On the Baptizer

The Nativity of St. John the Baptizer is a solemnity of no small importance. It is the preamble to the Incarnation, the source of the Benedictus. A beautiful occasion, indeed. Today's inspiration appears in a new hymn, below:

Hidden God

Elizabeth ran hastily to greet
Thy mother, Mary, full of grace.
Her infant sensed and stirred his feet;
his forming eyes beheld Thy latent face.

John’s vision was beclouded by two shields:
from womb to womb, a double curtain drawn.
To Christian minds, Thy face is now revealed,
hid only in one Eucharistic dawn.

We hail Thee fervently now, hidden God,
and beg that we should know Thy presence here.
Shine forth to cleanse the paths that we have trod,
And light the way that ever shall be dear.

Metrical Index: 10.10.10.10

Text and Tune: Friguy

On Courtship

The current climate of American courtship is irresistible. It has an ambiance of sweet romance and devlish pleasure. Getting to know and growing to love your partner is, for true lovers, a passionate experience of intimacy. Marriage is a sacred covenant in which God forges manifold blessings for compatible mates. Yet, women become objects and men are made beastly.

The American notion of courtship is, in reality, defunct. In this great society, marked by freedom and opportunity, the masses have been enslaved. To what? Self. We are experiencing a form of slavery far more detrimental and pernicious than that which pitted brother against brother in the War Between the States. For the slavery of early America was a mistaken sense of ownership; the slavery of today's America is total self-absorption. Dehumanization is sad when it takes the form of one not valuing the other, but it is intensely more evil when it occurs in the self-deification of the one.

Genuine courtship is a chance to grow in virtue and fall in love. The order of these is important. In order to be successful, we must find a partner worth our admiration and from whom we can learn virtues. After such an one is found, it is then that we may begin to love. How can you really love what you did not first admire? Certainly, it is easy to be infatuated at a single glance. But is that love? Quid est caritas? Our love on earth is a shadow of God's love, the love in heaven. True love is never a passionate experience of self. It is, rather, a deepening of the self in appreciation for the other.

What mean I by all this? Courtship should not be a casual thing. We cheapen our sense of love when we date for recreation. Take the very term, "recreational dating." Does it seem sensible to make sport of entering into a human relationship? Sleezy romance might find a home in dating for sport, but intimate love can be had only at the cost of self-sacrifice.

What has happened in this last century to the idea of a young man cordially proposing a relationship to a lady friend? Are we too mature? Too modern? Too informal? Or are we egocentric? Solid love is other-centered.

What has happened in this last century to the idea that courtship is a preparation for a potential marriage? When did dating lose its ultimate significance? What is the point of having a boyfriend or girlfriend if the end goal isn't to consider marriage? Why would you want to "fall in love" with someone you never intended to marry? Why are children dating? In grade school? Fourth and fifth grade! Where does the joke stop?!

Allowing children to date is much worse than stupid. It is veritable evil. That's right, I said it. It's evil. By "children," I mean to include certainly all grammar school students and most high school students, with select discrimination on the basis of truly profound maturity.

It is parents' chief responsibility to ensure the healthy formation and education of their children. (Incidentally, child formation & education are intrinsically united--distinct, but not separate). We distort our children's concept of love when we separate, divorce, or propose dating as a game. Let's stress courtship, instead.

Courtship is respect for the other sex. Courtship recognizes human worth in all men. It is a common union--a communion--of two persons in one spirit in the hope of one day joining as one flesh.

Verbum

A Canticle of the Incarnation

Upon this eve, the world awaits
its shrieve, from He in manger crèche.
For nothing else man’s heart full sates
but Babe born fresh on frosted thresh.

For all men know is: lowly lie in snow;
a man has ne’er seen noble lord lay low.
Should man contend for lord to bend,
humility upon nobility send?

As shepherds tend, we tend to hope
that lion shall lie down with lamb.
Perverse, uncouth, for glory to descend,
for all dynamic force into flesh cram.

