Whitney Houston
The sound of her voice, combined with the sight of her when young in videos or in films of yore, causes the tears to spring quite sudden and unrestrainable, to the eyes. 'Tis true.
And, incidentally, The Preacher's Wife (a 1996 remake of the 1947 film The Bishop's Wife starring David Niven, Loretta Young, Cary Grant) is, to my mind, a charming film that gives the original a run for its money. I don't generally swoon in ecstasies of admiration over Mr Washington, in large part because he is Our National Homework (we must admire him, we must, we must, and I like not must) -- but he was truly charming as the impish angel Dudley. Whitney still had something of a glow and, my God, the voice. Loretta Devine, with a smallish part, is perhaps one of America's foremost character actresses -- and Courtney Vance's performance as the beleaguered minister leads us to believe he is sorely underrated in the general esteem.
Monday, December 09, 2002
And palatability is, after all, What Really Matters
''I believe in what he's doing,'' said Roberta Pavia, 49, who has worshiped at Our Lady's for 15 years. ''He is making it at least more palatable to be a Catholic.''
Describing Cuenin as a plainspoken, principled figure, parishioners said they had long admired his message of tolerance of gays and of other religions. His leadership during the sex abuse crisis, they said, has been characteristically controversial.
More good press via El Globo forBarney the Dinosaur That Brave Pastor In Newton. Full article hereat.
addendum tenebrosum
In case you missed it : Unless you agree with That Brave Pastor on Everything Under The Sun, you're not Tolerant Of Gays And Of Other Religions. The implication is clear. Dominus Iesus = "intolerance." Courage & SSAML = "intolerance." Repeating the pale pastel bromides of a hoary and moribund progressivism = "new, exciting ideas."
Ecumenism is taken to mean, put all denominations & creeds in the blender, and press liquefy. The universal insult of insouciance. Insouciance about essential differences.
Tolerance of gays, in this context, should be taken to mean that the ethic of HH JP2, and of believing Catholics, and of Orthodox, and of traditionalist Christians of every ilk, stripe, and fellowship should be blasted out of existence with the most potent dynamite and replaced with the oh-so-salutary ethic of Angels in America, of Jesus Has Two Mommies, of Commonweal, of the Jesuit Urban Center, of John Shelby Spong.
Perhaps we are getting a mite rhetorical. But it would be silly not to at least ponder the possible dangers of That Brave Pastor's New And Exciting Ideas.
''I believe in what he's doing,'' said Roberta Pavia, 49, who has worshiped at Our Lady's for 15 years. ''He is making it at least more palatable to be a Catholic.''
Describing Cuenin as a plainspoken, principled figure, parishioners said they had long admired his message of tolerance of gays and of other religions. His leadership during the sex abuse crisis, they said, has been characteristically controversial.
More good press via El Globo for
addendum tenebrosum
In case you missed it : Unless you agree with That Brave Pastor on Everything Under The Sun, you're not Tolerant Of Gays And Of Other Religions. The implication is clear. Dominus Iesus = "intolerance." Courage & SSAML = "intolerance." Repeating the pale pastel bromides of a hoary and moribund progressivism = "new, exciting ideas."
Ecumenism is taken to mean, put all denominations & creeds in the blender, and press liquefy. The universal insult of insouciance. Insouciance about essential differences.
Tolerance of gays, in this context, should be taken to mean that the ethic of HH JP2, and of believing Catholics, and of Orthodox, and of traditionalist Christians of every ilk, stripe, and fellowship should be blasted out of existence with the most potent dynamite and replaced with the oh-so-salutary ethic of Angels in America, of Jesus Has Two Mommies, of Commonweal, of the Jesuit Urban Center, of John Shelby Spong.
Perhaps we are getting a mite rhetorical. But it would be silly not to at least ponder the possible dangers of That Brave Pastor's New And Exciting Ideas.
Austin Farrer redux
From The Essential Sermons, #36, "The Bells of Heaven" (pp. 144-5)
When I was a boy, my father, wishing to encourage me at once in Greek and in handicraft, and to edify himself at the same time, caused me to carve him a little wooden plaque, with the words ERCHETAI NUX, night cometh; the night, that is, in which no man can work. And this he put under the clock in his study, to discourage him from idleness, a warning, it seems to me, he of all men least needed; and yet, when he came to the end of his life, he would lament how little he had made of it. And so we are likely to feel. Time accuses us, time, and those awful words, 'We have left undone what we ought to have done' -- for God knows what that is. And when we are most triumphant in the sense of having overtaken time, and imposed our achievement on the day, we may have most cause to rue, in our supposed success, the failure to have done the only thing that would have been truly worth while.
If we have to suppose that any souls are condemned to everlasting misery, surely a striking clock will not be left out of the equipment of their prison : the sound of time relentlessly passing, and never occupied to the hearer's content. A life on earth continually overtaken by time, and by remorse, is a pattern of damnation; but if we suffer such a hell on earth, it is only for lack of taking hold upon the redemption so freely offered to us. The Light, which darkness overtaketh not, has shined on our heads : he who commits his soul to Christ is one with the will which made both night and day. He puts himself into the hands of Christ, to live in his will. He will not be perfect, and so he will have many repentances for time misspent; but he will be humble and believing, therefore he will feel no remorse. He will say : I missed this or that from a fellow-being, I followed my pride, or my pleasure, I did not do as you, my Lord, would have done. But you have let me fall into these errors to show me my heart, and you, in your mercy, will use them for my discipline, and turn them to account in the designs of your loving kindness. You have undertaken my life, and you will bring it to good. While we are yours, we shall never be overtaken by darkness; work out in us the purpose of your perfect will and bring us to that day, which will marry us to joy, and ring every peal in all the city of heaven.
From The Essential Sermons, #36, "The Bells of Heaven" (pp. 144-5)
When I was a boy, my father, wishing to encourage me at once in Greek and in handicraft, and to edify himself at the same time, caused me to carve him a little wooden plaque, with the words ERCHETAI NUX, night cometh; the night, that is, in which no man can work. And this he put under the clock in his study, to discourage him from idleness, a warning, it seems to me, he of all men least needed; and yet, when he came to the end of his life, he would lament how little he had made of it. And so we are likely to feel. Time accuses us, time, and those awful words, 'We have left undone what we ought to have done' -- for God knows what that is. And when we are most triumphant in the sense of having overtaken time, and imposed our achievement on the day, we may have most cause to rue, in our supposed success, the failure to have done the only thing that would have been truly worth while.
If we have to suppose that any souls are condemned to everlasting misery, surely a striking clock will not be left out of the equipment of their prison : the sound of time relentlessly passing, and never occupied to the hearer's content. A life on earth continually overtaken by time, and by remorse, is a pattern of damnation; but if we suffer such a hell on earth, it is only for lack of taking hold upon the redemption so freely offered to us. The Light, which darkness overtaketh not, has shined on our heads : he who commits his soul to Christ is one with the will which made both night and day. He puts himself into the hands of Christ, to live in his will. He will not be perfect, and so he will have many repentances for time misspent; but he will be humble and believing, therefore he will feel no remorse. He will say : I missed this or that from a fellow-being, I followed my pride, or my pleasure, I did not do as you, my Lord, would have done. But you have let me fall into these errors to show me my heart, and you, in your mercy, will use them for my discipline, and turn them to account in the designs of your loving kindness. You have undertaken my life, and you will bring it to good. While we are yours, we shall never be overtaken by darkness; work out in us the purpose of your perfect will and bring us to that day, which will marry us to joy, and ring every peal in all the city of heaven.
Psalm 1. Beatus vir qui non abiit.
BLESSED is the man that hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, * and hath not sat in the seat of the scornful.
2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD; * and in his law will he exercise himself day and night.
3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the water-side, * that will bring forth his fruit in due season.
4 His leaf also shall not wither; * and look, whatsoever he doeth, it shall prosper.
5 As for the ungodly, it is not so with them; * but they are like the chaff, which the wind scattereth away from the face of the earth.
6 Therefore the ungodly shall not be able to stand in the judgment, * neither the sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
7 But the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous; * and the way of the ungodly shall perish.
BLESSED is the man that hath not walked in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stood in the way of sinners, * and hath not sat in the seat of the scornful.
2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD; * and in his law will he exercise himself day and night.
3 And he shall be like a tree planted by the water-side, * that will bring forth his fruit in due season.
4 His leaf also shall not wither; * and look, whatsoever he doeth, it shall prosper.
5 As for the ungodly, it is not so with them; * but they are like the chaff, which the wind scattereth away from the face of the earth.
6 Therefore the ungodly shall not be able to stand in the judgment, * neither the sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
7 But the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous; * and the way of the ungodly shall perish.
Sunday, December 08, 2002
Austin Farrer (1904-1968)
Late Warden of Keble College. From The Essential Sermons (Cowley Publications, 1991).
From Sermon 22, "Double Thinking," p. 87. Note the variation on "through a glass darkly" in the penultimate sentence.
When the logicians say that there is a certain inevitable division between spiritual thinking and natural thinking, they are in a certain sense right. We can't reconcile the spiritual picture of things and the everyday picture of things completely on the intellectual level. If we claimed to be able to do it, we should claim to comprehend the ways of God as well as we comprehend the ways of this world, and that would be an exaggerated claim. We see God in pictures, in images only, reflected in a glass and riddlingly says St Paul : and we cannot fuse our picture of God perfectly with our picture of the natural world. There always remains a certain discontinuity, a certain incoherence on the intellectual level.
Late Warden of Keble College. From The Essential Sermons (Cowley Publications, 1991).
From Sermon 22, "Double Thinking," p. 87. Note the variation on "through a glass darkly" in the penultimate sentence.
When the logicians say that there is a certain inevitable division between spiritual thinking and natural thinking, they are in a certain sense right. We can't reconcile the spiritual picture of things and the everyday picture of things completely on the intellectual level. If we claimed to be able to do it, we should claim to comprehend the ways of God as well as we comprehend the ways of this world, and that would be an exaggerated claim. We see God in pictures, in images only, reflected in a glass and riddlingly says St Paul : and we cannot fuse our picture of God perfectly with our picture of the natural world. There always remains a certain discontinuity, a certain incoherence on the intellectual level.
Anniversaries
December 8, 1980 : John Lennon is slain by gunman Mark David Chapman outside his apartment building in New York City; the former Beatle was 40.
December 9, 1979 : Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen -- legendary Catholic apologist, author, and television personality -- longtime Bishop of Rochester, NY -- dies at 84.
In his autobiography, Treasure In Clay, Archbishop Sheen tells how he often prayed to die on a day dedicated to our Lady, such as a Saturday, or a significant Marian feast. But then he tells how a friend told him he should be ready whenever the good Lord calls him.
The day before Archbishop Sheen's death was both a Saturday and the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception.
He died the next day, on the dies Domini, Sunday -- which in many languages is called Resurrection.
And this year, December 9 is the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception! So, the venerable archbishop did, after a fashion, get his wish!
December 8, 1980 : John Lennon is slain by gunman Mark David Chapman outside his apartment building in New York City; the former Beatle was 40.
December 9, 1979 : Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen -- legendary Catholic apologist, author, and television personality -- longtime Bishop of Rochester, NY -- dies at 84.
In his autobiography, Treasure In Clay, Archbishop Sheen tells how he often prayed to die on a day dedicated to our Lady, such as a Saturday, or a significant Marian feast. But then he tells how a friend told him he should be ready whenever the good Lord calls him.
The day before Archbishop Sheen's death was both a Saturday and the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception.
He died the next day, on the dies Domini, Sunday -- which in many languages is called Resurrection.
And this year, December 9 is the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception! So, the venerable archbishop did, after a fashion, get his wish!
'Tonight a great light has gone on in the world'
Landslide Landrieu's exuberant exclamation as she sweeps to victory, trounces Terrell with monumental mandate (51.60694% of the vote).
Landslide Landrieu's exuberant exclamation as she sweeps to victory, trounces Terrell with monumental mandate (51.60694% of the vote).
the Book of Psalms is irreplaceable
words of Pope John Paul II in Crossing the Threshold of Hope
The dispuational John da F. speaks, in a recent post, about the benefit of memorizing certain Psalms. He proposes a list, and mentions that Psalms 51 and 130 are specifically mentioned in the Enchiridion of Indulgences.
I'd add Psalm 8 to the list he proposes, and perhaps portions of 19 and 25.
The first few verses, at least, of Psalm 69.
A question about translation has been raised. Which translations do y'all prefer?
(Did I just say y'all ??)
I've grown quite fond of the Psalter in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer (where Psalm 8 begins, "O Lord our Governor"). This Psalter dates back to the days of Miles Coverdale and Thomas Cranmer. There's a felicity of idiom there that you don't find even in the King James, or its RC counterpart of rhyming title, the Douay-Rheims.
Magnificat, the monthly prayer booklet, is intent on foisting the flat cadences of the Grail Psalter upon its readership.
Fr Neuhaus of First Things stands up for the RSV, and for the NIV, widely favored among evangelicals.
Then, of course, there's the good old NAB.
And thenner, of courser, there's the gooder (immeasurably) and older (significantly) Psalter of the Vulgate.
Which do you prefer?
words of Pope John Paul II in Crossing the Threshold of Hope
The dispuational John da F. speaks, in a recent post, about the benefit of memorizing certain Psalms. He proposes a list, and mentions that Psalms 51 and 130 are specifically mentioned in the Enchiridion of Indulgences.
I'd add Psalm 8 to the list he proposes, and perhaps portions of 19 and 25.
The first few verses, at least, of Psalm 69.
A question about translation has been raised. Which translations do y'all prefer?
(Did I just say y'all ??)
I've grown quite fond of the Psalter in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer (where Psalm 8 begins, "O Lord our Governor"). This Psalter dates back to the days of Miles Coverdale and Thomas Cranmer. There's a felicity of idiom there that you don't find even in the King James, or its RC counterpart of rhyming title, the Douay-Rheims.
Magnificat, the monthly prayer booklet, is intent on foisting the flat cadences of the Grail Psalter upon its readership.
Fr Neuhaus of First Things stands up for the RSV, and for the NIV, widely favored among evangelicals.
Then, of course, there's the good old NAB.
And thenner, of courser, there's the gooder (immeasurably) and older (significantly) Psalter of the Vulgate.
Which do you prefer?
from Psalm 37. Noli aemulari.
FRET not thyself because of the ungodly; * neither be thou envious against the evil doers.
2 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, * and be withered even as the green herb.
3 Put thou thy trust in the LORD, and be doing good; * dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
4 Delight thou in the LORD, * and he shall give thee thy heart's desire.
5 Commit thy way unto the LORD, and put thy trust in him, * and he shall bring it to pass.
6 He shall make thy righteousness as clear as the light, * and thy just dealing as the noon-day.
7 Hold thee still in the LORD, and abide patiently upon him: * but grieve not thyself at him whose way doth prosper, against the man that doeth after evil counsels.
