Flos Carmeli: January 8, 2006 - January 14, 2006 Archives

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January 8, 2006

Epiphany Celebration Epiphany

On this most glorious day of the revelation of Our Lord Jesus Christ to all the world as seen in the persons of the three wise men I am reminded that we do not work to earn leisure, nor do we work to earn the money to buy things, but, if we are working properly, we work for the glory of God, as a sign to all people. If in the process we have some leisure and some enjoyment of the things of this world, so be it. But it is important to remember that they are secondary, entirely secondary. And if I should be called to work every waking moment of every day with only the reward of getting up to work it all again, and yet I do that work in praise of God and the the Glory of Christ our savior, I have contributed more to the world than any amount of labor in a cause or leisurely creation of the arts.

Each day we are the epiphany for those who do not know Jesus. If I accept that role and act accordingly, I am living in the praise of glory and that is the only end I need.

And so I ask, why is this so hard to remember day by day. Why must I struggle so hard to keep focus and to remember that everything that is not for the glory of God is wasted effort--futile and meaningless?

I note it now for those times when I need to remember and cannot seem to get everything into focus. I note it now for those who have a similar difficulty with focus. And I note it now in great joy and peace because God is with us--He will support us with His grace and help us to work out our salvation and the salvation of the entire world.

Praise Him!

Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:18 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 9, 2006

The State of the State

Of recent date we have had cause to take on a number of people at work. Among them is one very bright, very enthusiastic, very promising young man. I have occasion to work with him closely. I was giving a bit of background/training/mentoring/pep talking. I pointed out some things that I don't particularly care for in the use of language--particularly, I was pointing out that we needn't utilize something when it is just as easy to use it. Following numerous dicta, I espoused the famous, "Always prefer words of Anglo-Saxon origin to those of latinate origin." I pointed out that this dictum was codified by George Orwell (among others) in his famous essay, "Politics and the English Language."

"Have you read it?" I asked.

"No," he answered.

"As a creative writing major, you should have encountered this essay. It's a succinct summary of some of the rules for clarifying your writing."

"Who did you say it was by?"

"George Orwell."

"How do you spell that?"

"The author of 1984"

"Of what?"

I was astounded. This man is a recent graduate of our so-called educational system and he has come through nearly completely unscathed by familiarity with important figures of Western Literature. And this is not his fault, but the fault of an educational system that kowtows to every special interest that comes down the road. There is no reason on Earth that he should not at least heard of Orwell. I can understand not wanting to read him, but given how much of Orwell is present symbolically and otherwise in our country, to lack a nodding acquaintance is cultural theft. It is akin to the horror (though much less) of the DRE who corrected my son's definition of a sacrament to say that it was "a special way of meeting God."

The Canon is important. Even if Orwell is only a minor figure in the canon, there are at least three works with which one should be familiar upon graduating college--Animal Farm, 1984, and Politics and the English Language. These three have contributed enormously to our culture. "Big Brother is watching." "Newspeak," and "minitruth" are all important reference points. "All animals are created equal. Some are more equal than others," stands as one of the foremost criticisms of communist regimes from their inception.

Our children are being systematically robbed of their cultural heritage. They are emerging from institutions of higher learning knowing less than I knew upon graduating high school. Indeed, in some cases less than I knew when I was a sophomore--and I don't regard myself as extraordinary by any means.

Moreover, the young man I am speaking of had a major in an area that would seem to entail a broad and deep acquaintance with the literature of our time. I could understand this in a business major or a psych major. But his major was English. Admittedly it was a creative writing emphasis--but how can one begin to create new works if one has no knowledge of what has come before?

Those of you with children, take care to guard against this. If they are in public school, help to supplement, as best you can, what they get there. If you are a reader, mix your present-day reading with classic reading. Let your children see that you are interested in good writing and that GOOD writing extends far beyond the bailiwick of Dan Brown, Michael Crichton, Dean Koontz, and Stephen King. I am not saying there is anything wrong with the proper enjoyment of these writers, but they certainly are not the font of literature from which most of our modern imagery springs. As with our CCD classes, it appears that parents must make a much greater effort on the part of educating their children than seems reasonable. However, unless you wish for your child to emerge from your care with the idea that Maya Angelou is the end-all be-all of poetry, care must be exercised to help them come to a wider awareness of the fullness of our cultural heritage. Star Wars is all very well and good in its place--but its place is far down the line from a heritage that starts (arguably) with Homer (and I don't mean SIMPSON).