Obscene, likewise, for the All-Wise,
for the Source of Wisdom, to realize
in human sight, pervade all lies.
O! what beneficent surprise:

God made man arrives!

With sweet delight, He gently cries,
and all things false Divinity belies.
Too much this paradox is to surmise;
yet, all creation, falsity decries.

The crime that draws great King out from His Kingdom
permits the Happy Fault to subtly come,
through which He will dispel all odium
and take upon Himself sweet martyrdom.

In Bethlehem’s cradle lies man’s fullest Life—
the Lamb of God Whose reign, when ripe, be rife.

Inthespiation

The will to take on character
is oft’ engendered in a soul
whose body is not yet so fit—
desire less skill to play the role.
Alas, no hope is lost in he
whose hope becomes more passionate,
leaves limitations for limelight;
aye, he is sparked who’s soul is lit.
The stage, like ink, is soon absorbed
by all who trod upon its might.
The fledgling fake surpasses age
and brings his audience delight.
If actor’s trade plays hypocrite,
Then, all the world: pure counterfeit.

On Perfectionism

Details, Details

The clock on the wall hangs askew; he compulsively realigns it. Fresh bed sheets snapped tightly to the mattress wrinkle slightly along the edge; he strips the bed and remakes it. The page is dog-eared, due to the carelessness of a previous reader; he futilely irons the fibers smooth. Such is the life of the perfectionist.

In business, effective supervisors are invariably perfectionists. A supervisor, whose job it is to ensure quality and productivity, is only valuable when he realizes that big things are made of smaller things; that is, large work projects depend on the thorough completion of smaller, detailed projects. An efficient leader with an insistence on high-quality work is the prized asset of all successful industries.

Details everywhere are managed by perfectionists. Translators of written works, for instance, are simultaneously perfectionists and purists. In translating the Bible into the vulgate Latin, St. Jerome meticulously selected every word with the intention of capturing all the nuances and connotations of each original word. Similarly, professional journalists are often (or, at least, should be) perplexed for days as they seek the most precise word for a particular context. Good writing is precise, and precision requires attention to detail. Thus, in communication, perfectionists are men of detail.

In a different sense, though, all men are called to be perfectionists, as observed in the last words of William Penn: “To be like Christ is to be a Christian.” If Christ was perfect, then should we not also strive to be? By virtue of the universal call to holiness that summons all souls to sainthood, all Christians must be perfectionists of heart. Given the fallen nature of man, we are offered the daily opportunity to become models of moral living. We must “walk in [the Lord’s] presence and be blameless” (Genesis 17:1).

Perfectionists are often disparaged as petty, provincial, and persnickety. An extreme of perfectionism does exist, but a reasonable dosage of the desire to perfect oneself in Christ is healthy. To cast off perfectionists as “too intense” is to deny the universal responsibility to make Christ-like beings of ourselves.

Sadly for perfectionists, however, our goal is unattainable. As the hyperbola longingly approaches but never reaches its numerical limit, so do perfectionists of heart move toward the ultimate limit of spirituality. That limit is Christianity genuinely lived out. Perfectionists are simply wise to live as admonished by St. Paul, so that upon our death, we may claim to have “run the good race, fought the good fight, and kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

On Fatherhood

To Lose a Father

Those goodly years spent living life in youth—
in loving his great love, laugh, law, and strength—
turn quickly, now, as contemplating truth,
we come to know the breadth of man’s deep length.
It seemed, at first, to be a man meant to
be strong. Yet, more the definition owns
as time grows old and “man” the deeper, too;
indeed, true manhood owns much subt’ler tones.
A shepherd, pastor, guide, and teacher should
the goodly father grow to be through years.
Entirely oriented t’ward the good
was that great man whose death now baits my tears.
In death, a father still instructs his son:
“Live on with strength ‘til your own race is run!”

A Marian Hymn

Blessed Embrace

Hail, fair Lady, full of joy and crowned with grace!
Thou, who bore the One Whom time shall ne’er efface!
Suffer men to admire thy face
so, in heav’n, we may thee embrace!
Wisdom grant us all and virtue for the race.

