grimm Brothers fairy tales of my childhood. But these trees stand tall, silent and protective, obtruding the gaze of any “outsider” from my reverie.

I am content. I am enjoying the charm of the Present Moment of my existence. And I am 83!  But almost involuntarily I begin to abandon this existentialism and I begin the bittersweet process of looking “ back.” And it is with pre-articulate gratitude that I recall the graciousness of God Who placed such peaks of joy in my life and Who at the same times placed in me my apparently endless capacity to “ enjoy.” Where does the enjoyment capacity come from? Environment? Example? Glands? Education? Infused gift? Wherever it comes from, it has a huge part to play in anyone’s life.  And I do look back and it still gives me some experience of past joy! It is part of the enjoyment capacity or gift.

I see a skinny 12 year old  kid ( myself) in a tenement street on Manhattan’s  west side, euphorically playing stickball, using a broomstick handle to propel a “spaldeen” (Spalding/Spaulding) hurtling  “ two sewers.” The street, then unencumbered by automobiles, was our playground where we exulted in exotic games like Johnny-Ride-the- Pony and Kick the can. I recall the fun I had when my Dad taught me how to box - - - with big, 16 ounce gloves. He taught me the jab and the right cross and the weave and the duck and the clinch! I could never hit him but what fun I had trying! How different that level and type of enjoyment from my present! But it suited the enjoyment level of a 12 year old.

I see a leggy, adenoidal 16 year old (myself) at the Paulist parish dances doing the Lindy Hop and the Shag, thinking that he was wowing the pretty girls in the saddle shoes and the flouncy dresses. In my own fantasy, I was a replica of Gary Cooper or Van Johnson. My jacket even had padded shoulders of which I was very proud. I enjoyed those narcissistic moments, even if so blatantly immature and   self absorbed. Such interior behavior would make me nauseous today - - nevertheless I, and countless other undeveloped teens, report that we SO much enjoyed those temporarily insane years. What does this signify about different levels of  enjoyment at different stages?

I recall my unbelievable élan at 18  when I  ice skated on the frozen lake at 59th street and 5th avenue under the watchful eyes of the NYPD.  This was long before public rinks and   civic spirited Donald Trump types. The joy clearly belongs to another life phase. Not for me today when I can hardly bend over to tie my shoe laces.

I muse, I think, about the truism of “Stage Specific” and “Age Specific” wherein  certain behaviors and capacities are appropriate and possible. I recall  entering College as a  self conscious freshman. Instantly, I adopted the pose of the intellectual with the fake hauteur of the snob. I even tried to speak through the fashionably clenched teeth of the “upper class.” I worked furiously to say sixty FIRST rather than my native pronunciation of sixty FOIST street (on which I was  born). Such behavior would make me nauseous today but it was a highly prized life approach when I was 18. I must have enjoyed being the phony! But how highly inappropriate and depressing it would be at 83.

When I preached the Gospel with sky high enthusiasm (and indeed enjoyment) to the blacks and whites and browns and yellows of South Africa, I was deliriously enthralled with my own impassioned, superficial presentations which were so respectfully received by people twice my age, experience and virtue. It would be neither possible nor enjoyable for me to try to replicate that style today even for reasons other than age specificity. Yet, that kind of enjoyment was alive and well (for me) - - - -  50 years ago.

I found great enjoyment on a 9,000 ton freighter, the Greece Victory, as we sailed 17 straight days across the Atlantic to Capetown. I, hanging over the rail,  lazily watched the horizon, fascinated by the flying fish who popped up every so often. I let the warm sun on the South Atlantic welcome me to the land of the Southern Cross.  I said Mass each morning for three French Canadian Brothers en route to Rhodesia (Zambia). They spoke only French while I owned some very primitive high school language skills. Yet we enjoyed each other as we shared the Gun Crew quarters over the stern, prayed and ate together. I ate much, slept much and read mind muddying novels.  Such flexibility and enthusiasm belong to young people, not to dinosaurs like me. So, as I muse, I know I had a kind of “fun” utterly out of the question for me today. My age, my life phase will not allow it.  What do I make of this?

I recall my entrance into the world of television on WNBC when I met the famous and the powerful. Such meetings were usually before a television camera, and broadcast throughout the country: Cardinal O’Connor, Bill Buckley Jr, Mother Teresa, the Dali Lama, Jackie Gleason, Cardinal Mindzendsky  (who, at 80,vigorouosly poked my chest as he made a point, leaving me to pity those dopey Communists  who attempted to tame this Lion when he was 50), Malcolm Muggeridge and some of the brightest and the best.. They and myriads of fascinating people made up my world. Talk about euphoria and delight!   I was “in.” I received invitations to deliver talks all over the country. Did I enjoy my life? That is a rhetorical question. I was floating on air!  But that is all in the long ago past. What am I today?  I am bald and arthritic and slightly Alzheimic.  Age specific?   Phase specific? My call at that stage from the Lord was to be in the TV world. Not now, when I stagger along not just with my physical gait but with my speech and my lessened mental agility. My call is something else. Isn’t it that young men see visions and old men dream dreams?

