Wind and Spirit

The wind is ripping through my neighborhood currently.  I’ve always liked the sound of wind at night, and couple an open, wind-prone cornfield immediately to the south with vinyl siding and you get the perfect recipe for a good howl.  By the sound of it, I probably wouldn’t be able to maintain my footing outside if I shed another 20 pounds.

The wind blows where it wills, and so does the Spirit, which brings up one of my latest reading endeavors.  (As an aside, I intend at some point to have links on the side to the books I’m currently reading as I think it would give some perspective to where some of my thoughts or current musings derive.)  I started a book this morning called There’s So Much More, which is about the Holy Spirit and I imagine it’s from a charismatic perspective as the author is, or at least was, big into that scene.  (As another aside, it was given to me by a friend who died tragically a couple years ago; please keep him and his family in your prayers.)

In theory,  I have no problem with the charismatic movement.  Charismatic prayer is scriptural.  I’ve been around it enough and actually enjoy being in its presence.  I like being prayed over.  Yet I’m always wary of it and anyone who bases their spirituality on charisms as Scripture also tells us they are the lowest of the gifts.  Perhaps I’m too much a rationalist, yet it seems a lot of the participants in this aren’t discerning spirits; it’s as though they presume any action or reaction that occurs while praying this way is from the Lord, forgetting that the devil can appear as an angel of light or that they could be delusional.

I hope this book won’t disappoint.  I need more intimacy with the Holy Spirit and can’t think of any other works I own on the subject, so it’s my choice by default.  Maybe this will be a good primer, or maybe it will be exactly what I need.  I just hope it has solid Catholicism and sound reason behind it. 

Pizza Fries

A few years ago, a local pizzeria had a Lenten special on cheese pizza, so I went to pick one up, and after looking at the menu, I decided to get an order of pizza fries.  I had never heard of such a concoction, but the description said that they were covered in garlic butter and mozzarella and served with a side of marinara for dipping.  It sounded delicious; I imagined a heaping pile of fries with aforesaid ingredients.  To my disappointment, these were not fries; they were what the rest of America calls cheesesticks, so effectively, I got two cheese pizzas.  It was a terrible misnomer.

My version of the fries never left me, and last night, we decided to make some.

By way of introduction to what I hope to be a continuing series on this site, my wife and I instituted a date night each week, which is generally on Saturdays and most often in our home.  We don’t know any convenient and willing babysitters for our children, and even if we did, we probably couldn’t afford them.  Thus, we have an in-house date after the kids go to bed.

Last night’s date consisted of pizza fries and homemade buffalo wings.  We chopped five potatoes into fries, deep fried them, and then baked them with garlic salt, a thick spaghetti sauce, and shredded mozarella.  While the fries were baking, we fried our buffalo wings and made our homemade sauce.  We topped it off by splitting a Mickey’s 40 oz., something I haven’t drank since college; it’s still delicious.  All told, it was a glorious date, and the fries were a big success, although if I could do it again, I’d put the spaghetti sauce on the side for dipping to keep the fries from getting soggy.  If I can find a way to cook them without too much smoke, I’m set for opening the pizza fries kiosk at the mall.

WUFS

A year or so ago, my wife coined the phrase God’s jokes as a reference to small inconveniences, the kind we’re supposed to “offer up.” An example would be getting water all over your clothes when you wash the dishes.

Lately we’ve been prone to one of these jokes, a repeat joke. My one-year-old daughter has a screaming fit in the middle of the night about once a week without cause, or at least without cause that we can determine. It goes on for what seems like longer than it probably is, maybe 15-30 minutes. The bad part is that she shares a room with my three-year-old son, who obviously can’t sleep in the midst of this. I’m generally half delirious during these and don’t realize what’s happened until my wife has already extracted my son from the room and brought him to sleep with us. Once he’s in our room, he’s so confused about where he is that he panics if he hears a noise and takes to sprinting out of the room, which also keeps us up, prolonging the whole affair.

These fits are unpredictable, and somewhere in my delirium last night, I found it funny to refer to them as WUFS, the weekly unpredictable freak-out sessions.

These are generally a minor inconvenience and the worst that happens is that we’re all a little bit tired the next day, all except the screamer, who’s generally chipper as can be. In hindsight, it’s quite funny.