To the Ancient of Days may we chant our poor spirit’s hymn.
Dearest Mother, assist, for our voice is, alone, too dim.
Let the song not our prayer eclipse;
issue praise from thy fresh rose lips!
Raise our song to the throne to support the dear cherubim.

When, at last, time expires and the Kingdom transcends the earth,
call to mind our deep love, and reward us in our unworthy.
Suffer men to admire thy face
so, in heav’n, we may thee embrace!
Though our love rises late, may thy pow’r earn us heav’nly mirth.

Metrical Index: 11.11.7.7.11
Tune and Lyrics: Friguy

On Music

As humans, we are blessed with the ability to express ourselves in various ways. Such gifts as speech, laughter, and tears often find their way into our prayer lives. But even greater than these gifts remains another mode of prayer. Indeed, our deepest emotions are often prayed in song.

When we pray, we express an array of interior sentiments to the Lord. This gamut is laid out in the Book of Psalms, the fundamental prayer texts of Judeo-Christianity. They tell of consolation and desolation, joy and anger, repentance and thanksgiving. King David, who authored many of the psalms, understood well the value of sung prayer, inasmuch as psalms, as a poetic form, are meant to be sung. What favor and intercession we would win from St. David if we sang one of his own psalms to him on occasion!

Music is a spiritual activity. At Mass, we join the “choirs” of angels as they sing before God’s throne. In fact, the very notion of singing in a choir is a markedly Catholic one, because a choir is a family. The sense of “rightness” felt in a good musical chord is a product of our human sensitivity to others. Delighting in harmony is a manifestation of our ability to recognize selflessly the value of another voice.

Just as God is a Trinity perpetually speaking forth the Word in the Spirit for the Father, a choir singing in harmony is a timeless preservation of a valued voice. Unity is created from distinct parts, and we are called into community as component parts are instructed into harmony. This ability of mankind is a humanizing demonstration of our need to be respectful and concerned, not egocentric.

Music is also a cultural activity. The psalms were songs of shepherds; hymns are the songs of Catholic families; and chant is the song of the Church. Secular music has its merit, but it is not the tune of true culture. “Culture” literally derives from the word for “worship,” and culture should therefore be informed by faith. That which we do in the name of culture must be done in the light of Christ. The best music, then, is pervaded by the Spirit.

In the rich treasury of the Church, we find diverse musical styles. Standard hymnody, praise and worship, Christian rock, Gregorian chant, and sacred polyphony all are part of the storehouse of prayed song. The latter of these are most apt for use in the sacred liturgy, while the former are especially suitable for private devotion. We do well to enrich our souls with the faith-inspired works of fellow believers. We remember, meanwhile, that sung prayer is the end goal—not prayed song.

So, how do we pray in song? Any way we can! Use trumpets and strings, cymbals and harps. But, above all, use your voice: “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!” (Ps. 150: 6, NAB). Because the Lord has been good to me, “I will sing to the Lord all my life!” (Ps. 104: 33, NAB). Cantabo Domino!

On Simplicity II

Psalm 48(49)

Thus saith the Good Book:

13 And man when he was in honour did not understand; he is compared to senseless beasts, and is become like to them. 14 This way of theirs is a stumblingblock to them: and afterwards they shall delight in their mouth. 15 They are laid in hell like sheep: death shall feed upon them. And the just shall have dominion over them in the morning; and their help shall decay in hell from their glory.
11 "He shall not see destruction"... Or, shall he not see destruction? As much as to say, however thoughtless he may be of his death, he must not expect to escape; when even the wise and the good are not exempt from dying. 12 "They have called"... That is, they have left their names on their graves, which alone remain of their lands. 14 "They shall delight in their mouth"... Notwithstanding the wretched way in which they walk, they shall applaud themselves with their mouths, and glory in their doings. 15 "In the morning"... That is, in the resurrection to a new life; when the just shall judge and condemn the wicked. Ibid. 15 "From their glory"... That is, when their short-lived glory in this world shall be past, and be no more.
16 But God will redeem my soul from the hand of hell, when he shall receive me. 17 Be not thou afraid, when a man shall be made rich, and when the glory of his house shall be increased. 18 For when he shall die he shall take nothing away; nor shall his glory descend with him. 19 For in his lifetime his soul will be blessed: and he will praise thee when thou shalt do well to him. 20 He shall go in to the generations of his fathers: and he shall never see light.
21 Man when he was in honour did not understand: he hath been compared to senseless beasts, and made like to them.