8 Leave off from wrath, and let go displeasure: * fret not thyself, else shalt thou be moved to do evil.
9 Wicked doers shall be rooted out; * and they that patiently abide the LORD, those shall inherit the land.
10 Yet a little while, and the ungodly shall be clean gone: * thou shalt look after his place, and he shall be away.
11 But the meek-spirited shall possess the earth, * and shall be refreshed in the multitude of peace.
FRET not thyself because of the ungodly; * neither be thou envious against the evil doers.
2 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, * and be withered even as the green herb.
3 Put thou thy trust in the LORD, and be doing good; * dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.
4 Delight thou in the LORD, * and he shall give thee thy heart's desire.
5 Commit thy way unto the LORD, and put thy trust in him, * and he shall bring it to pass.
6 He shall make thy righteousness as clear as the light, * and thy just dealing as the noon-day.
7 Hold thee still in the LORD, and abide patiently upon him: * but grieve not thyself at him whose way doth prosper, against the man that doeth after evil counsels.
8 Leave off from wrath, and let go displeasure: * fret not thyself, else shalt thou be moved to do evil.
9 Wicked doers shall be rooted out; * and they that patiently abide the LORD, those shall inherit the land.
10 Yet a little while, and the ungodly shall be clean gone: * thou shalt look after his place, and he shall be away.
11 But the meek-spirited shall possess the earth, * and shall be refreshed in the multitude of peace.
Saturday, December 07, 2002
An infamous Noonan memorandum
from chapter 11 of What I Saw at the Revolution : A Political Life in the Reagan Era (Ivy/Ballantine Books, 1990)
"Ich Bin ein Pain in the Neck"
The following is an excerpt from a lengthy memorandum that the wonderful Peggy Noonan, quondam Presidential speechwriter, sent to a group she called "the mice" -- a committee of persons who would excise the more spicy & controversial words from any speech she wrote for President Reagan ("communism," for instance) ... and replace them with the most insipid spoonfuls of Similac in the storied & gloried History of Pabulum.
pp. 227-8 If Ted Sorensen had had to deal with your Committee in the writing of the 1961 Berlin speech, he would have submitted for your consideration the phrase "Ich bin ein Berliner." [It] would have been edited out by the Committee and replaced with "We in the United States feel our bilateral relations with West Germany reflect a unity that allows us to declare at this time that further concessions to the Soviet Union are inappropriate."
You would not have been serving your President well with this edit. But you would have made it because a) "Ich bin ..." was an inherently dramatic statement, and dramatic personal declarations serve as red flags to Committees (sorry I said "red," that must be the 11th communist reference in this memo); b) The Official Worrier on your Committee would have pointed out, "A statement that strong really paints us in a corner when it comes to negotiations down the road. The press'llpick up on it and use it against us in the trade talks"; and c) the Literal Mind on your Committee would have pointed out, "The President isn't from Berlin and everyone knows it. He's from Massachusetts." ...
Required reading. Seriously. Stop ye, drop what ye do, and obtain a copy of this book -- even if on the temporary basis allowed by a public library. Miss Noonan is monumental.
from chapter 11 of What I Saw at the Revolution : A Political Life in the Reagan Era (Ivy/Ballantine Books, 1990)
"Ich Bin ein Pain in the Neck"
The following is an excerpt from a lengthy memorandum that the wonderful Peggy Noonan, quondam Presidential speechwriter, sent to a group she called "the mice" -- a committee of persons who would excise the more spicy & controversial words from any speech she wrote for President Reagan ("communism," for instance) ... and replace them with the most insipid spoonfuls of Similac in the storied & gloried History of Pabulum.
pp. 227-8 If Ted Sorensen had had to deal with your Committee in the writing of the 1961 Berlin speech, he would have submitted for your consideration the phrase "Ich bin ein Berliner." [It] would have been edited out by the Committee and replaced with "We in the United States feel our bilateral relations with West Germany reflect a unity that allows us to declare at this time that further concessions to the Soviet Union are inappropriate."
You would not have been serving your President well with this edit. But you would have made it because a) "Ich bin ..." was an inherently dramatic statement, and dramatic personal declarations serve as red flags to Committees (sorry I said "red," that must be the 11th communist reference in this memo); b) The Official Worrier on your Committee would have pointed out, "A statement that strong really paints us in a corner when it comes to negotiations down the road. The press'llpick up on it and use it against us in the trade talks"; and c) the Literal Mind on your Committee would have pointed out, "The President isn't from Berlin and everyone knows it. He's from Massachusetts." ...
Required reading. Seriously. Stop ye, drop what ye do, and obtain a copy of this book -- even if on the temporary basis allowed by a public library. Miss Noonan is monumental.
mostly sunny today
with an increasing chance of ... clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee and ...
after reading a meditation at Sainteros (and it is remarkable, isn't it, how songs you haven't heard in 20 years or so, can come back to you word for word, given the right triggering mechanism?) I went to that part of the Carly Simon site that has the lyrics for, and discusses the genesis of, "You're So Vain."
Scroll down a ways to the following exchange that took place on Phil Donahue's show in 1990 :
An audience member asks Carly: Was 'You're So Vain' about Warren Beatty? And did Mick Jagger sing vocals on that?
Carly: I've never, ever told who 'You're So Vain' is about. But I will tell you since you're so very pretty in that pink sweater....it's about the young Oprah Winfrey.
with an increasing chance of ... clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee and ...
after reading a meditation at Sainteros (and it is remarkable, isn't it, how songs you haven't heard in 20 years or so, can come back to you word for word, given the right triggering mechanism?) I went to that part of the Carly Simon site that has the lyrics for, and discusses the genesis of, "You're So Vain."
Scroll down a ways to the following exchange that took place on Phil Donahue's show in 1990 :
An audience member asks Carly: Was 'You're So Vain' about Warren Beatty? And did Mick Jagger sing vocals on that?
Carly: I've never, ever told who 'You're So Vain' is about. But I will tell you since you're so very pretty in that pink sweater....it's about the young Oprah Winfrey.
outside it was New York and beautifully snowing
and Peggy Noonan has noticed and given us another pleasurable treasure to cherish.
and Peggy Noonan has noticed and given us another pleasurable treasure to cherish.
Anniversaries
December 7, 1941 was the bombing of Pearl Harbor; in 1993, Colin Ferguson's violence on a Long Island commuter train; in 374, the election by popular acclamation of (St) Ambrose as Bishop of Milan; and in 1875 ... a calamity at sea :
:: :: :: :: ::
Thou mastering me
God! giver of breath and bread;
World’s strand, sway of the sea;
Lord of living and dead;
Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread,
Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.
I did say yes
O at lightning and lashed rod;
Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess
Thy terror, O Christ, O God;
Thou knowest the walls, altar and hour and night:
The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod
Hard down with a horror of height:
And the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress.
[ :: :: :: ]
Five! the finding and sake
And cipher of suffering Christ.
Mark, the mark is of man’s make
And the word of it Sacrificed.
But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken,
Before-time-taken, dearest prizèd and priced—
Stigma, signal, cinquefoil token
For lettering of the lamb’s fleece, ruddying of the rose-flake.
[ :: :: :: ]
Dame, at our door
Drowned, and among our shoals,
Remember us in the roads, the heaven-haven of the Reward:
Our King back, oh, upon English souls!
Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east,
More brightening her, rare-dear Britain, as his reign rolls,
Pride, rose, prince, hero of us, high-priest,
Our hearts’ charity’s hearth’s fire, our thoughts’ chivalry’s throng’s Lord.
:: :: :: :: ::
A link to the whole poem, The Wreck of the Deutschland by Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ.
December 7, 1941 was the bombing of Pearl Harbor; in 1993, Colin Ferguson's violence on a Long Island commuter train; in 374, the election by popular acclamation of (St) Ambrose as Bishop of Milan; and in 1875 ... a calamity at sea :
:: :: :: :: ::
Thou mastering me
God! giver of breath and bread;
World’s strand, sway of the sea;
Lord of living and dead;
Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread,
Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Over again I feel thy finger and find thee.
I did say yes
O at lightning and lashed rod;
Thou heardst me truer than tongue confess
Thy terror, O Christ, O God;
Thou knowest the walls, altar and hour and night:
The swoon of a heart that the sweep and the hurl of thee trod
Hard down with a horror of height:
And the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress.
[ :: :: :: ]
Five! the finding and sake
And cipher of suffering Christ.
Mark, the mark is of man’s make
And the word of it Sacrificed.
But he scores it in scarlet himself on his own bespoken,
Before-time-taken, dearest prizèd and priced—
Stigma, signal, cinquefoil token
For lettering of the lamb’s fleece, ruddying of the rose-flake.
[ :: :: :: ]
Dame, at our door
Drowned, and among our shoals,
Remember us in the roads, the heaven-haven of the Reward:
Our King back, oh, upon English souls!
Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east,
More brightening her, rare-dear Britain, as his reign rolls,
Pride, rose, prince, hero of us, high-priest,
Our hearts’ charity’s hearth’s fire, our thoughts’ chivalry’s throng’s Lord.
:: :: :: :: ::
A link to the whole poem, The Wreck of the Deutschland by Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ.
The vote, so far ... no chads! huzzah!
including my top three, but not my honorable mentions
6 votes
Carmelites
4 votes
Franciscans
3 votes
Benedictines
Cistercians/Trappists
Dominicans
Oratorians
2 votes
Missionaries of Charity
Society of Jesus
1 vote
Daughters of St Paul
Marists
Oblates of the Virgin Mary
Passionists
Religious of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
Sisters of Mercy
:: :: :: :: ::
You are free to cast further votes, but there is no guarantee that they will be tabulated.
How's that for an election law, eh?
including my top three, but not my honorable mentions
6 votes
Carmelites
4 votes
Franciscans
3 votes
Benedictines
Cistercians/Trappists
Dominicans
Oratorians
2 votes
Missionaries of Charity
Society of Jesus
1 vote
Daughters of St Paul
Marists
Oblates of the Virgin Mary
Passionists
Religious of the Sacred Heart of Jesus
Sisters of Mercy
:: :: :: :: ::
You are free to cast further votes, but there is no guarantee that they will be tabulated.
How's that for an election law, eh?
dylan's favorite religious orders
I feel slightly guilty for not having selected the Carmelites or the Dominicans or the Missionaries of the Poor or the Missionaries of Charity or the Benedictines. (Or, after a recent post by Mr Serafin about Boston's Mission Church, the Redemptorists.) They all get honorable mention. I may go back & tabulate the top vote-getters, excluding my choices. Here they are, by alphabetical order of their initials :
CFR : The Franciscan Friars of the Renewal
The order that had its genesis in the early 1990s in the South Bronx. Perhaps coming generations will call them "the Groeschel Franciscans" as we speak of the Hawthorne Dominicans. The personal charisma of the founder has much to do with this choice, but I am fascinated, too, by their combination of a deeply contemplative and Eucharistic spirituality and an unselfsparing contact with the modern world in one of New York's, uhm, busiest bailiwicks.
OCSO : Order of the Cistercians of the Stricter Observance
The Trappists. For all the reasons you might expect. Thomas Merton remains a compelling figure, in spite of, or perhaps because of, his flaws. Spent a week on retreat at a Trappist monastery once (and alas, only once). Used to subscribe to the Cistercian Studies Quarterly : I'll still occasionally send away for back issues. A priest-friend says that if God can be seen or heard anywhere on this earth, it's at a Trappist monastery.
OMV : Oblates of the Virgin Mary
... who staff the Saint Francis Chapel in Boston's Prudential Center. As a reader says in a comment to post a way's beneath this one, "These men are in love with God." The order was founded by the Venerable Pio Bruno Lanteri early in the 19th century, and brought to these shores in 1976. The director of the aforementioned chapel is such a superlative exemplar of the faith that one feels only the Pope would be an improvement. The eldest priest at the chapel, who was instrumental in bringing the OMVs to the USA, is eutrapelia personified. That's a good thing. All joyfully orthodox, with the adverb increasing in direct proportion to the adjective.
:: :: :: :: ::
Other categories (addenda tenebrosa)
My favorite Jesuit : Has to be Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89). Too many temperamental affinities to ignore. The shiniest of shiny silver medals goes to Henri Cardinal de Lubac, the 20th century theologian, one of whose books I have read.
My favorite ex-Jesuit : Must be the Very Rev. Richard Ho Lung, founder of the Missionaries of the Poor.
My least favorite Jesuit : A number than numbskull who once heard my confession. The experience, almost too ghastly to describe. The collarless presbyter saw it as an opportunity to practice a little amateur psychology. He asked for a thumbnail sketch in words of my life since age 18. Not knowing where he was going with this, and not wanting to disappoint, I did my best. Then, when I was done, the fun began. Enchanted by the sound of his own voice, and emboldened by my unwillingness to interrupt, he monologized for over half an hour, occasionally looking up to ask "Is any of this ... making any sense ... to you?" This pleasant little ramble -- as pleasant as it was little -- was punctuated by his attempt to foist upon me a book by a psychologist with the glorious surname of Horney (pronounced "whore-nigh") that would prove helpful, its would-be donor said, in curing any lingering "fundamentalisms" I might have. I told him I had more than enough to read at the moment, thank you. But I was absolved, in the normal fashion, and sent on my merry way to ponder the enticing diversity of our Church, the great number of truly extraordinary characters that one encounters therein.
:: :: :: :: ::
Epilogue
Once I was watching the Mass on EWTN. I don't do that too often, but I recognized the celebrant : Fr Frank Pavone, the director of Priests for Life, instrumental (be it noted) in the conversion to Catholicism of Miss Norma McCorvey, a.k.a. Jane Roe.
I turned on during the middle of the sermon. A lapidary utterance. "Theology," he said, acknowledging that he was quoting someone whose name I don't remember, "begins with an Amen. With a yes. With an assent to all that God has revealed through Scripture and the tradition of his holy church. Prayer ends with an Amen; theology begins with an Amen. Theology picks up where prayer leaves off."
This sort of thinking is quite prevalent, for the most part, in the orders that I chose as my favorites and in the orders that most of you chose as your favorites. This sort of thinking is not quite as prevalent in some of the other orders, perhaps illustrious once upon a time in their zeal for the "faith of our fathers, holy faith"; but currently, suffering from the unfortunate urge to put a question-mark where God has placed a period -- or even an exclamation point!
I feel slightly guilty for not having selected the Carmelites or the Dominicans or the Missionaries of the Poor or the Missionaries of Charity or the Benedictines. (Or, after a recent post by Mr Serafin about Boston's Mission Church, the Redemptorists.) They all get honorable mention. I may go back & tabulate the top vote-getters, excluding my choices. Here they are, by alphabetical order of their initials :
CFR : The Franciscan Friars of the Renewal
The order that had its genesis in the early 1990s in the South Bronx. Perhaps coming generations will call them "the Groeschel Franciscans" as we speak of the Hawthorne Dominicans. The personal charisma of the founder has much to do with this choice, but I am fascinated, too, by their combination of a deeply contemplative and Eucharistic spirituality and an unselfsparing contact with the modern world in one of New York's, uhm, busiest bailiwicks.
