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February 19, 2006
A Divine Smack Upside the Head
Sometimes the Lord, in His infinite mercy sees fit to smite us.
James 1:5
5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives to all men generously and without reproaching, and it will be given him.
I can't begin to say how the truth of this verse has begun to dawn on me after years of being Catholic. The truth is something that it takes a great deal of wisdom to discern. I lack it all over the place. I have so little wisdom, so little capacity to discern for myself. I like to think of myself as exalted and lifted high in the realm of intellect. But I am not. In the realm of thinkers I have an exceedingly small mind, a brain incapable of much in the way of original thought. Wisdom is very far from me and yet still I deny it.
How the stubborn self fights that reality thrashing out now this way, now that way. I write in part as a way of denying that I am nothing special. Graciously enough that very writing has brought home the magnitude of this reality. I write to show how wonderful I am, and in writing, I discover how small I am.
But God does not smite merely to leave us reeling. Indeed, it's rather like the hysterical person in previous times--one good smack upside the head to get my attention, a short point following, and then the embrace of Love. When He shows me these things, I am then the most certain that He loves me because He tells me all of these things not to destroy me, but to bring me home. Unlike the majority of people, God does not fear telling us the truth, He relishes it--not because it is hurtful or difficult, but because it gives us the chance to grow toward Him.
So, smite away Lord, so long as you are there to pick me up, I will know your love. It can be hard to face, but when I look at you I face eternity, not the mirror, and what a glorious sight it is. Thank you!
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:49 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
The Catholic Blog Awards
I realize how very ungracious I have been, not thanking the wonderful parishioners for the real honor they have tendered me in nominating me for "Best Devotional Blog." Thank you all, thank you very much.
If you are so inclined, please go and vote there. Vote for Julie D. and for Rick Lugari, and when you're faced with the difficult choices in devotional blogs, I would ask you to vote for A Penitent Blogger-Penitens. While I can, once in a while offer something in the devotional mode, it is a rare day when Penitens does not. All devotion, all the time. I realize that is not the most popular mode of blogging, but Penitens does it so well--and if St. Blogs is to honor someone whose work really does focus on devotion and glorifying God, then I would suggest that Penitens should be the one. This is a blog I look up to and admire deeply. I cannot sustain the depth that is there, although I can swim in those depths every day.
But once again, I can't thank everyone who participated in this nomination enough. I am very pleased that this blog is seen as being of service. Thank you all, and my sincere apologies in being so slow to acknowledge this debt of gratitude.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:56 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
February 21, 2006
The Magic Flute and Das Rheingold
I was not feeling well yesterday, so I stayed at home. In the course of the day I was able to see one full opera and part of another and what a tremendous contrast they were.
The Magic Flute is light, open, airy, and errant nonsense. There are dragons, and bird people, and initiates to the temple of Isis, and a magic flute carved from a thousand year old oak. The music is a Mozartian froth, even its most "chilling" moments are frothy, light, and full of a certain kind of joy. The message of the opera (if it can be said to have one) is utter lunacy, but the thrilling aria, mentioned in a previous post, and the delightful duet between Papageno and Papagena are wonderful entertainment.
Das Rheingold on the other hand is dark, brooding, doomed, and ultimately destructive. I begin to understand why those who have no acquired the taste early on do not care for Wagner. The Romantic Orchestral music is overlain with a truly bizarre variety of operatic snippets. In Rheingold, we have a plot to rival The Magic Flute, a bunch of witless Rhine maidens are guarding a lump of gold, they tease a nasty gnome, and idiotically let him know that the only way to get the gold is to renounce love forever. Well, they tease him enough so that he realizes that love ain't coming anyway, so he promptly renounces it and makes away with their gold, from which he will fashion a ring of power. Scene change--we're now outside Valhalla where we learn that Wotan has traded Freija to the Giants in return for the Giants building the fortress. The Giants come to collect their wages--enter Loge (Loki) who sets about making a real muddle of things. He sets in motion the actions that will end in the destruction of Valhalla at the end of Götterdammerung. The action so far takes place in two scenes of amazing static nature. It probably comprised about an hour and a half of amazing orchestration and truly odd operatic noise hovering above it.