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:14 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Christ the Lord--Redux

I have finished Mrs. Rice's book and I cannot recommend it highly enough. You might call it The Anti-Da Vinci Code in every respect--it is well written, well researched, well considered, well planned, and well executed. There does not appear to be even the slightest trace of axe-grinding or agenda pushing. In short, it seems a remarkable work of devotion by a woman of remarkable talent. I found it inspirational and beautiful. The ending, which I had half-expected to disappoint, did not. It was subtle, understated, and all the more powerful for its restraint. Overall a really great reading experience and a way to grow closer to the human person of Jesus Christ.

I'll repeat that I have not been a fan of Mrs. Rice's book since Interview with a Vampire, which should not be read as a reflection on Mrs. Rice's ability, but upon my taste. I sincerely hope that she brings her talent and vision to bear on continuing this series--because it is precisely to my taste. She's taken some interesting challenges and risks and I have been truly blessed in reading this particular work. In short, it is really a work of beauty and power. Art, properly focused, can do much to help us get in touch with God--Mrs. Rice's latest work does exactly this.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:35 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

We all went to see this film yesterday. Samuel and I nearly didn't make it through the very first scene in the film. Linda wasn't far behind. But after that little rough patch everything smoothed out into what was really a very enjoyable film. The acting was decent, the special effects occasionally jarred me out of the story and got me to thinking about the art of film rather than what I was supposed to be focused on. I was also a little surprised by how very little sense the story makes when one sits back and looks at it.

This is where our two great inklings differ so dramatically. I've never been particularly impressed with Lewis's fiction. His forte is that kind of nonfiction story-telling that gets at his more practical points. For example, I think The Screwtape Letters a vastly superior work to most of his fiction (the exception might be That Hideous Strength). Letters to Malcolm:Chiefly on Prayer and The Great Divorce are other examples of using the techniques of fiction to present argument or fact. As I was thinking through the Narnia presentation, I kept finding myself troubled with questions that a person like Tolkien would already have considered in detail. Now, on Tolkien's side, I must say, that I find his non-fiction very donnish and often nearly opaque. His strength was in the full and vivid creation of worlds and races and histories--he truly was a story-teller who had all the strands together because he had spent so much time making the whole.

Lewis and Tolkien have very different purposes, very different means, and very different strengths. But, as much as I liked the film, particularly the icy Queen of Narnia, I found that it made transparent some of the difficulties I always had with Lewis's storytelling.

Be that as it may, I enjoyed the film. Linda was touched by the film. And typical of a seven year-old boy Samuel liked "the fighting." But the point did not completely pass him by and he said that he would much rather be like Peter than like Edmund and, no, mommy wasn't much like the Queen of Narnia. . .

Posted by Steven Riddle at 2:31 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

REALLY Hard Instructions

from Listen to the Silence: A Retreat With Pere Jacques
Tr./Ed. Francis J. Murphy

Then, between them, with a quick stroke, he drew what must be the way of our retreat; a direct, exacting road on which one hears the refrain, "Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing but God alone." Not this little personal matter, not this slight comfort we cling to, not this tiny curiosity that seems so trivial, but "nothing, absolutely nothing"--John of the Cross is speaking. You see, this retreat we are making must have direction. When Saint Bernard arrive at the monastery he too asked himself frequently, "Bernard, what did you come to the monastery to do?"

I hear the call of nothing--attachment to nothing, cleaving to nothing, being nothing. And my heart wants to follow it, but my body has ideas of its own. And my reason, tricky little devil that it is says things like, "Well the joy you take in this or that minor pleasure is eutrepalia legitimate, and legitimate use of God's goods.

But I've come to the point where I must say, "No, it isn't." And I need to leave behind the things that attract me and keep me away from the serious pursuit of the one thing that matters. I need to discipline myself so that nothing ever interferes with Everything.

And you know, the thought isn't chilling, frightening, or even daunting. It is enthralling. It is the most exciting thing in the world. So, why is it I never make it beyond the first few steps?

Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Random Thought on Mortification

My mortification should not mortify you.

Too often those who undergo strict regimes of mortification end up mortifying not only themselves but those around them. Their diets dictate all and cast shadows on what others eat. Their rules of behavior are the standard and anything less is unsatisfactory--even if nothing is said, it is clear.

I'm a bad mortifier--when I suffer I believe in sharing. But shared suffering often isn't efficacious, and mortification isn't merely about suffering, there is an end to the action--we deny ourselves some positive blessing or good not to deny ourselves, but to open ourselves to the greater good we would remain ignorant of.