OCSO : Order of the Cistercians of the Stricter Observance
The Trappists. For all the reasons you might expect. Thomas Merton remains a compelling figure, in spite of, or perhaps because of, his flaws. Spent a week on retreat at a Trappist monastery once (and alas, only once). Used to subscribe to the Cistercian Studies Quarterly : I'll still occasionally send away for back issues. A priest-friend says that if God can be seen or heard anywhere on this earth, it's at a Trappist monastery.
OMV : Oblates of the Virgin Mary
... who staff the Saint Francis Chapel in Boston's Prudential Center. As a reader says in a comment to post a way's beneath this one, "These men are in love with God." The order was founded by the Venerable Pio Bruno Lanteri early in the 19th century, and brought to these shores in 1976. The director of the aforementioned chapel is such a superlative exemplar of the faith that one feels only the Pope would be an improvement. The eldest priest at the chapel, who was instrumental in bringing the OMVs to the USA, is eutrapelia personified. That's a good thing. All joyfully orthodox, with the adverb increasing in direct proportion to the adjective.
:: :: :: :: ::
Other categories (addenda tenebrosa)
My favorite Jesuit : Has to be Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89). Too many temperamental affinities to ignore. The shiniest of shiny silver medals goes to Henri Cardinal de Lubac, the 20th century theologian, one of whose books I have read.
My favorite ex-Jesuit : Must be the Very Rev. Richard Ho Lung, founder of the Missionaries of the Poor.
My least favorite Jesuit : A number than numbskull who once heard my confession. The experience, almost too ghastly to describe. The collarless presbyter saw it as an opportunity to practice a little amateur psychology. He asked for a thumbnail sketch in words of my life since age 18. Not knowing where he was going with this, and not wanting to disappoint, I did my best. Then, when I was done, the fun began. Enchanted by the sound of his own voice, and emboldened by my unwillingness to interrupt, he monologized for over half an hour, occasionally looking up to ask "Is any of this ... making any sense ... to you?" This pleasant little ramble -- as pleasant as it was little -- was punctuated by his attempt to foist upon me a book by a psychologist with the glorious surname of Horney (pronounced "whore-nigh") that would prove helpful, its would-be donor said, in curing any lingering "fundamentalisms" I might have. I told him I had more than enough to read at the moment, thank you. But I was absolved, in the normal fashion, and sent on my merry way to ponder the enticing diversity of our Church, the great number of truly extraordinary characters that one encounters therein.
:: :: :: :: ::
Epilogue
Once I was watching the Mass on EWTN. I don't do that too often, but I recognized the celebrant : Fr Frank Pavone, the director of Priests for Life, instrumental (be it noted) in the conversion to Catholicism of Miss Norma McCorvey, a.k.a. Jane Roe.
I turned on during the middle of the sermon. A lapidary utterance. "Theology," he said, acknowledging that he was quoting someone whose name I don't remember, "begins with an Amen. With a yes. With an assent to all that God has revealed through Scripture and the tradition of his holy church. Prayer ends with an Amen; theology begins with an Amen. Theology picks up where prayer leaves off."
This sort of thinking is quite prevalent, for the most part, in the orders that I chose as my favorites and in the orders that most of you chose as your favorites. This sort of thinking is not quite as prevalent in some of the other orders, perhaps illustrious once upon a time in their zeal for the "faith of our fathers, holy faith"; but currently, suffering from the unfortunate urge to put a question-mark where God has placed a period -- or even an exclamation point!
Friday, December 06, 2002
Possibly upcoming
Austin Farrer (nineteen-oh-something to 1968), Anglican titan, with :
-- another variation on "through a glass darkly"
-- a fitting-for-Advent-and-Yuletide theme of lux in tenebris lucet
There's a certain type of Anglican that might be considered one of my favorite "religious orders" : mid-20th century, British, higher-than-High-Church, more Catholic than the Curia, smells & bells Anglo-Catholics with gloriously orthodox theological inclinations. Among them : the aforementioned Austin Farrer, Eric Milner-White (vide infra), E. L. Mascall, John Baillie, A. M. Allchin, and the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury (including in that numbering both Romans and C of E) Arthur Michael Ramsey.
You've heard of the OSBs, OFMs, OPs, SJs ??
These are the RCAs : the Really Cool Anglicans !!
Austin Farrer (nineteen-oh-something to 1968), Anglican titan, with :
-- another variation on "through a glass darkly"
-- a fitting-for-Advent-and-Yuletide theme of lux in tenebris lucet
There's a certain type of Anglican that might be considered one of my favorite "religious orders" : mid-20th century, British, higher-than-High-Church, more Catholic than the Curia, smells & bells Anglo-Catholics with gloriously orthodox theological inclinations. Among them : the aforementioned Austin Farrer, Eric Milner-White (vide infra), E. L. Mascall, John Baillie, A. M. Allchin, and the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury (including in that numbering both Romans and C of E) Arthur Michael Ramsey.
You've heard of the OSBs, OFMs, OPs, SJs ??
These are the RCAs : the Really Cool Anglicans !!
Request for prayer
Do pray for the good Mr Riddle of Flos Carmeli, for the restoration of health to his wife (bronchial and sinus ailments) and son (signs of the same), and for their safe travelling through the recently snowed-upon (south)eastern seaboard.
Do pray for the good Mr Riddle of Flos Carmeli, for the restoration of health to his wife (bronchial and sinus ailments) and son (signs of the same), and for their safe travelling through the recently snowed-upon (south)eastern seaboard.
c A p I t A l L e T t E r S m A y S o O n R e T u R n
in recent days i became conscious of the need to lower my voice, & so resorted to the estlinarian lowercase, except for direct quotation.
a very catholic thing to do : an outward symbol (like the purple vestments of advent & lent, symbolizing penitence), a visual equivalent of sotto voce. an external sign of an internal reality. a visible emblem of the invisible change that was most urgently needed. don't shout so much. speak softly and carry a big lexicon.
and of course, whether i type small or type large, whether the words "appear" to be whispering & weesleekit, or strapping & stentorian, there will always be chez nous those moments of stridency -- as well as those moments of (comparative & somewhat impaired) serenity. an emotional chiaroscuro. gnome sane?
in recent days i became conscious of the need to lower my voice, & so resorted to the estlinarian lowercase, except for direct quotation.
a very catholic thing to do : an outward symbol (like the purple vestments of advent & lent, symbolizing penitence), a visual equivalent of sotto voce. an external sign of an internal reality. a visible emblem of the invisible change that was most urgently needed. don't shout so much. speak softly and carry a big lexicon.
and of course, whether i type small or type large, whether the words "appear" to be whispering & weesleekit, or strapping & stentorian, there will always be chez nous those moments of stridency -- as well as those moments of (comparative & somewhat impaired) serenity. an emotional chiaroscuro. gnome sane?
priorities of the episcopate
as an addendum to posts popping up -- hither (mark s) & yon (mark s) -- criticizing cardinal law for doing something-or-other to annoy a priest from newton, massachusetts. (here is an article from boston's boring broadsheet that may help to explain.)
a september editorial in the pilot explores the ecclesiology of the priest in question & his alliance with noise of the fretful.
noise of the fretful's new ideas seem to me as new as henry viii of england. it is the heresy that the ecclesia must conform itself to the desiderata of our preferred from of government. whether that government be monarchical -- and a monarch other than christ the king is to be here understood -- or democratic. nihil novum sub sole. between noise of the fretful & the pontiff's choice, i'll take the pontiff's choice. to paraphrase the poet : i am not margery eagan (anti-ecclesia boston herald columnist), nor was meant to be.
i think the question chez mark & mark, with cardinal law and fr cuenin has more to do with the timing. why now, when the fellow has had these views, it seems, for a long time? yes, but : had he always been giving interviews to the new yorker?
you know what our bishops really need to do. they need to get their priorities straight once & for all.
it has to be said. said clearly, & said plainly. without hesitation, equivocation or qualification ...
the new american bible must go!
they need to get the new american bible translation irrevocably & completely out of the lectionaries.
that is a sizable & significant scandal that has not gotten its fair share of attention.
in my copy of the NAB -- but interestingly, not on the USCCB webpage for the NAB : the translation undergoes more chromatic mutations than a chameleon on plaid -- psalm 46 verse 11 (10 in many other translations) is rendered : Desist! and confess that I am God.
need. we. say. more.
as an addendum to posts popping up -- hither (mark s) & yon (mark s) -- criticizing cardinal law for doing something-or-other to annoy a priest from newton, massachusetts. (here is an article from boston's boring broadsheet that may help to explain.)
a september editorial in the pilot explores the ecclesiology of the priest in question & his alliance with noise of the fretful.
noise of the fretful's new ideas seem to me as new as henry viii of england. it is the heresy that the ecclesia must conform itself to the desiderata of our preferred from of government. whether that government be monarchical -- and a monarch other than christ the king is to be here understood -- or democratic. nihil novum sub sole. between noise of the fretful & the pontiff's choice, i'll take the pontiff's choice. to paraphrase the poet : i am not margery eagan (anti-ecclesia boston herald columnist), nor was meant to be.
i think the question chez mark & mark, with cardinal law and fr cuenin has more to do with the timing. why now, when the fellow has had these views, it seems, for a long time? yes, but : had he always been giving interviews to the new yorker?
you know what our bishops really need to do. they need to get their priorities straight once & for all.
it has to be said. said clearly, & said plainly. without hesitation, equivocation or qualification ...
the new american bible must go!
they need to get the new american bible translation irrevocably & completely out of the lectionaries.
that is a sizable & significant scandal that has not gotten its fair share of attention.
in my copy of the NAB -- but interestingly, not on the USCCB webpage for the NAB : the translation undergoes more chromatic mutations than a chameleon on plaid -- psalm 46 verse 11 (10 in many other translations) is rendered : Desist! and confess that I am God.
need. we. say. more.
michelle foucault
known to her friends as The Pendulum
the sublime eve tushnet has a new contest going. philosophers who say : dansez! chantez! (rupaul de man?)
and was that an italo calvino reference on her most recent post?
known to her friends as The Pendulum
the sublime eve tushnet has a new contest going. philosophers who say : dansez! chantez! (rupaul de man?)
and was that an italo calvino reference on her most recent post?
george w loves george w
recently, mr o'rama linked to crisis magazine for a ralph mcinerny poem (quod vide), and i was in the mood to wander down roads less travelled ... & pretty soon i found myself on the website of fr george rutler's parish in new york city.
i always thought fr rutler was a brit, but if i read this brief curriculum vitae correctly he was born & raised (excuse me, born & reared) in new jersey.
in 1996, the governor of texas made fr rutler an honorary resident of the lone star state.
recently, mr o'rama linked to crisis magazine for a ralph mcinerny poem (quod vide), and i was in the mood to wander down roads less travelled ... & pretty soon i found myself on the website of fr george rutler's parish in new york city.
i always thought fr rutler was a brit, but if i read this brief curriculum vitae correctly he was born & raised (excuse me, born & reared) in new jersey.
in 1996, the governor of texas made fr rutler an honorary resident of the lone star state.
ad maiorem sinistrae gloriam
found this pleasant little rumination while doing a yahoo-search on the name of the newton, mass. priest mentioned midway through this article. (cardinal law and he are at loggerheads over something or other; i confess to being not an obsessive follower of such things. i confess, further, that i don't have it as my ambition to be charlie mccarthy to the boston globe's edgar bergen.)
but this little piece ties in to a discussion chez monsieur shea on the dire state of the society of jesus. i believe mr shea, in his own comment-box, phrased his view -- the right view, to my mind -- with a shyness, a reticence, a nicety, even a primness, a trepidation, a hesitancy, a salutary fear of the hyperbolic : the jesuits need a (paraphrase) good cleaning-out.
and this brings us to the latest ...
:: :: :: :: ::
quiz at tenebrae
to all the rc's out there, kickin it old-school, representin & repentin, 24/7, on the down low, on the up high :
what are your (three) favorite religious orders?
three's just a suggested number. make it two, or five, but not much more than five. (nope. make it exactly three. by the tenebriate equivalent of the edict of nantes.) cite reasons, or exemplary figures, or influences in your life. what have you. will wait to receive at least a half-dozen responses before i post my three ... tomorrow early or late.
found this pleasant little rumination while doing a yahoo-search on the name of the newton, mass. priest mentioned midway through this article. (cardinal law and he are at loggerheads over something or other; i confess to being not an obsessive follower of such things. i confess, further, that i don't have it as my ambition to be charlie mccarthy to the boston globe's edgar bergen.)
but this little piece ties in to a discussion chez monsieur shea on the dire state of the society of jesus. i believe mr shea, in his own comment-box, phrased his view -- the right view, to my mind -- with a shyness, a reticence, a nicety, even a primness, a trepidation, a hesitancy, a salutary fear of the hyperbolic : the jesuits need a (paraphrase) good cleaning-out.
and this brings us to the latest ...
:: :: :: :: ::
quiz at tenebrae
to all the rc's out there, kickin it old-school, representin & repentin, 24/7, on the down low, on the up high :
what are your (three) favorite religious orders?
three's just a suggested number. make it two, or five, but not much more than five. (nope. make it exactly three. by the tenebriate equivalent of the edict of nantes.) cite reasons, or exemplary figures, or influences in your life. what have you. will wait to receive at least a half-dozen responses before i post my three ... tomorrow early or late.
advent
by eric milner-white, late dean of york (1884-1963)
O LORD, my years grow long,
my time short :
Let me make haste with my repentance
and bow head and heart :
Let me not stay one day from amendment,
lest I stay too long :
Let me cease without delay
to love my own mischief,
and abandon without a backward look
the unfruitful works of darkness.
Lord, grant me new watchfulness
to lay hold upon opportunity of good :
Make me at last put on
the whole armour of light :
Rank me among them who work for their Lord,
loins girded, lamps burning,
till the night shall pass
and the true light shine.
Let me sing the new song,
following the Lamb whithersoever he goeth,
loving wheresoever he loveth,
doing whatsoever he biddeth,
unto the perfect day
and for ever and ever.
:: :: :: :: ::
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, acts, and prayers on the desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 16
by eric milner-white, late dean of york (1884-1963)
O LORD, my years grow long,
my time short :
Let me make haste with my repentance
and bow head and heart :
Let me not stay one day from amendment,
lest I stay too long :
Let me cease without delay
to love my own mischief,
and abandon without a backward look
the unfruitful works of darkness.
Lord, grant me new watchfulness
to lay hold upon opportunity of good :
Make me at last put on
the whole armour of light :
Rank me among them who work for their Lord,
loins girded, lamps burning,
till the night shall pass
and the true light shine.
Let me sing the new song,
following the Lamb whithersoever he goeth,
loving wheresoever he loveth,
doing whatsoever he biddeth,
unto the perfect day
and for ever and ever.