My mind is now cascading with memories of joys and pleasures and fun! How I enjoyed  living. My sadnesses, my crosses, my disappointments, my monotonies, my envies and my temptations to the self destructive world of self pity are  somehow pushed aside, significantly diminished, even annihilated, as I use the phenomenon of the half filled glass. I see Rome, the Eternal, with its overwhelming Basilica of St. Peter. I am overcome by the magnificence of it, the Pieta, the proportions, the Cupola. I gasp as I enter the Sistine chapel and do not believe my eyes. I am speechless before the Final Judgment of Michelangelo.

I am excited as I explore the Scavi, the burial place of Peter, himself, the first Pope and Vicar of Christ. My breathing quickens  as I gaze upon the Moses in the ancient church of Peter in Chains and I wait for the Prophet to speak - - -so real is he! I almost float when I see Pope John Paul II go past me - -exuding the Holy Spirit and the real world of the mystical - - - blessing  us, he, the very Vicar of the Lord!!!!!

I see myself with beloved friends sipping cappuccinos in the Piazza Navone admiring the church of St. Agnes and watching the chic world go prancing by.
I see myself in Florence rapt with the Doors of Paradise in the Baptistery of the Duomo, the David, the Ponte Vecchio over the river Sarno, the Medici museum, Can I forget the Chiesa del Sante Cruce  and its tombs of Michelango and Dante and Petrarch and the square just outside where we had the great Lunch? Or Siena with its gorgeous cathedral and its utterly unique square?

And there is Venice with its canals and gondolas and St. Mark’s square. The fun I had with the Italian police as I showed them my detective shield from the NYPD and how they viewed me with such respect!

I am flooded with pleasure as I recall Paris with its incomparable Notre Dame, the Seine, La Sainte Chappelle, the  Bateau Mouche, the streets and the little restaurants. I recall with utter pleasure the windows of Chartres cathedral and my  trip to Lisieux where I prayed to the Little Flower and saw the snips of her hair preserved in a little museum. I saw the very chalice she prepared for Holy Mass each day and which I contemplated in photographs when I was a toddler.
Never did I dream that I would stand before it and almost hold it in my own hands.

With a strange mixture of reverence and  excitement I visit the beaches of Normandy and I see the enormity of the achievement of landing  thousands of young men under  terrifying conditions, many of whom died right here on the beach. I wander to the cemetery which has the profound quiet of the Holy Spirit and I pray for those kids who would be my age had they lived through that horror.
Not enjoyment surely but I experienced some kind of satisfaction that I could enter ex post facto that world from which God spared me.

Never again would I see these things, never again for they belong to another phase of my own existence. Oh yes, I have multitudes of these memories of my relatively happy life. I was overcome by seeing the great Gloss Glockner in southern Austria. I was astounded by the Victoria Falls in Africa which the Africans call “the smoke that thunders.” I was delighted to view the Zulu war dances, somewhat modified by the work of French missionaries. I was pleasured beyond words when, at sundown, I went horse back riding over the Great Karoo with my 77 year old English friend, Major Joe Pringle. I recall one African night     sitting with a young Spanish priest on a Church porch overlooking the great Zambezi river. There was a huge Full Moon which is somehow, by a strange geographical alchemy, different in Africa. We, two comparatively young clerics, smoking black Russian cigarettes and with total confidence in our own insights, were discussing what life is all about. As most old timers can say: I wish I knew as little about it now as I did then.  But it was incredibly enjoyable - - - obviously, not possible for me now, so roughed up am I by the realities of life. But it WAS enjoyable, then!

How I enjoyed the Islas Balearicas and swimming in the warm, loving waters of the Mediterranean.How charming  it was to have evening Mass, go with good friends for late and long dinners, chatting, telling jokes and drinking enthralling Spanish wines. But I can no longer physically endure the long trip to Spain as formerly. Yet that is part of some kind of eternal plan.


How does one analyze all this? What does one do to enhance one’s own meaning and purpose? Clearly, the enjoyment levels are different as one moves through life. Clearly, an oldster like me finds the opportunities of the past  diminishing or gone. What does this mean to me?

Tevye in the classic Fiddler on the Roof speaks to God about how he would run his life were the Lord to allow him to be a “rich man.” The sweetest thing of all he says, would be to sit in the synagogue all day long and speak of the things of God. Getting older does allow one that very option. While some doors close and options narrow, by a strange paradox, things open on the other side of the life “stenosis” and reveal that there are ways for enjoyment other than the ones we knew. Is it God’s plan so to work? I think that the Gospel parable of the Talent is applicable. I have a talent in my old age for age specific enjoyment  which I must use. It must not be kept buried in the sand of my life. It is my task to find it and USE it.