Wagner, unfortunately, carries with him the onus of his own anti-semitism and that vicariously attributed to him by his adoption as the Third Reich's composer laureate. The only real good I can think of off hand is that he managed to alienate Nietzsche, perhaps the single most unlikeable philosopher of Modern Times (though Marx evidently could have given him a real run for the money). Wagner is huge, slow moving, monolithic. He is doing myth and he wants you to be aware of it. The Four Operas of the Ring Cycle approach sixteen hours in length, much of it bombastic, over-the-top tableau singing, despite the fact that toward the end there are some really interesting things going on. From the very beginning the angst is so thick you can cut it with a knife.
So why watch? I don't know--it's rather like the train-wreck of Opera, there is an incredible fascination with watching it unfold in all of its dreariness--the dire inevitability of the fall of the Gods coming at last to its final stages. There's something really satisfying about prophecy fulfilled. In addition, Wagner had an amazingly lush compositional palette, perhaps overly dramatic and ultimately what became known as German music. But the Magic Fire Music, the Ride of the Valkyries, Siegfried's Rhine journey, and other orchestral interludes begin to introduce some of the tonalities and sonorities that would drive both Schönberg and Debussy (in asymptotically opposed directions).
And it was nice to hear German sung in these two ways. In Mozart, German is like any other language, flexible, nimble, lovely in its way. In Wagner, German is like a bludgeon--it is sung so slowly and ponderously that one actually begins to realize that English is a Germanic language in large part--one can begin to understand Wagner's ponderous German. German is not just any other language--it is the language of fate, and doom, and useless gods, and war, and death, and trickery. (Of course it isn't--I'm merely relating the effect of the two operas.) So we have Champagne German and Ultimate-Destruction-of-the-Realm-of-the-Gods German. What an amazing contrast in less than 100 years. (But do keep in mind that Mozart was Austrian, not German--and there has always been a pronounced difference in music, literature, and culture between the two.)
Any way, it was most instructive and a most pleasant way to spend a not-so-pleasant day.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:26 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack
Get Up, Dust Yourself Off, Start Again
I'm looking for things to read during the great Lent. If you are as well, you could do worse than St. Thomas More's The Sorrows of Christ or Fr. Richard John Neuhaus's Death on a Friday Afternoon. But I happened on a book once started, since abandoned, and related to the theme of an upcoming silent Carmelite retreat: Spiritual Combat in the Carmelite Tradition--Lorenzo Scupoli's Spiritual Combat as amplified by Jonathan Robinson of the Oratory. (Jack, get moving. I really want to see the entire original without the extra notes and I can't find it anywhere else.)
Any way, I dipped into this book at the place my marker indicated that I had stopped and I came upon something perfect as a pre-thought for Lent or for any time.
We can examine whether we have developed genuine self-distrust or not by observing the effect made upon us when we sin. "If thou art so saddened and disquieted thereby as to be tempted to despair of making progress or doing good, it is a sign that thy trust is in self and not in God." We make a resolution, for example, to be patient, and we fail; or we make a resolution to avoid an occasion of sexual sin and then enter into the occasion and perhaps fall. In both cases there is often a disproportionate sense of failure and of grief. How could this possibly happen to me? What's the use of trying? The whole thing is unrealistic; I'll never be any good anyway.
This reaction shows we have been depending too much on our own efforts. If we really mistrusted ourselves, we would not be surprised when we fall, nor would we give way to despondency and bitterness. We would recognize that our sin flows quite naturally from the sort of people we are and that our reaction is occasioned as much by hurt pride as by sorrow at having offended God.
In other words, "Cowboy up. Stop yer bellyaching, and get back on the horse." Oops! I ate meat on a Friday--well, then repent and don't do it again. Oops, I meant to give x up and ate some or had some anyway. Oh well, it's time to trust in God renew the resolution and start all over.