:: :: :: :: ::
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, acts, and prayers on the desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 16
Benedictus. St. Luke i. 68.
from the 1928 edition of the book of common prayer, episcopal church of the usa
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; * for he hath visited and redeemed his people;
And hath raised up a mighty salvation for us, * in the house of his servant David;
As he spake by the mouth of his holy Prophets, * which have been since the world began;
That we should be saved from our enemies, * and from the hand of all that hate us.
To perform the mercy promised to our forefathers, * and to remember his holy covenant;
To perform the oath which he sware to our forefather Abraham, * that he would give us;
That we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies * might serve him without fear;
In holiness and righteousness before him, * all the days of our life.
And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: * for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;
To give knowledge of salvation unto his people * for the remission of their sins,
Through the tender mercy of our God; * whereby the day-spring from on high hath visited us;
To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, * and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
from the 1928 edition of the book of common prayer, episcopal church of the usa
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; * for he hath visited and redeemed his people;
And hath raised up a mighty salvation for us, * in the house of his servant David;
As he spake by the mouth of his holy Prophets, * which have been since the world began;
That we should be saved from our enemies, * and from the hand of all that hate us.
To perform the mercy promised to our forefathers, * and to remember his holy covenant;
To perform the oath which he sware to our forefather Abraham, * that he would give us;
That we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies * might serve him without fear;
In holiness and righteousness before him, * all the days of our life.
And thou, child, shalt be called the prophet of the Highest: * for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;
To give knowledge of salvation unto his people * for the remission of their sins,
Through the tender mercy of our God; * whereby the day-spring from on high hath visited us;
To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, * and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
psalm 107.33-43
1) grail psalter
He changes streams into a desert,
springs of water into thirsty ground,
fruitful land into a salty waste,
for the wickedness of those who live there.
But he changes desert into streams,
thirsty ground into springs of water.
There he settles the hungry
and they build a city to dwell in.
They sow fields and plant their vines;
these yield crops for the harvest.
He blesses them; they grow in numbers.
He does not let their herds decrease.
He pours contempt upon princes,
makes them wander in trackless wastes.
They diminish, are reduced to nothing
by oppression, evil and sorrow.
But he raises the needy from distress;
makes families numerous as a flock.
The upright see it and rejoice
but all who do wrong are silenced.
Whoever is wise, let him heed these things.
And consider the love of the Lord.
:: :: :: :: ::
2) the 1928 book of common prayer
33 He turneth the floods into a wilderness, * and drieth up the water-springs.
34 A fruitful land maketh he barren, * for the wickedness of them that dwell therein.
35 Again, he maketh the wilderness a standing water, * and water-springs of a dry ground.
36 And there he setteth the hungry, * that they may build them a city to dwell in;
37 That they may sow their land, and plant vineyards, * to yield them fruits of increase.
38 He blesseth them, so that they multiply exceedingly; * and suffereth not their cattle to decrease.
39 And again, when they are minished and brought low * through oppression, through any plague or trouble;
40 Though he suffer them to be evil entreated through tyrants, * and let them wander out of the way in the wilderness;
41 Yet helpeth he the poor out of misery, * and maketh him households like a flock of sheep.
42 The righteous will consider this, and rejoice; * and the mouth of all wickedness shall be stopped.
43 Whoso is wise, will ponder these things; * and they shall understand the loving-kindness of the LORD.
1) grail psalter
He changes streams into a desert,
springs of water into thirsty ground,
fruitful land into a salty waste,
for the wickedness of those who live there.
But he changes desert into streams,
thirsty ground into springs of water.
There he settles the hungry
and they build a city to dwell in.
They sow fields and plant their vines;
these yield crops for the harvest.
He blesses them; they grow in numbers.
He does not let their herds decrease.
He pours contempt upon princes,
makes them wander in trackless wastes.
They diminish, are reduced to nothing
by oppression, evil and sorrow.
But he raises the needy from distress;
makes families numerous as a flock.
The upright see it and rejoice
but all who do wrong are silenced.
Whoever is wise, let him heed these things.
And consider the love of the Lord.
:: :: :: :: ::
2) the 1928 book of common prayer
33 He turneth the floods into a wilderness, * and drieth up the water-springs.
34 A fruitful land maketh he barren, * for the wickedness of them that dwell therein.
35 Again, he maketh the wilderness a standing water, * and water-springs of a dry ground.
36 And there he setteth the hungry, * that they may build them a city to dwell in;
37 That they may sow their land, and plant vineyards, * to yield them fruits of increase.
38 He blesseth them, so that they multiply exceedingly; * and suffereth not their cattle to decrease.
39 And again, when they are minished and brought low * through oppression, through any plague or trouble;
40 Though he suffer them to be evil entreated through tyrants, * and let them wander out of the way in the wilderness;
41 Yet helpeth he the poor out of misery, * and maketh him households like a flock of sheep.
42 The righteous will consider this, and rejoice; * and the mouth of all wickedness shall be stopped.
43 Whoso is wise, will ponder these things; * and they shall understand the loving-kindness of the LORD.
Thursday, December 05, 2002
the venerable john henry cardinal newman
God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another. I have my mission; I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I have a part in a great work; I am a link in a chain, a bond of connexion between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments. He does nothing in vain; He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends; He may throw me among strangers; He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me -- still He knows what he is about.
copied & pasted from the margin of ad orientem
God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another. I have my mission; I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I have a part in a great work; I am a link in a chain, a bond of connexion between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments. He does nothing in vain; He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends; He may throw me among strangers; He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me -- still He knows what he is about.
copied & pasted from the margin of ad orientem
elvira
excerpts from today's magnificat meditation by sister elvira petrozzi
To be able to follow [Christ], it is necessary that the desire to learn to pray grow inside of us. Prayer is an interior light that shines on our wounds and our defects. Every defect that weighs on our conscience is an open wound that bleeds. If we don't accept the help of others, who see and suffer from our defects every day, we run the risk of accumulating a lot of anger, sadness, and superficiality inside of us.
He does not punish and does not cause fear, because he knows very well what we are like. We shouldn't blame God when all of the idols that we keep for ourselves, making us slaves, bring us to the point of death, be it physical or spiritual.
We were created, rather, to be good, merciful, patient, and to live a clean and transparent life, in our minds, in our hearts, and in reality. To continue to live in our filth does us harm.
We were created for peace and joy, and if we haven't yet found them, we have to ask ourselves why, and begin to search for them inside ourselves.
excerpts from today's magnificat meditation by sister elvira petrozzi
To be able to follow [Christ], it is necessary that the desire to learn to pray grow inside of us. Prayer is an interior light that shines on our wounds and our defects. Every defect that weighs on our conscience is an open wound that bleeds. If we don't accept the help of others, who see and suffer from our defects every day, we run the risk of accumulating a lot of anger, sadness, and superficiality inside of us.
He does not punish and does not cause fear, because he knows very well what we are like. We shouldn't blame God when all of the idols that we keep for ourselves, making us slaves, bring us to the point of death, be it physical or spiritual.
We were created, rather, to be good, merciful, patient, and to live a clean and transparent life, in our minds, in our hearts, and in reality. To continue to live in our filth does us harm.
We were created for peace and joy, and if we haven't yet found them, we have to ask ourselves why, and begin to search for them inside ourselves.
figgy pudding on olympus
nobody liked my figgy pudding sketch. i am dejected beyond my capacity to describe. the depths of despondency defy any effort to calculate or measure. i fall upon the thorns of life, i bleed!
nobody liked my figgy pudding sketch. i am dejected beyond my capacity to describe. the depths of despondency defy any effort to calculate or measure. i fall upon the thorns of life, i bleed!
zac beaulac backtrack
the more i read these twenty poems, the more i realize that in my other blogging, i overemphasized his inclination to be melancholic. nearly half of the poems are love poems, quietly tender and (if you will) surprised by joy.
also, i recognize that if i were to spend 50 years attempting to imitate his style, i still wouldn't get it right; there would be something missing.
and comparisons are malapert : there are poets we think of, w. c. williams, thomas hardy, cummings at his most skilfully 'slight,' kenneth rexroth, robert creeley, cid corman, perhaps frank o'hara inasmuch as he notices the time & temperature & day of the week and mentions them ... maybe william blake in his fierce simplicity. but ultimately, zac beaulac is zac beaulac. and we shall not look upon his like again.
wonder where he is, & if he's still writing.
he really doesn't speak in his poems as much as murmur. he draws attention to himself by the unservingly determined effort not to draw attention to himself. there are poets who practice the mannerism of no mannerisms, but with zac, this is the only way he could write, and he is (was?) the only person who could write like this. heck, he manages to impart hithertofore unseen significance to conjunctions and prepositions.
the tone is voice is purposefully, willfully, recklessly atonal : that's his greatest flaw, and his greatest asset. think of a cardiogram that's nearly flat but for the occasional blip.
but still, whether it's the semi-burgeoning of a half-smile as he thinks of a friend or girlfriend (as he scurries to work, or drinks coffee), or the pessimist's anthem that the sun is little more than a herald of the dark, these poems are vitally important, gloriously individual, and absolutely indispensable. to this reader, at least.
the more i read these twenty poems, the more i realize that in my other blogging, i overemphasized his inclination to be melancholic. nearly half of the poems are love poems, quietly tender and (if you will) surprised by joy.
also, i recognize that if i were to spend 50 years attempting to imitate his style, i still wouldn't get it right; there would be something missing.
and comparisons are malapert : there are poets we think of, w. c. williams, thomas hardy, cummings at his most skilfully 'slight,' kenneth rexroth, robert creeley, cid corman, perhaps frank o'hara inasmuch as he notices the time & temperature & day of the week and mentions them ... maybe william blake in his fierce simplicity. but ultimately, zac beaulac is zac beaulac. and we shall not look upon his like again.
wonder where he is, & if he's still writing.
he really doesn't speak in his poems as much as murmur. he draws attention to himself by the unservingly determined effort not to draw attention to himself. there are poets who practice the mannerism of no mannerisms, but with zac, this is the only way he could write, and he is (was?) the only person who could write like this. heck, he manages to impart hithertofore unseen significance to conjunctions and prepositions.
the tone is voice is purposefully, willfully, recklessly atonal : that's his greatest flaw, and his greatest asset. think of a cardiogram that's nearly flat but for the occasional blip.
but still, whether it's the semi-burgeoning of a half-smile as he thinks of a friend or girlfriend (as he scurries to work, or drinks coffee), or the pessimist's anthem that the sun is little more than a herald of the dark, these poems are vitally important, gloriously individual, and absolutely indispensable. to this reader, at least.
saint paul's chapel
episcopal. nyc.
here is their main page : but do go thence to "video & photo" to take a look at some of the photo galleries. this chapel is fairly close to world trade, & sustained little damage. there are some memorable photographs related to september 11, 2001.
episcopal. nyc.
here is their main page : but do go thence to "video & photo" to take a look at some of the photo galleries. this chapel is fairly close to world trade, & sustained little damage. there are some memorable photographs related to september 11, 2001.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
advent
a poem by thomas merton, in religione m. louis, ocso, of gethsemane (1915-1968)
Charm with your stainlessness these winter nights,
Skies, and be perfect!
Fly vivider in the fiery dark, you quiet meteors,
And disappear.
You moon, be slow to go down,
This is your full!
The four white roads make off in silence
Towards the four parts of the starry universe.
Time falls like manna at the corners of the wintry earth.
We have become more humble than the rocks,
More wakeful than the patient hills.
Charm with your stainlessness these winter nights in Advent, holy
spheres,
While minds, as meek as beasts,
Stay close at home in the sweet hay;
And intellects are quieter than the flocks that feed by starlight.
Oh pour your darkness and your brightness over all our solemn valleys,
You skies : and travel like the gentle Virgin,
Toward the planets' stately setting,
Oh white full moon as quiet as Bethlehem!
a poem by thomas merton, in religione m. louis, ocso, of gethsemane (1915-1968)
Charm with your stainlessness these winter nights,
Skies, and be perfect!
Fly vivider in the fiery dark, you quiet meteors,
And disappear.
You moon, be slow to go down,
This is your full!
The four white roads make off in silence
Towards the four parts of the starry universe.
Time falls like manna at the corners of the wintry earth.
We have become more humble than the rocks,
More wakeful than the patient hills.
Charm with your stainlessness these winter nights in Advent, holy
spheres,
While minds, as meek as beasts,
Stay close at home in the sweet hay;
And intellects are quieter than the flocks that feed by starlight.
Oh pour your darkness and your brightness over all our solemn valleys,
You skies : and travel like the gentle Virgin,
Toward the planets' stately setting,
Oh white full moon as quiet as Bethlehem!
chez monsieur serafin
at his catholic page for lovers : praiseofglory.com
there is the advent 2002 page, containing the quietly splendid poem by jessica powers, in religione sister miriam of the holy spirit, ocd (scroll a little less than halfway down).
at his catholic page for lovers : praiseofglory.com
there is the advent 2002 page, containing the quietly splendid poem by jessica powers, in religione sister miriam of the holy spirit, ocd (scroll a little less than halfway down).
disestablishment rocks!
here is the mighty barrister on an idea floating about in the noggin of the 104th archbishop of canterbury and some of the unintended (happy!) consequences that such an idea might have.
it's not so far-fetched. a number of years ago, h.m. queen elizabeth ii became the first british monarch in centuries to attend a catholic religious service (vespers at westminster cathedral, i think).
also at the barrister
a catholic cheat-sheet -- a brief-ish catalogue of everything every 14-year-old catholic should know, but probably doesn't.
here is the mighty barrister on an idea floating about in the noggin of the 104th archbishop of canterbury and some of the unintended (happy!) consequences that such an idea might have.
it's not so far-fetched. a number of years ago, h.m. queen elizabeth ii became the first british monarch in centuries to attend a catholic religious service (vespers at westminster cathedral, i think).
also at the barrister
a catholic cheat-sheet -- a brief-ish catalogue of everything every 14-year-old catholic should know, but probably doesn't.
Flowers are to cranks
winter 1991-2
originally blogged at error503 on september 13th of this year
Flowers are to
cranks as
music to
stone, as the
drift of
snow to the
senseless
asphalt
and singing
is to the
one who
bickers as
draught of
vintage
is to
drought.
originally blogged at error503 on september 13th of this year
Flowers are to
cranks as
music to
stone, as the
drift of
snow to the
senseless
asphalt
and singing
is to the
one who
bickers as
draught of
vintage
is to
drought.
mr w quoting plato
you become what you behold : an observation which my junior-year (high-school) english teacher attributed to plato.