Can I believe that without any botany expertise I can enjoy looking at a rose and enthuse at its sweet scent?  Can I understand that without any notion of counterpoint and clef, I can delight (at 83) in the great symphonies of Bach and Mozart and Shastakovich(?)  and thrill to the fluidity of the strings and the proclamations of the horns and the great BOOMS of the bass drums and tympani? Where the limits to this kind of present time enjoyment? My sense  of the Great Eternal Now?

So, as the shadows of my life fall and my final evening comes, I am back to my garden. Aristotle said that the perfect mathematical figure is the circle because it ends where it began. The peace of this garden is all about God, I think. The enjoyment specific to old age  cuts through the joys of the past to allow  me to see something of the Great Now..  Something so very basic to solving the puzzle.

              Augustine of Hippo said it:  Thou hast made us for Thyself, O Lord and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.”

                               Let those who have ears, hear…….

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Why this obsolete  stance of no sex before marriage?
 
 
She was a certified Social Worker,married and divorced,plain looking and from a dominantly Catholic country. She sat uneasily and almost  plaintively verbalized the  tired old question:
     " What is wrong with sex outside of marriage?"
 
She was struggling to be  so  au courant--and hopefully  avante garde!  Yet, her struggle  was complicated  by her delight and involvement in the RCIA   process  in which she was  an instructor/teacher.  In her work with those  seeking entrance  into the holy Catholic  Church, she met  a candidate for Baptism  whom she described as " cute" and  with whom  she  had become  " romantically involved."  This is a contemporary euphemism to describe their sexual  involvement. The candidate had also been married and divorced, was  an alcoholic  and deeply in debt.
 
In her modern style of being " with "the candidate she had become so deeply attached to him that she had fantasies of marriage. But even in her semi-trancelike state, this  was problematical.  So true to the ideals    of the  " with it " Catholic, she was challenging the official teaching of the Church  on sexual morality.
 
The venerable  and  oft maligned  Sig Freud  wisely taught  that  " things are rarely  ONLY  what they seem...."  My client will speak  passionately about love and intimacy and  personal needs. She will   point  how passe  and useless  is the stance of the Church  on  sex and the mysteries thereof. She will constantly allege honesty,truth and reality  for her position. But under such posturing  is an  unattractive lonely, psychically crippled  female  desperately  and pathetically hoping  SOME ONE  will love her.  One cannot help but have sympathy, if not pity, for her.
 
I want to suggest to her that although her search for love and intimacy is thoroughly legitimate and her reaching out to others is very human,  her  mode of  SOLUTION  is --- from  the viewpoint of centuries of  painful experience------stupid !
 
Her attempts to medicate her pain are so understandable but so ill placed.  Without the context of committed married love---through pain and joy, riches and poverty, sickness and health, youth  and  age,  anger and peace,boredom and ecstasy-----the sex medication alone is not only  useless. It is damaging!
 
Society has found that it is through  FAMILY  that one's loneliness is assuaged  and one's  hunger for love is finally met.Family provides the safety  that is needed for the healthy rearing
and education of a child. To separate sex  ( with all its  excitements  and  pleasures ) from the  routinistic humdrum,worry and insecurity of human love  is the OLDEST MISTAKE  OF MANKIND.   It just doesn't work  Yet,because it  is  SO difficult to conquer inordinate desire ( or lust )  with reason and decency, God provides the way--- with His own command.
 
This command is articulated  through His own Church, the Catholic  Church. Indeed, a colleague of  mine, a Jewish  psychiatrist  with whom I taught a course   called  " Human  Sexuality" for  16 years  made  this telling and spontaneous  remark  in a class  hour.
" Only the Catholic  Church  has the power and strength to help people contain sexual impulses  outside of marriage."
 
Street  smarts  isn't enough. To tell my client that  her " cutie" can dump her unceremoniously
anytime  he tires of her  means nothing  in the period of her infatuation! The guts or viscera do not hear what the  intellect is shouting.  Is this a delusion for her?  There are NO legal ties.
One stud  told me ( in the presence of his unwed bedpartner  of one year)  " I owe her
NOTHING."   Heartbreak. Pain.   Emotional damage. They are all there.
 
When some  such damaged, dumped woman said to me   " If I had only  known  this,I never
would  have slept with him".    My question to her  is:  Who is obsolete  now?  Who is passe  now?  Who has the closed mind?  And eyes and ears?     IF YOU  HAD ONLY KNOWN?
Lady you don't have to be the proverbial rocket scientist to see it.  Sex outside marriage
USUALLY  doesn't work.
 
Lady, your old grandmother who didn't finish  grammar school was  smarter than you  have been !     But wait !   One bit of advice!   God is also smarter than you are. However, He loves you with an implacable  love. You  can safely risk everything with Him !
 
Take the risk. Be celibate unless you  marry.  And believe it or  not, there IS life after celibacy!
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