The Insight of Doubting Thomas

I don’t wish to commend Thomas for his doubt of the risen Lord, but there is one profound insight we can take from him, and that is that Christ should not be separated from suffering.  We should not expect to recognize him without nail holes and a pierced side.  Even the 11 apostles who believed recognized him from his wounds.  So too in our daily lives; it is often where we suffer the most that Christ is most manifest.  Perhaps this is why his glorified body kept its wounds, to remind us that Christ, the Christian life, and suffering cannot be separated.

John 20: 19-25
Now when it was late the same day, the first of the week, and the doors were shut, where the disciples were gathered together, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in the midst and said to them: Peace be to you. And when he had said this, he shewed them his hands and his side. The disciples therefore were glad, when they saw the Lord. He said therefore to them again: Peace be to you. As the Father hath sent me, I also send you. When he had said this, he breathed on them; and he said to them: Receive ye the Holy Ghost. Whose sins you shall forgive, they are forgiven them: and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained. Now Thomas, one of the twelve, who is called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore said to him: We have seen the Lord. But he said to them: Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails and put my finger into the place of the nails and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.

Lewis’ Jesus Ultimatum

In the April 2008 issue of First Things, there is much ink spilled over Meir Soloveichik’s “No Friend in Jesus,” featured in the January 2008 issue of the same journal.  Of note to me is how much the discussion revolves around C.S. Lewis’ ultimatum about Jesus, that is, either He was God, a lunatic, or a liar.  Several of the letters attempt to downplay this ultimatum (I do not mean to include Fr. Oakes’ letter in this group).  One writer says, “Lewis and other writers… were calling attention to the seriousness of the issue at stake – not giving ultimatums to non-Christians.”  It seems to me, though, that the issue cannot be serious, at least sufficiently so, unless the matter is one of an ultimatum, and while I don’t wish to speak for the dead, I can’t understand Lewis’ words outside of an ultimatum.  Isn’t the use of the word either necessarily a choice outside of which there are no other alternatives, an ultimatum if you will?  Indeed, it is a serious matter, a weighty matter, but it’s only weighty because a choice is required.  It’s precisely the variants of Christianity that don’t believe a radical answer is required about who Jesus is that don’t seem to be taken seriously and are falling apart.  I think Soloveichik’s embracing of Lewis’ ultimatum progresses dialogue and encourages honesty.  Anything else seems to be a quibbling of words to muddle the issue of interreligious dialogue.  While Oakes may be right that there are more than Lewis’ three choices, at least Lewis was right to acknowledge that there were only a few choices and hard decisions were required.

The Ending of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Since the film has been out for a few years, I’m not too worried about spoiling it for anyone, but if you haven’t seen it and plan to, be warned that the ending is revealed.

I finally saw this movie after years of desiring to do so.  I thought it was fantastic, but I only wish to comment on the ending here.

In sum, Joel and Clementine have erased each other from their memories after their romance devolves over the course of a year.  While this erasure is happening, Joel becomes aware that it is happening, regrets it, and does his best to fight the process, ultimately failing with the exception of a debatable portion.  Joel and Clementine then meet again not knowing that they once knew each other and romance begins again.

I thought the movie would have ended here.  It didn’t.  Rather, one of the employees involved in the erasure reveals the erasure to them and gives them tapes of what they said about one another before the erasure.  The content, the detraction, and the calumny are quite cruel, and they both hear what the other had to say about them.  It appears as though they will once again end the relationship, but upon full disclosure of their own weaknesses and knowing the pitfalls they will likely encounter, they still decide to begin again.

Initially, I was disappointed that the film continued after the re-meeting.  It seemed much more romantic that they should begin again afresh.  Yet it didn’t take long for me to change my mind.  Had they stayed together in this fashion, it would have justified the erasure and destroyed the point emphasized in the rest of the film, that identity is tied up in memory.  It was far more romantic that they chose each other knowing full well what their past had been.

On Clothing

I haven’t read Thoreau since I was 15, but after picking up Walden, I can understand his appeal.  The call to return to simplicity, to cast off society in order to live authentically, is an appeal to anyone who can romanticize about how earlier times were simpler, more pure, and so forth.  It’s the same appeal that made American Beauty popular.

While I’m not willing to judge Thoreau’s opinions yet, having not read the entirety of the book, I will say that his thought can be harnessed for good, although I have some fundamental disagreements with his opinions.