Now, if only I remember to come back and look at this when I'm going through my next bout of mortifications.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:22 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Words From St. John of the Cross

Whether one is attached to earth by a silken thread or a golden cable, the result is the same: one cannot soar to the heights.

From "Sayings of Light and Love"

I'm beginning to understand what my friend meant when he said, "It takes guts to be a Carmelite." And I always thought it took heart!

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:12 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

January 10, 2006

Twice in Two Days. . .

For the second time in two days, I've encountered the following:

"You will catch more flies,�? Saint Francis deSales used to say, “with a spoonful of honey than with a hundred barrels of vinegar."

Once in my own reading, once at TSO's blog. I wonder what the Holy Spirit is trying to convey to me. I tend to think most of the time I am more honey than vinegar, in fact, some might liken me to treacle at times. But perhaps it's time to look again at how I approach things. Again, related to mortification, perhaps I see myself as St. Thérèse and the rest of the world is busy avoiding St. Jerome.

Or perhaps I should be seeing under what circumstances St. Francis was provoked to write or say this. Anyway, two times so rapidly, two different sources--there are no coincidences. If I'm paying proper attention, I should address this bit of providence.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:22 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

January 11, 2006

"I am My Beloved's and He is mine. . ."

If it can be said that prayer allows us to share the life of the Trinity, and I do think this is true of some kinds of prayer, then it may also be said that prayer incorporates us into divinity. If it "incorporates" us, who already have a body, then in a sense, God is incarnated in His adopted children. It is this divinization or incarnation that makes us fully part of the mystical body of Christ and it happens to each of us in greater or lesser degree (as God wills) when we turn our hearts to Him in prayer.

Keep in mind this is not theology, nor is it a studied remark. I'm completely insufficient to the task of attempting to explain how this might happen or even if I have phrased it properly. And I stand open to correction of my terminology or phrasing. But I think it is reasonable to say that prayer opens the door to Divine life here and now. And prayer starts with praying--old and well-worn words, tradtional prayers, or traditional forms. But I think we must keep in mind that is where prayer begins. It is not where prayer ends. The end of Prayer is the possession of God Himself in His entirety. In some sense by becoming His, He becomes ours entirely. When we set His seal upon us, He gives Himself to us in all of His majesty. We cannot see it, nor can we fully know it--this is what all of the Dark Night is really about--His brilliance is night to the senses and intellect, but when we are there He is Ours and we are His.

"I am my beloved's and He is mine."

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:17 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

A Samuelism

Okay, how's this for perspective.

Linda was teaching Samuel his Bible lesson this morning. Samuel's comment was, "You know, Jesus is a lot like that Baboon in The Lion King. He talks a lot and I don't really know what He's talking about. But at least He doesn't sin."

Priceless.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 12:08 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

January 12, 2006

A Ghost Post

Several people have tried to comment on the mysterious "ghost post" below. This post was to have been a draft. It made it public (somehow) and when I deleted it it wouldn't go away. I guess I should consider that a matter of providence and thank everyone for the very kind notes they have sent regarding it. I'm hoping a subsequent post will actually exorcise it, and with it some part of my embarrassment. Frankly, this is a mortification I could do without.

Later: Hurrah for the triumph of bell, book, and candle.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 13, 2006

Reading List

With the idea that there is simply not enough time for everything, certainly not enough for the merely good, I have turned my attention to the best, hoping thereby to improve my own circumstances.

Anna Karenina Leo Tolstoy--In the gorgeous new translation. I have never managed to make my way through this book. The subject matter is unutterably depressing and uninteresting. I've never been much engaged by those who go about evil deliberately (Vronsky) applauded by society. But, unfortunately, that is a prevalent reality and Tolstoy chronicles it very well.

A Retreat with Pere Jacques--A retreat given shortly before the martyrdom of yet another Catholic during the horror of the Second World War. Pere Jacques was imprisoned for protecting and aiding Jews escaping from the Holocaust. He is numbered by the Yad Vashem as one of the Righteous among nations and his story is told in the film Au Revoir Les Enfants. He was deported to Mathausen Concentration Camp and survived until the liberation but died shortly thereafter. Being a Carmelite, Pere Jacques would seem to have a great deal to say to this lay Carmelite (even thought the retreat is given to cloistered religious).

Next up, More of Dom Columba's book. I've dipped into it here and there and if the whole lives up to the selected parts it will prove a really fine read.

Great business at work accounts for a diminished number of books going simultaneously.

Flos Carmeli

Reflections on the arts, Carmelite traditions and saints, and contemplation. . . among other things.