'tis true, methinks. which is why it seems salutary to take a respite from looking at the less uplifting aspects of The News Of The World, whether current events or events of the recent past. such relentlessness of retrospection conduces neither to peace nor to keeping one's s-of-h (estlin's abbreviation for the most important quality a soulmindheart can have videlicet a sense of humor).
there have always been, and will always be, goddesses and gorgons, harpies and heroes, in any assortment of specimens of our phylum and genus. the ancient hellenic myth about averting one's eyes from the snake-haired monsters -- lest one's blood congeal and flesh petrify -- seems apposite, fitting, and justly admonitory.
disgruntlement will doubtless be in evidence here, perhaps in generous doses, in the none-too-distant future, but hopefully not at the expense of whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable or excellent or praiseworthy.
you become what you behold : an observation which my junior-year (high-school) english teacher attributed to plato.
'tis true, methinks. which is why it seems salutary to take a respite from looking at the less uplifting aspects of The News Of The World, whether current events or events of the recent past. such relentlessness of retrospection conduces neither to peace nor to keeping one's s-of-h (estlin's abbreviation for the most important quality a soulmindheart can have videlicet a sense of humor).
there have always been, and will always be, goddesses and gorgons, harpies and heroes, in any assortment of specimens of our phylum and genus. the ancient hellenic myth about averting one's eyes from the snake-haired monsters -- lest one's blood congeal and flesh petrify -- seems apposite, fitting, and justly admonitory.
disgruntlement will doubtless be in evidence here, perhaps in generous doses, in the none-too-distant future, but hopefully not at the expense of whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable or excellent or praiseworthy.
pet pronunciation peeves
-- pronouncing the "al" in albeit like unto the "al" in albert
-- making aforementioned rhyme with laugher mentioned
-- pronouncing the "com" in compass or comfortable like unto the "com" in communist or comrade (believe it or not, i've heard this more than twice)
-- pronouncing colossians so that it rhymes with emotions or erosions
-- meaux-mento (the word is "memento," and has nothing whatever to do with "moment")
-- eleanor clift's a-gangst for against
-- all-time worst : semetic for semitic
(at the risk of sounding overly cretical, it's pathitic)
-- pronouncing the "al" in albeit like unto the "al" in albert
-- making aforementioned rhyme with laugher mentioned
-- pronouncing the "com" in compass or comfortable like unto the "com" in communist or comrade (believe it or not, i've heard this more than twice)
-- pronouncing colossians so that it rhymes with emotions or erosions
-- meaux-mento (the word is "memento," and has nothing whatever to do with "moment")
-- eleanor clift's a-gangst for against
-- all-time worst : semetic for semitic
(at the risk of sounding overly cretical, it's pathitic)
lectio estlinaris
cummings on "the doomed exact smile of life's placid obscure palpable carnival" inter alia
:: :: :: :: ::
O Distinct
Lady of my unkempt adoration
if I have made
a fragile certain
song under the window of your soul
it is not like any songs
(the singers the others
they have been faithful
to many things and which
die
i have been sometimes true
to Nothing and which lives
they were fond of the handsome
moon never spoke ill of the
pretty stars and to
the serene the complicated
and the obvious
they were faithful
and which i despise,
frankly
admitting i have been true
only to the noise of worms
in the eligible day
under the unaccountable sun)
Distinct Lady
swiftly take
my fragile certain song
that we may watch together
how behind the doomed
exact smile of life's
placid obscure palpable
carnival where to a normal
melody of probable violins dance
the square virtues with the oblong sins
perfectly
gesticulate the accurate
strenuous lips of incorruptible
Nothing under the ample
sun, under the insufficient
day under the noise of worms
cummings on "the doomed exact smile of life's placid obscure palpable carnival" inter alia
:: :: :: :: ::
O Distinct
Lady of my unkempt adoration
if I have made
a fragile certain
song under the window of your soul
it is not like any songs
(the singers the others
they have been faithful
to many things and which
die
i have been sometimes true
to Nothing and which lives
they were fond of the handsome
moon never spoke ill of the
pretty stars and to
the serene the complicated
and the obvious
they were faithful
and which i despise,
frankly
admitting i have been true
only to the noise of worms
in the eligible day
under the unaccountable sun)
Distinct Lady
swiftly take
my fragile certain song
that we may watch together
how behind the doomed
exact smile of life's
placid obscure palpable
carnival where to a normal
melody of probable violins dance
the square virtues with the oblong sins
perfectly
gesticulate the accurate
strenuous lips of incorruptible
Nothing under the ample
sun, under the insufficient
day under the noise of worms
achtung! jetzt haben wir eine zeitgeistspielerei!
with a nod to pilgrimage, here is a national review column by the venerable william f buckley on the collected conspiracy theories of thomas daschle and al rhymes-with-sore.
with a nod to pilgrimage, here is a national review column by the venerable william f buckley on the collected conspiracy theories of thomas daschle and al rhymes-with-sore.
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
in tenebris section i
by thomas hardy (1840-1928)
percussus sum sicut foenum et aruit cor meum -- ps. ci
Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
Flower-petals flee;
But, since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
Can harrow me.
Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost's black length:
Strength long since fled!
Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends can not turn cold
This season as of old
For him with none.
Tempests may scath;
But love can not make smart
Again this year his heart
Who no heart hath.
Black is night's cope;
But death will not appal
One who, past doubtings all,
Waits in unhope.
by thomas hardy (1840-1928)
percussus sum sicut foenum et aruit cor meum -- ps. ci
Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
Flower-petals flee;
But, since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
Can harrow me.
Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost's black length:
Strength long since fled!
Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends can not turn cold
This season as of old
For him with none.
Tempests may scath;
But love can not make smart
Again this year his heart
Who no heart hath.
Black is night's cope;
But death will not appal
One who, past doubtings all,
Waits in unhope.
zac beaulac
again, not his real name
very spare, minimalistic, bare-bones poet from my high-school days who was cooler than cooler than cool. radically different from me, on the surface of it. very much, like this poor penman, an autumnophile. he was always writing these very depressing poems in short-line vers libre of carefully balanced antithesis and "symmetry" ... or rhymed quatrains that made thomas hardy's winter trees seem comparatively exuberant & unwintry. i think he was influenced not only by eliot and cummings (the only 2 influences he'd admit to), but by the unrelentingly depressing alternative music to which he was always listening.
he did have his lighter moments but he hewed assiduously to that kind of spare, prosy, deadpan tone with -- every twice or thrice in a while a strange archaism or estlinarian quirk.
why am i zac-tracking through the hallowed halls of memory about mr beaulac? well, it seems i have a carefully preserved stapled sheaf -- from way back when -- of 20 of his poems. they are cistercian in their simplicity. they would be puritanical in their simplicity were it not for the wry wit & understated smile that surfaces unexpectedly every now and then.
i've been reading these poems of his, all written between 1985 and 88. he claimed in a cover-letter (still attached to this most generous gift) that they were almost all 1st drafts. zowie. i thought, looking at one piece of especial rhythmic dexterity & expert effortlessness, if this is a 1st draft, i am about to expire from an overdose of envy.
sorry to tease, but i don't think i can't post any excerpts. wouldn't be, as someone once said, prudent. or right. or just. but take thomas hardy or (he'd resent the comparison) emily dickinson, add some morrissey and new order : season lightly with cummings & a salubrious dose of stoicism approximating christian hope in the face of disheartening realities, & you've got zac beaulac.
maybe merton's poem "first lesson about man" comes close to being beaulackian, and maybe i'll blog that presently.
but old zachary's poems are being re-perused & re-absorbed these days, & (though they're the work of someone under 21, and perhaps because of that) they speak to me quite powerfully.
i once spent a year trying to write like him -- his minimalism being at the antipodes of my customary method, attitude, aesthetic, inclination, habit : but as a reader, i couldn't ignore the sheer force of his unforcefulness -- and there were some happy results. happily melancholic results.
again, not his real name
very spare, minimalistic, bare-bones poet from my high-school days who was cooler than cooler than cool. radically different from me, on the surface of it. very much, like this poor penman, an autumnophile. he was always writing these very depressing poems in short-line vers libre of carefully balanced antithesis and "symmetry" ... or rhymed quatrains that made thomas hardy's winter trees seem comparatively exuberant & unwintry. i think he was influenced not only by eliot and cummings (the only 2 influences he'd admit to), but by the unrelentingly depressing alternative music to which he was always listening.
he did have his lighter moments but he hewed assiduously to that kind of spare, prosy, deadpan tone with -- every twice or thrice in a while a strange archaism or estlinarian quirk.
why am i zac-tracking through the hallowed halls of memory about mr beaulac? well, it seems i have a carefully preserved stapled sheaf -- from way back when -- of 20 of his poems. they are cistercian in their simplicity. they would be puritanical in their simplicity were it not for the wry wit & understated smile that surfaces unexpectedly every now and then.
i've been reading these poems of his, all written between 1985 and 88. he claimed in a cover-letter (still attached to this most generous gift) that they were almost all 1st drafts. zowie. i thought, looking at one piece of especial rhythmic dexterity & expert effortlessness, if this is a 1st draft, i am about to expire from an overdose of envy.
sorry to tease, but i don't think i can't post any excerpts. wouldn't be, as someone once said, prudent. or right. or just. but take thomas hardy or (he'd resent the comparison) emily dickinson, add some morrissey and new order : season lightly with cummings & a salubrious dose of stoicism approximating christian hope in the face of disheartening realities, & you've got zac beaulac.
maybe merton's poem "first lesson about man" comes close to being beaulackian, and maybe i'll blog that presently.
but old zachary's poems are being re-perused & re-absorbed these days, & (though they're the work of someone under 21, and perhaps because of that) they speak to me quite powerfully.
i once spent a year trying to write like him -- his minimalism being at the antipodes of my customary method, attitude, aesthetic, inclination, habit : but as a reader, i couldn't ignore the sheer force of his unforcefulness -- and there were some happy results. happily melancholic results.
on being rash
a while back, i took out from the margin the links to some of the poetry i had posted here and at error503. should i restore those links?
also, possibly upcoming : a bit more on the dire state of my catholicism; and a look back to high school and a character i'll call zac beaulac (not his real name) ... a poet of considerable ability & force. an archrival of sorts.
a while back, i took out from the margin the links to some of the poetry i had posted here and at error503. should i restore those links?
also, possibly upcoming : a bit more on the dire state of my catholicism; and a look back to high school and a character i'll call zac beaulac (not his real name) ... a poet of considerable ability & force. an archrival of sorts.
Injustice and Praise
by Vernon Watkins (Wales, 1906-67)
When the unjust, uncivil
Or brutal act wrongs
A man, and he can call
No judge to answer the throng's
Bestial hatred, then
Not to retaliate
Against wicked men
Becomes him and his fate.
If in the ritual
Of vengeance he live,
He makes perpetual
His failure to forgive.
No; to those arbiters
Of true behaviour
There is no strength but stirs
To honour its saviour.
A tyrant's victory
Even in the old tales
Left with the dead the glory
Dropped from unequal scales.
When power on every side
Spelt ruin, defeat,
Never was theme for pride
More certain, more sweet.
Plagues, with hostile weather
Driving from chance or hate
When evils come together
In Job could consecrate
A strictness, a trust
Inviolable. To sing
When taunted by the unjust
Is a most sacred thing.
But what if pride of race
That enemy prove,
How shall a man efface
The inhuman scar on love?
How suffer, not pay back
With sworn antipathy
That scar's degrading lack
Where divine love should be?
Though worst injustice came,
He would be right
Not to sully that name
Which give him light,
Scourged Christ, by whom the devil
Finds himself outwitted,
Whose breast encounters evil
But cannot commit it.
by Vernon Watkins (Wales, 1906-67)
When the unjust, uncivil
Or brutal act wrongs
A man, and he can call
No judge to answer the throng's
Bestial hatred, then
Not to retaliate
Against wicked men
Becomes him and his fate.
If in the ritual
Of vengeance he live,
He makes perpetual
His failure to forgive.
No; to those arbiters
Of true behaviour
There is no strength but stirs
To honour its saviour.
A tyrant's victory
Even in the old tales
Left with the dead the glory
Dropped from unequal scales.
When power on every side
Spelt ruin, defeat,
Never was theme for pride
More certain, more sweet.
Plagues, with hostile weather
Driving from chance or hate
When evils come together
In Job could consecrate
A strictness, a trust
Inviolable. To sing
When taunted by the unjust
Is a most sacred thing.
But what if pride of race
That enemy prove,
How shall a man efface
The inhuman scar on love?
How suffer, not pay back
With sworn antipathy
That scar's degrading lack
Where divine love should be?
Though worst injustice came,
He would be right
Not to sully that name
Which give him light,
Scourged Christ, by whom the devil
Finds himself outwitted,
Whose breast encounters evil
But cannot commit it.
sed contra
led thither by a recent theme of discussion chez shea, i see that mr morrison addresses a problem one has encountered more than once : "progressive" and "compassionate" presbyters of the ecclesia (or spiritual directors) who preach softsoap on sexual sin, even in the sacramental context of confession.
i remember a particularly syrupy chap in friar's garb who condensed the gospel to this single and vexingly curious imperative : be gentle with yourself !!
led thither by a recent theme of discussion chez shea, i see that mr morrison addresses a problem one has encountered more than once : "progressive" and "compassionate" presbyters of the ecclesia (or spiritual directors) who preach softsoap on sexual sin, even in the sacramental context of confession.
i remember a particularly syrupy chap in friar's garb who condensed the gospel to this single and vexingly curious imperative : be gentle with yourself !!
john donne
preached at st paul's, upon christmas day, in the evening, 1624
God hath made no decree to distinguish the seasons of his mercies ; In paradise, the fruits were ripe, the first minute, and in heaven it is alwaies Autumne, his mercies are ever in their maturity. We ask panem quotidianum, our daily bread, and God never sayes you should have come yesterday, he never sayes you must againe to-morrow, but to-day, if you will heare his voice, to-day he will heare you. If some King of the earth have so large an extent of Dominion, in North, and South, as that he hath Winter and Summer together in his Dominions, so large an extent East and West, as that he hath day and night together in his Dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgement together : He brought light out of darknesse, not out of a lesser light ; he can bring thy Summer out of Winter, though thou have no Spring ; though in the wayes of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted until now, wintred and frozen, clouded and eclypsed, damped and benummed, smothered and stupified till now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the Sun at noon to illustrate all shadowes, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries ; all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
preached at st paul's, upon christmas day, in the evening, 1624
God hath made no decree to distinguish the seasons of his mercies ; In paradise, the fruits were ripe, the first minute, and in heaven it is alwaies Autumne, his mercies are ever in their maturity. We ask panem quotidianum, our daily bread, and God never sayes you should have come yesterday, he never sayes you must againe to-morrow, but to-day, if you will heare his voice, to-day he will heare you. If some King of the earth have so large an extent of Dominion, in North, and South, as that he hath Winter and Summer together in his Dominions, so large an extent East and West, as that he hath day and night together in his Dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgement together : He brought light out of darknesse, not out of a lesser light ; he can bring thy Summer out of Winter, though thou have no Spring ; though in the wayes of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted until now, wintred and frozen, clouded and eclypsed, damped and benummed, smothered and stupified till now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the Sun at noon to illustrate all shadowes, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries ; all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.
lectio estlinaris
all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
gush to it as deity or devil
--toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil--
it is you(né i)nobody else
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
--you are deafened every mother's son--
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
gush to it as deity or devil
--toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil--
it is you(né i)nobody else
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
--you are deafened every mother's son--
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
the glory is fallen out of the sky, the last immortal leaf is dead
Don't have the book on hand, but this is part of an early Cummings poem, from Tulips & Chimneys I think. Perfect description of late November, early December ... those gorgeous unbright winter days when the sun is nothing more than a feeble white bloodstain faintly seeping through a thick gray gauze of cloud.