When writing on clothing, he makes some good remarks about superficialty and disordered priorities.  I particularly like his insight that we are more inclined to hobble into a room with a broken leg than to walk into a room with a broken pair of pants, that is, a pair of pants with a patch.  He’s right that we don’t consider doing the latter, and it’s because we are prideful.  He’s also correct that we should live authentically and change our inner man rather than our outer garments first.  Finally, I think he’s right overall in that we should realize what is most important and try to live simply.

Yet I think he’s wrong in that his vision is limited.  He speaks of clothing as a means of modesty and of maintaining heat.  What he fails to acknowledge is the most human element of clothing, its relationship to creation.  Clothing is a means of expression, and by designing new fashions and so forth, we are engaging in acts of creation.  Aside from some post-modern styles, clothing has been an attempt to emphasize that which is beautiful in man.  This search for beauty is an inherent need in humanity that is expressed in ways far beyond clothing.  His view lacks a sacramental vision, a notion that matter matters.

He also fails to emphasize that changing the outer garment first can sometimes be an aid to changing the inner garment.

There is also a practical side to the king dressing differently from the blacksmith, and that is that men like to know that with which they are dealing.  It’s a type of liturgy, a ritual that makes society possible.  Witness the awkwardness one feels when he’s not sure if the baby before him is a boy or a girl and he is required to say something to its mother.  Clothing helps us to establish how the pieces of the world fit together.

So Thoreau offers us good insights, but it seems they should be tempered with a bigger emphasis on the divine image in man rather than simply the bestial needs of man.

Jesus Appears to His Mother

The first of St. Ignatius’ resurrection meditations is on Jesus’ appearance to His mother, a non-canonical, but reasonable appearance, one even recommended by Pope John Paul II.  Below is one possible way such events may have happened.

It is early in the morning of the the first day of the week.  Mary sits awake near a window in prayer while John, the beloved disciple, lies asleep under a blanket on a mat in the same room.  Both are exhausted from the events of the Passover, from the death of the Lord.  It is slightly cool outside, the day not yet warmed as the sun has not yet risen.  Mary prays audibly, asking the Father what purpose it all served.  She does not know all the details of the Lord’s plan, but she knows that the death of her Son is not in vain, for God would not work a miraculous birth, an Incarnation, for naught, and so she asks for a deeper understanding.

In the midst of this prayer and grief, a light and shuffle is heard in the back room.  She turns to see a fire lit, a fire that was not there before.  She slowly arises and makes her way to the small hallway, places her hand on the wall, and peers into the room to see what this light is.  Sitting in front of the fire in a chair is her Son, basking in the warmth of the fire, enjoying one of the creature comforts that having a body allows (the Lord truly enjoyed being man).  She says nothing; she makes no movement; she merely watches.  She says a prayer of gratitude as her trust in the Lord was once again not misplaced and quietly walks into the back room, beckoned by the mere presence of her Son.

With confidence, she places her hands upon the chair next to His and says, “Son.”  He looks up and smiles with exuberance at the site of His mother.  She sits and the two say nothing; they simply gaze at one another and smile.  This goes on for a time, and then the Lord says, “I must go and visit the others.”  She nods, always accepting His will.  He then vanishes in order to be about His Father’s business.

This Is the Night

I never had much of a connection to Holy Saturday growing up.  My family didn’t do anything during the day to honor it, and we did not go to the vigil Mass as it was considered either too long or too late.  When I became a teenager, these reasons became my own.

It wasn’t until I was a senior in college that I began to truly appreciate the tradition of the Church.  There’s something about the Triduum that makes even the liturgically sloppiest parish do a decent job of emphasizing the sacred, and so my then-newfound appreciation of tradition made me most excited for Easter Vigil, which is still my favorite liturgy of the year.

Yet it was only to be for a few years that I would get to attend after that.  We attempted Easter Vigil my oldest child’s first two Easters.  The first was fine; the second was difficult.  Having a son crying throughout made it impossible to appreciate the beauty that was around me.  I realize this is not the point of being at Mass, but it’s something my all-too-human side still craves.

We have not attended the Vigil since that year, and my second child clinched the deal.  And, thus, I’m back where I started regarding Holy Saturday and the Vigil.  Yet I’ve tried to remedy this in a couple ways.  First, I try to do an entertainment fast on Holy Saturday in order to spend the day as though in the silence of Christ’s tomb.  I also try to ring in the vigil with the Office of Readings.  This year I also meditated upon Mary and John at their new home together, contemplating what they did and what ran through their minds after the death of Jesus (I got this meditation from A Closer Walk With Christ by Raymond Gawronski, SJ).  Finally, I like to listen to the Exsultet, one of my favorite songs, in Latin, which I’m currently doing.  These are the practices of the monasticism of the heart, of making certain sacrifices in regards to some of the richness of the liturgy so that I can still be with the family God has given me as my primary means of sanctification.  When my oldest child is a few years older, the plan is to take him to the entire Triduum rather than just the convenient liturgies.