On Simplicity I

Pillars of Love

Helena Rufe: “Aged three years, died 1852.” Marie Penrose-Farren: “Deceased A.D. 1881, her twenty-fourth year.” Patrick Mahoney Koller: “Passed Unto Glory — September 9, 1995.” So read the markers in Old St. Mary’s, home to parishioners who have gone home.

As a parish groundskeeper, one of my great joys is reading the epitaphs in our cemetery. These final vestiges of my parish forefathers have been fodder for many hours of pensive reflection, with my 28-inch John Deere ahead of me. They serve a greater purpose than simply to mark the deaths of past parishioners; they tell tales of immigrant travel, ordinary townspeople, and inter-family treachery. Each plot represents an irreplaceable contribution to the history of our church and town. The stories of the souls whose bodies now rest in St. Mary’s Cemetery are enlivening.

History is revealed even in the simple appearance of a headstone. Granite or limestone, sunken or flush, modern or archaic text, white or gray or red—all are evidence of a gravestone’s age, quality, and cost. The majority of St. Mary’s markers date from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and bear the names and dates of impoverished Irish immigrants who could afford little more than backyard rubble for a memorial. That’s what gives St. Mary’s its charm.

Before I ever start my work in the graveyard, I make a two- or three-minute pilgrimage to the central monument, built in honor of the Blessed Virgin. There, I am always amused to see the five forsythia, which were ordered to be unearthed three pastors ago, still thriving vibrantly and speedily overtaking the neighboring azalea. Poor Msgr. Fogarty’s wish was never granted, but at least now he lies in his beloved southeast corner plot, closest to the parish schoolhouse across State Street. Despite the forsythia folly, I’m sure he lies in peace with the scent of nearby hemlocks.

After visiting the monument, I usually return to the cemetery entrance, dragging the Deere behind me. The gates are a striking splendor of stained glass, shaped as a butterfly. Designed by a parishioner, they are wonderfully symbolic of new life and brilliantly dyed in spring colors. Because of the work ahead of me, I can never stop to stare, but rather must turn my back on their beauty and proceed to cut the grass in north-south passes.

In my third pass, I happily cut around the Nugent obelisk—the “Colossus of Doylestown.” Its whitewashed limestone reflects every ray of light that hits it and attracts the eye of every man who passes it. A standout among the immigrant rubble, the Nugent pillar memorializes an affluent and influential lawyer who worked two blocks from the church, at the county courthouse. The somewhat ostentatious, spire-like column tapers to the top, where there stands a proud but weatherworn statuette of the Good Shepherd. For nearly a century and a half, the monolith of Theodore Nugent, Esq. has towered over his remains and served as a landmark for cars traveling on State Street toward the center of town.

Later passes take me by many old friends, like Sophie Mayer, Peter Polka, William O’Doyle, and others. In the middle of the cemetery annex, where the grass smells freshly cut even before I arrive, Rose Traylor’s plot always awaits me with a new trick. Rose’s headstone is tended fastidiously by her sister, who still lives locally and pays her respects each day after the eight o’clock Mass. It seems that at least once a week a new plant sprouts up in front of dear Rose’s stone. Although St. Mary’s has no restrictions on items that may be placed or planted at gravesites, as time has passed, it has become an increasingly difficult challenge to cut the grass on Rose’s plot, or even to distinguish weeds from flowers. As a maintenance employee performing a corporal work of mercy, I don’t mind the extra work that Mrs. Traylor creates for me, but her efforts always draw a chuckle. She’s lucky to rest in the annex—one of the most secluded and sweetest smelling areas in the graveyard.