I could use weather like this, oh, thirteen months a year.
Don't have the book on hand, but this is part of an early Cummings poem, from Tulips & Chimneys I think. Perfect description of late November, early December ... those gorgeous unbright winter days when the sun is nothing more than a feeble white bloodstain faintly seeping through a thick gray gauze of cloud.
I could use weather like this, oh, thirteen months a year.
Monday, December 02, 2002
Lectio Estlinaris
via i : six nonlectures, p. 69
concerning [as estlin notes] this selfstyled world's greatest and most generous literary figure: who had just arrived in our nation's capitol, attired in half a GI uniform and ready to be hanged as a traitor by the only country which ever made even a pretense of fighting for freedom of speech
Re Ezra Pound -- poetry happens to be an art;and artists happen to be human beings.
An artist doesn't live in some geographical abstraction,superimposed on a part of this beautiful earth by the nonimagination of unanimals and dedicated to the proposition that massacre is a social virtue because murder is an individual vice. Nor does an artist live in some soi-disant world,nor does he live in some so-called universe,nor does he live in any number of "worlds" or in any number of "universes." As for a few trifling delusions like the "past" and "present" and "future" of quote mankind unquote,they may be big enough for a couple of billion supermechanized submorons but they're much too small for one human being.
Every artist's strictly illimitable country is himself.
An artist who plays that country false has committed suicide;and even a good lawyer cannot kill the dead. But a human being who's true to himself--whoever himself may be--is immortal;and all the atomic bombs of all the antiartists in spacetime will never civilize immortality.
via i : six nonlectures, p. 69
concerning [as estlin notes] this selfstyled world's greatest and most generous literary figure: who had just arrived in our nation's capitol, attired in half a GI uniform and ready to be hanged as a traitor by the only country which ever made even a pretense of fighting for freedom of speech
Re Ezra Pound -- poetry happens to be an art;and artists happen to be human beings.
An artist doesn't live in some geographical abstraction,superimposed on a part of this beautiful earth by the nonimagination of unanimals and dedicated to the proposition that massacre is a social virtue because murder is an individual vice. Nor does an artist live in some soi-disant world,nor does he live in some so-called universe,nor does he live in any number of "worlds" or in any number of "universes." As for a few trifling delusions like the "past" and "present" and "future" of quote mankind unquote,they may be big enough for a couple of billion supermechanized submorons but they're much too small for one human being.
Every artist's strictly illimitable country is himself.
An artist who plays that country false has committed suicide;and even a good lawyer cannot kill the dead. But a human being who's true to himself--whoever himself may be--is immortal;and all the atomic bombs of all the antiartists in spacetime will never civilize immortality.
I love you, George Washington
If Mr Riddle's story this morning doesn't melt your heart, I don't know what will.
If Mr Riddle's story this morning doesn't melt your heart, I don't know what will.
Poesia dal c(u)ore
Lane Core really is the master of finding forgotten late-19th early-20th century poets with three-tiered names who write unpretentiously splendid verse. Rescuing happy things from the marauding jaws of oblivion.
Check out Edith Lovejoy Pierce. Scroll down : it's the poem whose every stanza closes with a disyllabic line.
Lane Core really is the master of finding forgotten late-19th early-20th century poets with three-tiered names who write unpretentiously splendid verse. Rescuing happy things from the marauding jaws of oblivion.
Check out Edith Lovejoy Pierce. Scroll down : it's the poem whose every stanza closes with a disyllabic line.
... Our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous
Eve Tushnet-who-rocks has given us an ample post entitled O Reason Not the Need!.
I wish I could say that I'm recommending the post on that basis alone : its name. But I've actually read a little of it, and it looks real good. Really good. I must go back to read more.
She's refuting the godawful notion that art should be, or must be, utilitarian. If I understand aright.
She is on the side of the angels. I should quote Cummings on what happens when Art is confused with propaganda -- or maybe I already have, somewhere in the archives? -- but right now, back to Eve-who-rocks, to read more.
Are in the poorest thing superfluous
Eve Tushnet-who-rocks has given us an ample post entitled O Reason Not the Need!.
I wish I could say that I'm recommending the post on that basis alone : its name. But I've actually read a little of it, and it looks real good. Really good. I must go back to read more.
She's refuting the godawful notion that art should be, or must be, utilitarian. If I understand aright.
She is on the side of the angels. I should quote Cummings on what happens when Art is confused with propaganda -- or maybe I already have, somewhere in the archives? -- but right now, back to Eve-who-rocks, to read more.
Recently added to Places Oft Visited
Under Other Sites (Poetry, Culture, Politics) :
Fred On Everything
Peggy Noonan's OpinionJournal Archive
The Paintings of E. E. Cummings
and Classical Christian Poetry
And under Orthodox Sites :
In Communion : Orthodox Peace Fellowship.
With the caveat, on that last, that it is there more for its devotional meditations than for its geopolitical thoughts.
Under Other Sites (Poetry, Culture, Politics) :
Fred On Everything
Peggy Noonan's OpinionJournal Archive
The Paintings of E. E. Cummings
and Classical Christian Poetry
And under Orthodox Sites :
In Communion : Orthodox Peace Fellowship.
With the caveat, on that last, that it is there more for its devotional meditations than for its geopolitical thoughts.
Sunday, December 01, 2002
Lady Margaret
Not Thatcher. Noonan.
A memorandum to snivelling hypocritical lefties, wincing from the vehemence with which their views are repudiated by some :
Stand up and take it like an American.
Via ELC's Blog from the Core.
Not Thatcher. Noonan.
A memorandum to snivelling hypocritical lefties, wincing from the vehemence with which their views are repudiated by some :
Stand up and take it like an American.
Via ELC's Blog from the Core.
Results of an election
A long-time incumbent has gone down to defeat
OLYMPUS (AP) -- In a recent referendum, the gods decided unanimously to retain nectar as their drink of choice, but in the area of solid comestibles, there has been a stunning upset. Long-time incumbent ambrosia has been soundly rejected by the Olympian electorate, and will no longer be known as "the food of the gods." As a source close to one high-ranking divinity noted, "They always had trouble remembering the ingredients."
Ambrosia will be replaced by figgy pudding, a choice championed by 58% of the immortals. With a well-heeled campaign and an endorsement from the ever-mercurial Hermes, enjoying his newfound role as kingmaker, figgy pudding managed to overcome an early 20-point deficit in the polls and high negative ratings due to a long-time association with Christian fundamentalists.
Figgy pudding will be inaugurated as the new food of the gods on January 1, 2003. A spokesman for the Figgy Pudding campaign was heard to say, "We're delighted. We're walking on air. Thanks be to the gods!"
Efforts to begin a write-in campaign for Country Kitchen Scotch Oatmeal Bread faltered in the early stages, due to lack of publicity and an insufficiency of capital. The perennial fringe candidate, Cheez Whiz, garnered no significant support, leading some to suggest that the product is well past its political prime.
As one long-time Olympus observer phrased the matter, "Cheez Whiz is earning a well-deserved reputation as the Harold Stassen of snack food."
A long-time incumbent has gone down to defeat
OLYMPUS (AP) -- In a recent referendum, the gods decided unanimously to retain nectar as their drink of choice, but in the area of solid comestibles, there has been a stunning upset. Long-time incumbent ambrosia has been soundly rejected by the Olympian electorate, and will no longer be known as "the food of the gods." As a source close to one high-ranking divinity noted, "They always had trouble remembering the ingredients."
Ambrosia will be replaced by figgy pudding, a choice championed by 58% of the immortals. With a well-heeled campaign and an endorsement from the ever-mercurial Hermes, enjoying his newfound role as kingmaker, figgy pudding managed to overcome an early 20-point deficit in the polls and high negative ratings due to a long-time association with Christian fundamentalists.
Figgy pudding will be inaugurated as the new food of the gods on January 1, 2003. A spokesman for the Figgy Pudding campaign was heard to say, "We're delighted. We're walking on air. Thanks be to the gods!"
Efforts to begin a write-in campaign for Country Kitchen Scotch Oatmeal Bread faltered in the early stages, due to lack of publicity and an insufficiency of capital. The perennial fringe candidate, Cheez Whiz, garnered no significant support, leading some to suggest that the product is well past its political prime.
As one long-time Olympus observer phrased the matter, "Cheez Whiz is earning a well-deserved reputation as the Harold Stassen of snack food."
Too funny. And too true.
Fred On Everything, a Washington Times columnist. On the racial & cultural chasms oft spoken about in this here space in recent days.
This guy makes Ted Nugent look like Lincoln Chafee. A pretty sharp cookie, too, despite the deliberately provocative (or should I say ... controversial ??) tone.
Do check out, if you have the appetite for it, the whole bloody archive of columns. At least, scan the titles.
Note : I have no idea why, on every Fred link, there's always a "6 items remaining" message at the bottom of one's screen.
Fred On Everything, a Washington Times columnist. On the racial & cultural chasms oft spoken about in this here space in recent days.
This guy makes Ted Nugent look like Lincoln Chafee. A pretty sharp cookie, too, despite the deliberately provocative (or should I say ... controversial ??) tone.
Do check out, if you have the appetite for it, the whole bloody archive of columns. At least, scan the titles.
Note : I have no idea why, on every Fred link, there's always a "6 items remaining" message at the bottom of one's screen.
A pair of boots is worth more than Shakespeare
Scholarly, precise, and unflinchingly incisive New Criterion article by Roger Kimball, from a decade ago, on the progenitors of the intellectual climate at your average marxist-rodhamite quotaversity -- conditions seen in the embryonic stage early in the 20th century, and opposed by essays entitled La trahison des clercs and La Défaite de la pensée.
Not easy reading, but worth a long look. Via the Lady of Shalott.
Scholarly, precise, and unflinchingly incisive New Criterion article by Roger Kimball, from a decade ago, on the progenitors of the intellectual climate at your average marxist-rodhamite quotaversity -- conditions seen in the embryonic stage early in the 20th century, and opposed by essays entitled La trahison des clercs and La Défaite de la pensée.
Not easy reading, but worth a long look. Via the Lady of Shalott.
The Bible
A meditation by Dr Eric Milner-White (1884-1963)
Grant me, O Lord, to take the Book of books
as from the hands of thine angel,
with expectancy of faith,
with brimming hope,
and with the love that kindles knowledge;
to open and reopen, read and reread,
ponder and reponder
THY WORD OF LIFE.
Convey to me, O Holy Spirit,
through the familiar phrases, fresh understanding;
through the passages passed over or unapprehended,
new treasure;
through thy grace -- insight, conviction, guidance,
revelation, glory.
Shew me, O Holy Spirit of Light, by the holy Book
all that has fellowship with light :
reveal truth, who art Truth,
illuminate divine mysteries,
make plain my duties in the eternal order;
humbling and uplifting the mind,
waking purpose in the will
and energy in the deed,
breathing devotion into the heart,
exaltation and oblation into the soul :
that I may live and move and rest in thee,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;
who art GOD alone,
who art love, who art life,
who art Spirit, who art a consuming fire
from everlasting, world without end.
:: :: :: :: ::
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, Acts, and Prayers on the Desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 120
A meditation by Dr Eric Milner-White (1884-1963)
Grant me, O Lord, to take the Book of books
as from the hands of thine angel,
with expectancy of faith,
with brimming hope,
and with the love that kindles knowledge;
to open and reopen, read and reread,
ponder and reponder
THY WORD OF LIFE.
Convey to me, O Holy Spirit,
through the familiar phrases, fresh understanding;
through the passages passed over or unapprehended,
new treasure;
through thy grace -- insight, conviction, guidance,
revelation, glory.
Shew me, O Holy Spirit of Light, by the holy Book
all that has fellowship with light :
reveal truth, who art Truth,
illuminate divine mysteries,
make plain my duties in the eternal order;
humbling and uplifting the mind,
waking purpose in the will
and energy in the deed,
breathing devotion into the heart,
exaltation and oblation into the soul :
that I may live and move and rest in thee,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;
who art GOD alone,
who art love, who art life,
who art Spirit, who art a consuming fire
from everlasting, world without end.
:: :: :: :: ::
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, Acts, and Prayers on the Desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 120
Brief passages that resonate
from a book about drinking called Drinking : A Love Story
by Caroline Knapp (1959-2002)
In an Author's Note, the late Ms Knapp makes it clear that in certain passages the names and other identifying characteristics have been changed, to protect the anonymity of the persons to whom she alludes.
p. 216 : Reality sets in at last, chips away at denial. Some of us lose our jobs, or our spouses, or our children. Some of us get into car wrecks, and are ordered by judges to go to AA. For a man I know named Richard, hitting bottom meant reaching a level of self-loathing so deep that all he wanted to do was kill himself, and then hating himself even more because he didn't have the guts to do it. For a man named Troy, hitting bottom meant looking up from his chair one day and realizing that the only two things he had in his life were a twelve-inch black-and-white TV and a bottle of gin, the props of pure isolation. For my friend Ginny it meant losing control in the most literal sense, driving too fast down a winding road in the middle of the night, careening off the road, flying through the windshield of her car, headfirst. She surrendered just before her head hit the glass. "Okay," she whispered, letting go of the wheel, "I give up." These are all people in their thirties, with good jobs and intact families. Richard is an urban planner, Troy is an English professor, Ginny is a lawyer. If you saw them on the street, even while they were drinking, you'd never know a thing. Hitting bottom is usually something that happens internally, where no one else can see it.
:: :: :: :: ::
p. 186 : I'd drink less when my life got better, when I had fewer reasons to drink. I knew I would.
"You'd drink, too, if you had my problems." That's the thinking.
"I'm not unhappy because I drink; I drink because I am unhappy."
That is the logic, and every alcoholic on the planet uses it.