The irony is that we often do not appreciate what the Church offers until we’re in our college years or beyond, and then we only have a few years to enter most deeply into the liturgy before we become distracted by the discipline of our children at Mass.  These children we try to raise to respect and appreciate the liturgy, but they often don’t until they’re in their college years or beyond, and so the cycle goes.  Thus, we only have a few years where meditative perfection as people living in the world is possible, or at least, where we can get the most sensually out of Mass.  But, then, that seems to prove that such is not the ultimate point of our worship.

Difference and Intent

This weblog has been, at minimum, five months in the making, a length determined by ambivalence as to whether the effort is worthwhile or compromising to prior obligations, or indeed whether I have anything worthwhile to say.  Yet it has also been delayed out of a desire to get things correct.  Such desires and worries were turning into excuses to not doing a work I sincerely (most of the time) believed I needed to do, and so it seemed the best course was to simply begin and let the smaller questions and difficulties work themselves out over time.

In an effort to keep things in focus and direct my energies for the future, it seems the best way to begin is to publicly acknowledge my intent.  This can best be done by detailing the differences between Apologia and my past conduct.

This is not my first blog, although it has been nearly two years since I have done any blogging.  The past effort was a group one, and by our own measures, it was successful and enjoyable, moreso on the former than we anticipated, although by no means successful according to any common standard.  The discussion was primarily centered around religion and philosophy, the common bond among most of us.  Given this, it was highly polemical, although not necessarily by design.  As our readership grew, the commentary grew large – almost unmanageable – and this increased pressure to write more articles to keep the readership interested and to post more comments to resolve all the fine points of dispute.  Again, the task became nearly insurmountable.  It was partly for this reason that we disbanded by (generally) mutual consent; the massive amount of writing and maintenance was interfering with family obligations.

The blog was also intefering with work obligations for many of us, and for this reason, I leave its title unsaid.  Our names were too much in the public eye without the protection that public writers are afforded through more traditional venues.  Jobs and potential jobs were being compromised by too much public disclosure of our opinions. or the quick availability of finding them.  While this is a reflection for another time, one requires a certain degree of anonymity these days if one wishes to survive in an age where information is given a premium over wisdom, but again, for a future post.

So begins the current venture, many of the features resulting from the successes and mistakes of the past.  The first note is that this blog is being published anonymously.  In many ways, I am pained to take this approach as I believe a man should stand behind his opinions, but I justify in that I am not hiding behind my opinions, but rather that I have antecedent obligations which would be impaired by those who would search my name online and render prejudicial opinions without giving me a fair and nuanced reading.  The second note is that this will be a one-person effort; administrative time shall be reduced consequently, and the control of content can be more fairly ascribed to be that of my own opinions.  The third note surrounds the title, discussed in the next paragraph.

Why Apologia – The Accounting?  First, it’s a description of what the content of the site will be, a rendering of an account of my life and opinions.  Unlike my previous weblog, this site will be less of a cultural and current events commentary as a rumination.  Certainly many of the writings will be on religion and philosophy as these are near to my heart, but I intend the reflections also to be more personal without degrading into an online diary.  Second, as the verse below the title indicates, I consider this an accounting to God, something of an examination of conscience and something of a rendering to God an account of how I’ve used my gifts.  Third, although I am a former writer by trade, I am now an accountant; the play on words seemed fitting.  Fourth, it’s certainly borrowed from John Henry Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua.  I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to Newman for his shaping of my thought, and I hope that these writings will follow his measured and nuanced approach to all things, even if I may not be able to achieve the merits of his style.  Primarily, I am simply striving for detailed excellence.

Certainly visual elements of this weblog will change.  This is one of the questions yet to be worked out.

Finally, on comments – Given what I imagine many of the future writings will be on, it will be inevitable, provided there is a readership, that some of the comments will be polemical.  Despite my previous comments, I have no intention of disengaging from robust discussion.  Yet I intend to keep these discussions on-track.  While I won’t censor a comment for being off-topic, I will be judicious in the elements of an argument to which I respond, only for the sake of time and for keeping discussions fruitful and to the main point of the original article.