But perhaps the section of the cemetery I find most meaningful is the eastern edge, where lay the deceased infants and stillborn babies of our parish families. Tiny plots are provided to couples that suffer the dreadful loss of one so young. Shaded in the summertime by the pink blossoms of a dogwood stand, the miniature memorials recall the hallowedness of all human life. They testify to the sanctity of all human souls and stand as pillars of love. Although they are easily visible from both the church and school parking lots, the silence of the infants’ section is left undisturbed. It is truly a sanctuary of innocence.

The short lives of those babies and the beauty of their resting place have had tremendous influence on passers-by—more than Mr. Nugent or his pillar will ever have.

On Education & Certainty

"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen—not only because I see it, but because by it, I see everything else.” In his charming witticism, C. S. Lewis underscores the need for faith in all that we do. He specifically applies his call for religion, however, to activities that “bring things to light” and allow us to see. Such is education.

Without the benefit of religion, education ventures into a study of the unknown without the paramount certainty afforded by faith, as it provides answers for the unanswerable and rationale for the irrational. “Faith is the substance of things to be hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Without it, the scope of education is necessarily limited, and its foundation is faulty.

In high school, I learned physics from a surly man with exceptionally deep knowledge and outstanding teaching ability. His gruff demeanor was daunting to most of my classmates, but I never feared him. I was, however, very often frightened by things he said in tangents to his lessons. He taught his science with authority, but unfortunately preached atheism equally well. He deftly delivered disastrous sermons of skepticism.

Although he had an extraordinary mind and a talent for teaching, my year of physics resulted in an impoverished worldview. I had built up an immense depot of knowledge, but without understanding. Indeed, that May, it became evident to me how deep is the difference between knowledge and understanding.

Without question, the responsibility for providing a faith-based education for children falls upon parents, the primary educators. Parents are pivotal in the sanctification of their children, as they live “a conjugal life in the Christian spirit” and teach faith by personal example (CCC 902). In this way, children receive fundamental training in faith before applying it to academia, where they may find teachers—even in Catholic schools—who subvert the mission of the Church to spread the Good News.

Lewis’ words are a shrewd admonition against endeavors that lack the support of faith. I have unfortunately experienced the dangers of godless studies, under the guise of secular “academics,” but I have learned that truth can only be known with certainty in union with the Truth. There is more to education than facts, figures, and physics; without the light of faith, education is empty. “And the light keeps shining in the darkness, and darkness has never overcome it” (John 1:5).

On Humilitas

Be Not Proud

Why be like pine, with all its wounds outshown?
When pine’s blood flows it hardens haughtily
and stays to boast of aches past undergone.
How prideful is the pine, so vain a tree!
Robust and standing firm against the gale,
the potent pine has pow’r to be unswayed—
the strength to keep its lesions ‘neath a veil—
but much too often leaves its hurts outlaid.
Instead, turn from yourself; be not self-tall,
or else, like shining sap, you’ll swollen be.
Be like a mountain stream that, after all
its turns and bumps, bleeds forth into the sea.
For goodness flows, not from man’s vainglory,
but from that Precious Man spared vanity.

In Principio

I venture today into the realm of web logging. Why? I wonder myself. It is certainly not that I have a block of unused time each day that needs to be killed in some virtual labyrinth.

Rather, I begin this journey as an encouragement to myself. This is an active effort to put in writing those things which effortlessly engross my mind.

The mind is an active place. And so should our voices be. What we hear in the dark we must speak in the light (Matthew 10:27). But what do I hear, and what shall I say?

The noblest pursuit of man is wisdom (Proverbs 2). Is there anything more noble, more fair, more fit for study than Truth. Quid est veritas?