[ ... ] Almost everyone I know who's quit drinking describes that feeling, the sense that life has turned stale and colorless and slowly ground to a halt.
from a book about drinking called Drinking : A Love Story
by Caroline Knapp (1959-2002)
In an Author's Note, the late Ms Knapp makes it clear that in certain passages the names and other identifying characteristics have been changed, to protect the anonymity of the persons to whom she alludes.
p. 216 : Reality sets in at last, chips away at denial. Some of us lose our jobs, or our spouses, or our children. Some of us get into car wrecks, and are ordered by judges to go to AA. For a man I know named Richard, hitting bottom meant reaching a level of self-loathing so deep that all he wanted to do was kill himself, and then hating himself even more because he didn't have the guts to do it. For a man named Troy, hitting bottom meant looking up from his chair one day and realizing that the only two things he had in his life were a twelve-inch black-and-white TV and a bottle of gin, the props of pure isolation. For my friend Ginny it meant losing control in the most literal sense, driving too fast down a winding road in the middle of the night, careening off the road, flying through the windshield of her car, headfirst. She surrendered just before her head hit the glass. "Okay," she whispered, letting go of the wheel, "I give up." These are all people in their thirties, with good jobs and intact families. Richard is an urban planner, Troy is an English professor, Ginny is a lawyer. If you saw them on the street, even while they were drinking, you'd never know a thing. Hitting bottom is usually something that happens internally, where no one else can see it.
:: :: :: :: ::
p. 186 : I'd drink less when my life got better, when I had fewer reasons to drink. I knew I would.
"You'd drink, too, if you had my problems." That's the thinking.
"I'm not unhappy because I drink; I drink because I am unhappy."
That is the logic, and every alcoholic on the planet uses it.
[ ... ] Almost everyone I know who's quit drinking describes that feeling, the sense that life has turned stale and colorless and slowly ground to a halt.
Saturday, November 30, 2002
Eucharist, eutrapelia, & Magnificat origami
a deep theological meditation
I went to daily Mass today, for the feast of Saint Andrew. I announce this as if I ran a mile in less than four minutes, because it is, alas, becoming something of a rarity. It used to be that I attended celebration of the Eucharist, on average, five times a week.
The celebrant and homilist is one of my favorite priests in the whole wide world. Eutrapelia personified.
1. Take Barry Fitzgerald from Going My Way.
2. Make him an inch or two shorter, and Italian, with a thick Italian accent.
3. Make him exuberantly happy and (on occasion) asphyxiatingly funny.
I believe this man is a living saint.
It has not been a very eucharistic, eutrapeliac month for me. There is physical, tangible, palpable evidence of this tristfulness of mood and temper, this sadness of heart and soul. The condition of my November Magnificat, the monthly booklet of Mass readings, mattins and vespers. It's in nearly perfect condition. Very few of the pages are dog-eared, and the cover has not received the benefices of the wayward elements.
Did I say "dog-eared"? When I do use Magnificat, to keep my page, I often employ a most complicated system of folding and re-folding : sometimes in triangular patterns, sometimes rectilinear. On special occasions, a given page might have more pleats and creases than an accordion. Call it the latest hobby to sweep Catholicism : Magnificat origami !!
I read yesterday morning's psalm as this morning's prayer : Psalm 69. It seemed fitting.
a deep theological meditation
I went to daily Mass today, for the feast of Saint Andrew. I announce this as if I ran a mile in less than four minutes, because it is, alas, becoming something of a rarity. It used to be that I attended celebration of the Eucharist, on average, five times a week.
The celebrant and homilist is one of my favorite priests in the whole wide world. Eutrapelia personified.
1. Take Barry Fitzgerald from Going My Way.
2. Make him an inch or two shorter, and Italian, with a thick Italian accent.
3. Make him exuberantly happy and (on occasion) asphyxiatingly funny.
I believe this man is a living saint.
It has not been a very eucharistic, eutrapeliac month for me. There is physical, tangible, palpable evidence of this tristfulness of mood and temper, this sadness of heart and soul. The condition of my November Magnificat, the monthly booklet of Mass readings, mattins and vespers. It's in nearly perfect condition. Very few of the pages are dog-eared, and the cover has not received the benefices of the wayward elements.
Did I say "dog-eared"? When I do use Magnificat, to keep my page, I often employ a most complicated system of folding and re-folding : sometimes in triangular patterns, sometimes rectilinear. On special occasions, a given page might have more pleats and creases than an accordion. Call it the latest hobby to sweep Catholicism : Magnificat origami !!
I read yesterday morning's psalm as this morning's prayer : Psalm 69. It seemed fitting.
eec
this, the 60th of his 95 poems
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
and welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
this, the 60th of his 95 poems
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
and welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
Ethiopian salutations to Mary
Found in the bimonthly periodical Catholic Near East (now called CNEWA), issue for January-February 1998. Originally blogged at error503 on July 30, 2002.
:: :: :: :: ::
Salutation unto the memorial of thy name, O thou who dost resemble a star that is seen by thy people, even when dark clouds have enveloped the light thereof ...
Salutation unto thy face, O lowly and glorious face, the splendour of which is sweeter than the splendour of the sun and the moon ...
Salutation unto thy cheeks, which are like unto roses and pomegranates, the languor thereof is fire and the tears thereof are mingled with flame; by thy covenant, O Mary, lift thou me up into the field of delight ...
Salutation unto thy mouth, the mouth of abundant blessing and the holy gate, the book. I have taken refuge, O Mary, in thy covenant, which hath been accepted; therefore let me not be put to shame ...
Salutation unto thy voice, which returned speech unto the word of the angel of mystery, Gabriel, whose apparel shone with splendour. O Mary, thou holy woman of God, the place of his power. Hail! Hail!
Salutation unto the departure of thy body into the house of life, and the making thereof anew ... I entreat thee to redeem my soul by thy covenant, and let my wounds be anointed ...
Salutation unto thee, O thou covenant of mercy, thou gold which comprehendeth all riches; thou art the storehouse of him that is poor and needy. O Mary, bestow a portion of thy blessings and make supplications unto thy good son on our behalf.
Found in the bimonthly periodical Catholic Near East (now called CNEWA), issue for January-February 1998. Originally blogged at error503 on July 30, 2002.
:: :: :: :: ::
Salutation unto the memorial of thy name, O thou who dost resemble a star that is seen by thy people, even when dark clouds have enveloped the light thereof ...
Salutation unto thy face, O lowly and glorious face, the splendour of which is sweeter than the splendour of the sun and the moon ...
Salutation unto thy cheeks, which are like unto roses and pomegranates, the languor thereof is fire and the tears thereof are mingled with flame; by thy covenant, O Mary, lift thou me up into the field of delight ...
Salutation unto thy mouth, the mouth of abundant blessing and the holy gate, the book. I have taken refuge, O Mary, in thy covenant, which hath been accepted; therefore let me not be put to shame ...
Salutation unto thy voice, which returned speech unto the word of the angel of mystery, Gabriel, whose apparel shone with splendour. O Mary, thou holy woman of God, the place of his power. Hail! Hail!
Salutation unto the departure of thy body into the house of life, and the making thereof anew ... I entreat thee to redeem my soul by thy covenant, and let my wounds be anointed ...
Salutation unto thee, O thou covenant of mercy, thou gold which comprehendeth all riches; thou art the storehouse of him that is poor and needy. O Mary, bestow a portion of thy blessings and make supplications unto thy good son on our behalf.
Thomas Campion (1567-1620)
Rose-cheekt Laura, come;
Sing thou smoothly with thy beawties
Silent musick, either other
Sweetely gracing.
Lovely forms do flowe
From concent devinely framëd :
Heav'n is musick, and thy beawties
Birth is heavnly.
These dull notes we sing
Discords neede for helps to grace them;
Only beawty purely loving
Knowes no discord;
But still mooves delight,
Like cleare springs renu'd by flowing,
Ever perfect, ever in them-
selves eternall.
Rose-cheekt Laura, come;
Sing thou smoothly with thy beawties
Silent musick, either other
Sweetely gracing.
Lovely forms do flowe
From concent devinely framëd :
Heav'n is musick, and thy beawties
Birth is heavnly.
These dull notes we sing
Discords neede for helps to grace them;
Only beawty purely loving
Knowes no discord;
But still mooves delight,
Like cleare springs renu'd by flowing,
Ever perfect, ever in them-
selves eternall.
Oh, yes, and in reading the post immediately herebelow, try to remember not to refrain from failing to forget the rules of St Blog's Drinking Game ...
Dante translates Dante
Dante Gabriel Rossetti's rendering of the sonnet found in section 21 of Dante Alighieri's La Vita Nuova. The seventh line is actually an improvement on the original !
:: :: :: :: ::
"Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper"
My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops his troubled visage full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessèd oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
’Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
:: :: :: :: ::
Ne li occhi porta la mia donna Amore,
per che si fa gentil ciò ch'ella mira;
ov'ella passa, ogn'om ver lei si gira,
e cui saluta fa tremar lo core,
sì che, bassando il viso, tutto smore,
e d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira:
fugge dinanzi a lei superbia ed ira.
Aiutatemi, donne, farle onore.
Ogne dolcezza, ogne pensero umile
nasce nel core a chi parlar la sente,
ond'è laudato chi prima la vide.
Quel ch'ella par quando un poco sorride,
non si pò dicer né tenere a mente,
sì è novo miracolo e gentile.
:: :: :: :: ::
Originally blogged at error503 -- La vita nuova on September 12, 2002.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti's rendering of the sonnet found in section 21 of Dante Alighieri's La Vita Nuova. The seventh line is actually an improvement on the original !
:: :: :: :: ::
"Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper"
My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops his troubled visage full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hate loves, and pride becomes a worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessèd oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
’Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
:: :: :: :: ::
Ne li occhi porta la mia donna Amore,
per che si fa gentil ciò ch'ella mira;
ov'ella passa, ogn'om ver lei si gira,
e cui saluta fa tremar lo core,
sì che, bassando il viso, tutto smore,
e d'ogni suo difetto allor sospira:
fugge dinanzi a lei superbia ed ira.
Aiutatemi, donne, farle onore.
Ogne dolcezza, ogne pensero umile
nasce nel core a chi parlar la sente,
ond'è laudato chi prima la vide.
Quel ch'ella par quando un poco sorride,
non si pò dicer né tenere a mente,
sì è novo miracolo e gentile.
:: :: :: :: ::
Originally blogged at error503 -- La vita nuova on September 12, 2002.
Poem 5
Poem 5
by Gaius Valerius Catullus (c. 84-54 BC)
VIVAMUS mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.
:: :: :: :: ::
1 Let us live, my Lesbia, and love, 2 and value at one farthing 3 all the talk of crabbed old men. 4 Suns may set and rise again. 5 For us, when the short light has once set, 6 remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night. 7 Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, 8 Then another thousand, then a second hundred, 9 then yet thousand, then a hundred. 10 Then, when we have made up many thousands, 11 we will confuse our counting, that we may not know the reckoning, 12 nor any malicious person blight them with evil eye, 13 when he knows that our kisses are so many.
by Gaius Valerius Catullus (c. 84-54 BC)
VIVAMUS mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.
:: :: :: :: ::
1 Let us live, my Lesbia, and love, 2 and value at one farthing 3 all the talk of crabbed old men. 4 Suns may set and rise again. 5 For us, when the short light has once set, 6 remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night. 7 Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, 8 Then another thousand, then a second hundred, 9 then yet thousand, then a hundred. 10 Then, when we have made up many thousands, 11 we will confuse our counting, that we may not know the reckoning, 12 nor any malicious person blight them with evil eye, 13 when he knows that our kisses are so many.
Opinions
Soliciting opinions
If you were asked to choose the worst day in American history between November 22, 1963 (assassination of President Kennedy) and September 11, 2001 (Islamist terrorist attacks killing over 3000 Americans), which date would you choose? Which incident, and why?
I have my candidates. But one day, one incident, stands head and shoulders above the rest for having been particularly gruesome and corrosive of national unity. I'd like to hear about six or seven possible answers to the question above, before I proffer my opinion.
If you were asked to choose the worst day in American history between November 22, 1963 (assassination of President Kennedy) and September 11, 2001 (Islamist terrorist attacks killing over 3000 Americans), which date would you choose? Which incident, and why?
I have my candidates. But one day, one incident, stands head and shoulders above the rest for having been particularly gruesome and corrosive of national unity. I'd like to hear about six or seven possible answers to the question above, before I proffer my opinion.
Friday, November 29, 2002
Minuit, chrétiens
O Holy Night
it's better in French
Minuit, chrétiens, c’est l’heure solennelle
Ou l’homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous,
Pour effacer la tache originelle,
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance
A cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.
Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance!
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!
De notre foi, que la lumière ardente
Nous guide tous au berceau de l’enfant,
Comme autrefois une étoile brillante
Y conduisit les chefs de l’Orient.
Le Roi de rois naît dans une humble crèche;
Puissants du jour, fiers de votre grandeur.
A votre orgueil, c’est de là qu’un Dieu prêche.
Courbez vos fronts devant le Redempteur!
Courbez vos fronts devant le Redempteur!
Le Rédempteur a brisé toute entrave,
La terre est libre et le ciel est ouvert;
Il voit un frère où n’était qu’un esclave;
L’amour unit ceux qu’enchaînait le fer :
Qui lui dira notre reconnaissance?
C’est pour nous tous qu’il naît, qu’il souffre et meurt.
Peuple, debout, chante ta délivrance.
Noël, Noël, chantons le Rédempteur!
Noël, Noël, chantons le Rédempteur!
it's better in French
Minuit, chrétiens, c’est l’heure solennelle
Ou l’homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous,
Pour effacer la tache originelle,
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance
A cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.
Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance!
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!
De notre foi, que la lumière ardente
Nous guide tous au berceau de l’enfant,
Comme autrefois une étoile brillante
Y conduisit les chefs de l’Orient.
Le Roi de rois naît dans une humble crèche;
Puissants du jour, fiers de votre grandeur.
A votre orgueil, c’est de là qu’un Dieu prêche.
Courbez vos fronts devant le Redempteur!
Courbez vos fronts devant le Redempteur!
Le Rédempteur a brisé toute entrave,
La terre est libre et le ciel est ouvert;
Il voit un frère où n’était qu’un esclave;
L’amour unit ceux qu’enchaînait le fer :
Qui lui dira notre reconnaissance?
C’est pour nous tous qu’il naît, qu’il souffre et meurt.
Peuple, debout, chante ta délivrance.
Noël, Noël, chantons le Rédempteur!
Noël, Noël, chantons le Rédempteur!
Out of the mouths of babes
Out of the mouths of babes
A little boy was overheard praying: "Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am."
A Sunday school class was studying the Ten Commandments. They were ready to discuss the last one. The teacher asked if anyone could tell her what it was. Susie raised her hand, stood tall, and quoted, "Thou shall not take the covers off the neighbor's wife."
After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I wanted to stay with you guys."
A dad had been teaching his three-year old daughter the Lord's Prayer; for several evenings at bedtime, she would dutifully repeat the lines from the prayer. Finally, she decided to go solo. The father listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer: "Lead us not into temptation," she prayed, "but deliver us some E-mail. Amen."
And one particular four-year-old prayed, "And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets."
A Sunday school teacher asked her children, as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?" One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."
Six-year-old Angie and her four-year-old brother Joel were sitting together in church. Joel giggled, sang, and talked out loud. Finally, his big sister had enough. "You're not supposed to talk out loud in church." "Why? Who's going to stop me?" Joel asked. Angie pointed to the back of the church and said, "See those two men standing by the door? They're hushers."
A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin, 5, and Ryan, 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake. Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson. "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait.'" Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!"
A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year-old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore, where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven," the Dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?"
A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?"
A little boy was overheard praying: "Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am."
A Sunday school class was studying the Ten Commandments. They were ready to discuss the last one. The teacher asked if anyone could tell her what it was. Susie raised her hand, stood tall, and quoted, "Thou shall not take the covers off the neighbor's wife."
After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I wanted to stay with you guys."
A dad had been teaching his three-year old daughter the Lord's Prayer; for several evenings at bedtime, she would dutifully repeat the lines from the prayer. Finally, she decided to go solo. The father listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer: "Lead us not into temptation," she prayed, "but deliver us some E-mail. Amen."
And one particular four-year-old prayed, "And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets."
A Sunday school teacher asked her children, as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?" One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."
Six-year-old Angie and her four-year-old brother Joel were sitting together in church. Joel giggled, sang, and talked out loud. Finally, his big sister had enough. "You're not supposed to talk out loud in church." "Why? Who's going to stop me?" Joel asked. Angie pointed to the back of the church and said, "See those two men standing by the door? They're hushers."
A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin, 5, and Ryan, 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake. Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson. "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait.'" Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!"
A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year-old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore, where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven," the Dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?"
A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?"
Lux et tenebræ
Lux et tenebrae : Yesterday and today
I like the yesterday me better than the today me. For some odd reason.
All this dross, all this scrap-metal, all these grudges, all this rant and rodomontade, all this fiercely incontrovertible "rightness" (in inverted commas, as Stephen Fry would say, to lend the properly disreputable air), all this unlove which is a heavenless hell and a homeless home ... really needs to be alchemized in the crucible of an intense prayer-life for which I seem to lack the inclination. Alchemized? Eliminated.
I can say with even more truth than Saint Paul, that I am very much the least of the followers of Christ, and that to recover grace, that leastness must become even less -- illum oportet crescere, me autem minui ... (cf. John 3.30).
Because those who exalt themselves -- such as dylan, your unhumble disobedient nonservant -- will be and should be flung into the depths.
Who will rescue me from this wretchedness (cf. Romans 7.24)?
Those of you who can, send kind thoughts heavenward on this poor soul's behalf.
I like the yesterday me better than the today me. For some odd reason.
All this dross, all this scrap-metal, all these grudges, all this rant and rodomontade, all this fiercely incontrovertible "rightness" (in inverted commas, as Stephen Fry would say, to lend the properly disreputable air), all this unlove which is a heavenless hell and a homeless home ... really needs to be alchemized in the crucible of an intense prayer-life for which I seem to lack the inclination. Alchemized? Eliminated.
I can say with even more truth than Saint Paul, that I am very much the least of the followers of Christ, and that to recover grace, that leastness must become even less -- illum oportet crescere, me autem minui ... (cf. John 3.30).
Because those who exalt themselves -- such as dylan, your unhumble disobedient nonservant -- will be and should be flung into the depths.
Who will rescue me from this wretchedness (cf. Romans 7.24)?
Those of you who can, send kind thoughts heavenward on this poor soul's behalf.
Which holiday are you?
You think? Oh, I think ...
What Holiday are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Damn those 65,483 pop-ups that appear as one awaits the results of the quiz. Caveat responsor!
Actually, my real holiday or holy-day has to be, has to be, has to be the Dies irae, dies illa of the Thomas a Celano sequence which Mozart set to music in his Requiem Mass :
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
What Holiday are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Damn those 65,483 pop-ups that appear as one awaits the results of the quiz. Caveat responsor!
Actually, my real holiday or holy-day has to be, has to be, has to be the Dies irae, dies illa of the Thomas a Celano sequence which Mozart set to music in his Requiem Mass :
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Fun-house mirrors
Saint Paul at the fun-house?
For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face.
A lot of more modern Scripture translations say "in a mirror, dimly" or speak of "puzzling reflections in a mirror." but veering a little ways off the path of how the Pauline verse hereabove should be translated, I wonder if we strugglers and stragglers on earth don't spend a bit too much time in the fun-house of carnivals and state-fairs.
The fun-house with its distorting mirrors that swell our heads to the size of Ohio, or make our legs the size of thumbtacks.
How often do our attempts at living in accordance with the will of God spectacularly fail because we've over-emphasized one excellent quality and underemphasized another?
Do we exalt tolerance at the expense of veracity? Fortitude at the expense of prudence? Honesty at the expense of charity?
Do we make a point of "speaking the truth" as we see it through our tinted or blurry lenses ... but forget that of faith, hope, and love, the greatest is love? Are there times when we should be silent and let other people be "wrong"? Yes, even if they are demonstrably and utterly and obnoxiously wrong?
Are there times when we are inclined to steamroll people with invective, opprobrium and fulmination, when we should instead stop, pray ("Lord, I am not high-minded" : but am I?), and let our words be few and charitable -- to the point but not ... laceratingly to the quick?
Do we make small things large and large things small? Do we exalt ephemera and forget the Last Things (and the first things, for that matter)?
Sometimes, a blogger can "let fly" -- blast an opponent into the stratosphere -- and tell himself that it is honesty; and honesty is a virtue. Sometimes a valid, even a necessary, objection can be raised to a thought or opinion, in a way that is far from charitable. Sometimes, we can't elude W. H. Auden's line, "How wrong they are in always being right."
So how does one calibrate the response to something that inspires a vehement immediacy of disagreement? And how does one make sure that one's not looking at a fun-house mirror distortion of reality?
(Robert Graves once ended a poem "at a careless comma"; not being nearly as daring, let's let the question-mark at the end of the previous paragraph serve as our inconclusive conclusion.)
For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face.
A lot of more modern Scripture translations say "in a mirror, dimly" or speak of "puzzling reflections in a mirror." but veering a little ways off the path of how the Pauline verse hereabove should be translated, I wonder if we strugglers and stragglers on earth don't spend a bit too much time in the fun-house of carnivals and state-fairs.
The fun-house with its distorting mirrors that swell our heads to the size of Ohio, or make our legs the size of thumbtacks.
How often do our attempts at living in accordance with the will of God spectacularly fail because we've over-emphasized one excellent quality and underemphasized another?
Do we exalt tolerance at the expense of veracity? Fortitude at the expense of prudence? Honesty at the expense of charity?
Do we make a point of "speaking the truth" as we see it through our tinted or blurry lenses ... but forget that of faith, hope, and love, the greatest is love? Are there times when we should be silent and let other people be "wrong"? Yes, even if they are demonstrably and utterly and obnoxiously wrong?
Are there times when we are inclined to steamroll people with invective, opprobrium and fulmination, when we should instead stop, pray ("Lord, I am not high-minded" : but am I?), and let our words be few and charitable -- to the point but not ... laceratingly to the quick?
Do we make small things large and large things small? Do we exalt ephemera and forget the Last Things (and the first things, for that matter)?
Sometimes, a blogger can "let fly" -- blast an opponent into the stratosphere -- and tell himself that it is honesty; and honesty is a virtue. Sometimes a valid, even a necessary, objection can be raised to a thought or opinion, in a way that is far from charitable. Sometimes, we can't elude W. H. Auden's line, "How wrong they are in always being right."
So how does one calibrate the response to something that inspires a vehement immediacy of disagreement? And how does one make sure that one's not looking at a fun-house mirror distortion of reality?
(Robert Graves once ended a poem "at a careless comma"; not being nearly as daring, let's let the question-mark at the end of the previous paragraph serve as our inconclusive conclusion.)
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Creativity as surrender
Creation (creativity) as surrender, as kenosis
also : as a dialectic between expertise and inspiration
A beautifully articulated, Hammarskjöld-inspired meditation at Sainteros.
also : as a dialectic between expertise and inspiration
A beautifully articulated, Hammarskjöld-inspired meditation at Sainteros.
Also added today
Also added today
Links to various translations of Sacred Scripture (see Places Oft Visited, between "Anglican Sites" and "Other Sites") ... the King James Version & Revised Standard Version, the Vulgate, and the Crosswalk search engine.
Links to various translations of Sacred Scripture (see Places Oft Visited, between "Anglican Sites" and "Other Sites") ... the King James Version & Revised Standard Version, the Vulgate, and the Crosswalk search engine.
We gather together
A hymn for the day
We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing;
he chastens and hastens his will to make known;
the wicked oppressing now cease from distressing:
sing praises to his Name; he forgets not his own.
Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
ordaining, maintaining his kingdom divine;
so from the beginning the fight we were winning:
thou, Lord, wast at our side: all glory be thine!
We all do extol thee, thou leader triumphant,
and pray that thou still our defender wilt be.
Let thy congregation escape tribulation:
thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Words: Nederlandtsche Gedenckclanck, 1626;
trans. Theodore Baker, 1894.
We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing;
he chastens and hastens his will to make known;
the wicked oppressing now cease from distressing:
sing praises to his Name; he forgets not his own.
Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
ordaining, maintaining his kingdom divine;
so from the beginning the fight we were winning:
thou, Lord, wast at our side: all glory be thine!
We all do extol thee, thou leader triumphant,
and pray that thou still our defender wilt be.
Let thy congregation escape tribulation:
thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Words: Nederlandtsche Gedenckclanck, 1626;
trans. Theodore Baker, 1894.
St Peter Chrysologus
Saint Peter Chrysologus, Archbishop of Ravenna (d. 450)
from the Meditation for the Day, Wed. 27th, in Magnificat
... words which differ in letter and in spirit quite noticeably from the incendiary tenor of some of my more recent rhetorical flailings and thrashings ... A kindred reflection to the "war" thoughts of Peter Kreeft, proffered recently by Mr Riddle ...
He who wants to overcome vices should fight with the arms of love, not of rage. A wise man can readily see why endurance of injuries gives training to a Christian way of living. Nevertheless, there are those who fail to understand that to do what follows is indeed a mark of strength, the summit of goodness, the pinnacle of piety, something characteristic of the divine outlook rather than the human : not to resist the evil-doer, but to overcome evil with good ...
When the disease of sin, the crime that springs from vices, and the madness of impiety permeated human minds and smothered whatever knowledge, perception, and reason were present, by its insane fury it brought the nations scattered over the earth to flee from God, follow devils, worship creatures, condemn their Creator, yearn for vices, shrink in horror from virtues, live under the pressure of the sword, and fall with wounds. It brought living men to perish in death.
The result was this. Men could not be healed save by arming themselves with all the long-suffering goodness of the heavenly Physician. Thus they could stand the injuries of those who suffered from madness, bear with curses, sustain blows, and be cut to pieces with wounds, until they could lead the evil-doers back to a sobriety of outlook, to sincerity of spirit, to sanity of mind. Through all this the evil-doers were to learn to seek God, flee the devils, grow aware of their apathy, relish health, cast off vices, acquire virtues, abstain from woundings, shrink away from blood, refuse to kill, and desire continuance in life.
from the Meditation for the Day, Wed. 27th, in Magnificat
... words which differ in letter and in spirit quite noticeably from the incendiary tenor of some of my more recent rhetorical flailings and thrashings ... A kindred reflection to the "war" thoughts of Peter Kreeft, proffered recently by Mr Riddle ...
He who wants to overcome vices should fight with the arms of love, not of rage. A wise man can readily see why endurance of injuries gives training to a Christian way of living. Nevertheless, there are those who fail to understand that to do what follows is indeed a mark of strength, the summit of goodness, the pinnacle of piety, something characteristic of the divine outlook rather than the human : not to resist the evil-doer, but to overcome evil with good ...
When the disease of sin, the crime that springs from vices, and the madness of impiety permeated human minds and smothered whatever knowledge, perception, and reason were present, by its insane fury it brought the nations scattered over the earth to flee from God, follow devils, worship creatures, condemn their Creator, yearn for vices, shrink in horror from virtues, live under the pressure of the sword, and fall with wounds. It brought living men to perish in death.
The result was this. Men could not be healed save by arming themselves with all the long-suffering goodness of the heavenly Physician. Thus they could stand the injuries of those who suffered from madness, bear with curses, sustain blows, and be cut to pieces with wounds, until they could lead the evil-doers back to a sobriety of outlook, to sincerity of spirit, to sanity of mind. Through all this the evil-doers were to learn to seek God, flee the devils, grow aware of their apathy, relish health, cast off vices, acquire virtues, abstain from woundings, shrink away from blood, refuse to kill, and desire continuance in life.
Places Oft
Recently added to Places Oft Visited
Two rambunctiously political and youthfully effervescent web-sites :
Doctrinaire (a collaborative affair in which one participant, Rachel, says she wants to end rachel profiling) and the nice Republican in her 20s who has lost not one of her forty winks, Girl on the Right.
And in terms of Catholic blogs, there is (for obscurity's sake?) Vita Brevis.
Two rambunctiously political and youthfully effervescent web-sites :
Doctrinaire (a collaborative affair in which one participant, Rachel, says she wants to end rachel profiling) and the nice Republican in her 20s who has lost not one of her forty winks, Girl on the Right.
And in terms of Catholic blogs, there is (for obscurity's sake?) Vita Brevis.
Laudate Dominum
Propers for Thanks-giving
from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church.
from Psalm 147. Laudate Dominum.
O PRAISE the LORD, for it is a good thing to sing praises unto our God; * yea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thankful.
The LORD doth build up Jerusalem, * and gather together the outcasts of Israel.
He healeth those that are broken in heart, * and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.
O sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving; * sing praises upon the harp unto our God :
Who covereth the heaven with clouds, and prepareth rain for the earth; * and maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains, and herb for the use of men;
Who giveth fodder unto the cattle, * and feedeth the young ravens that call upon him.
Praise the LORD, O Jerusalem; * praise thy God, O Sion.
For he hath made fast the bars of thy gates, * and hath blessed thy children within thee.
He maketh peace in thy borders, * and filleth thee with the flour of wheat.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, * and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, * world without end. Amen.
from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church.
from Psalm 147. Laudate Dominum.
O PRAISE the LORD, for it is a good thing to sing praises unto our God; * yea, a joyful and pleasant thing it is to be thankful.
The LORD doth build up Jerusalem, * and gather together the outcasts of Israel.
He healeth those that are broken in heart, * and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.
O sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving; * sing praises upon the harp unto our God :
Who covereth the heaven with clouds, and prepareth rain for the earth; * and maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains, and herb for the use of men;
Who giveth fodder unto the cattle, * and feedeth the young ravens that call upon him.
Praise the LORD, O Jerusalem; * praise thy God, O Sion.
For he hath made fast the bars of thy gates, * and hath blessed thy children within thee.
He maketh peace in thy borders, * and filleth thee with the flour of wheat.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, * and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, * world without end. Amen.
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