Know that you will fail (at times spectacularly)--only God in you will succeed. If I rely upon myself I will find nothing but failure. If I rely on God, then my failings will meet with Brother Lawrence's reaction, "See what happens Lord, when you allow me to go my own way." Our failings are not the end of the world. Let God lift you up, brush you off, and then set out, as any toddler would, to explore the world anew, knowing all the while that there is more falling than standing up. But also knowing that Papa is there to lift us when we fall.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:02 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
Hooray Julie! Hooray Father Jim!
I don't know how she pulled it off, but Julie D. of Happy Catholic won best blog by a woman. Remarkable, truly remarkable.
Congratulations--I know I was pulling for you--I'm just astounded and pleased. (Not that I would be any less pleased for Ms. Welborn--it's just that, well, I've MET Julie!)
Congratulations again.
And congratulations to Father Jim, one of my very favorite blogs!
And congratulations to all of the winners and to all who have enjoyed the proceedings.
And a heartfelt thanks to the people who went to such pains to organize the whole proceedings.
Of course, do keep in mind, these are preliminary results. And those of us in the great State of Florida are already agitating for a recount! It's our very favorite kind of count. Dangling and pregnant Chads--woohoo!!
Posted by Steven Riddle at 2:50 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
A Probably Not Terribly Interesting Factoid
Those of you who have been around St. Blog's for a while know that I absolutely love numbers. I love what they say and what they don't say.
Let's take a look at the recent Catholic Blog Awards. There were sixteen categories. Look at the relative number of votes in the various categories and you'll see an interesting trend.
The absolute lowest number of votes (1022) occurred in the "Most Devotional Blog" award category. I suppose this is meet and fit as St. Blog's would not want to disturb those of us nominated from our lofty contemplations by the stampeding roar of voter's feet. Then we have "New Blog" at 1284, and "Most Creative" at 1293.
That 300 fewer votes occurred in the "Most Devotional Blog" is significant. It implies that St. Blogs parishioners are even more afraid of devotional things than they are of New things or Creative things.
How can we eradicate devotiophobia? I'm uncertain, but I do know that it is the next crusade. Next year, people should be more afraid of New things than of devotional things.
Of course, perhaps it is the fearsome thought of disturbing God's intimates that keeps the droves away. Or perhaps St. Blogs is wise enough to realize that "sleeping dogs" and "rapt contemplatives" belong in the same category of attentions. Disturb a rapt contemplative and you'll probably get an earful of something that as Samuel typified it, "He sure talks a lot and I don't understand a thing he's saying. . ."
So my campaign for next year is already outlined--get more people to vote for devotional blog than for one other category. Penultimate next year, as for the future--Ante-penultimate and beyond--the sky's the limit.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 5:03 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack
Blog in Haste. . .
repent at leisure. The remainder of the Scupoli/Robinson passage which I only managed to get to at lunch time.
A fall should make us detest the fault "and the unruly passions which have occasioned it." That is, rather than allowing ourselves to be overcome with emotions of self-disgust or anger at ourselves, we should direct our dislike onto the fault itself and the disorganization in our nature that has led us into sin. Too much attention to the fact that it is we who have failed may very well deflect us away from what it is we have done. The sin itself is, as it were, left unscathed and its attractions really unaltered, because our energy has not been directed against it itself.
. . . There must be real contrition, but the energy generated by our reaction to the fall--if I may put it this way--must be spent on hating the sin and resolving to fight it more effectively in the future.
. . . Scupoli says the following:
I would that these things were well considered by certain persons so called spiritual, who cannot and will not be at rest when they have fallen into any fault. They rush to their spiritual father, rather to get rid of the anxiety and uneasiness which spring from the wounded self-love than for the purpose which should be their chief end in seeking him, to purify themselves from the stain of sin, and to fortify themselves against its power by means of the most holy sacrament of penance.
If I may say this in a way that makes a certain sense to me--in the matter of sin, there must be a prayerful metacognition that seeks to separate the fact that we sinned from the sin, the occasion of sin, and the fault that spawned the sin. That is, rather than feeling hurt, wounded, and scared and going to confession on that basis, we need to seek God's insight into what provokes us and prayerfully ask His assistance in the avoidance of future occurrences of the sin. We need to use the mirror of our fall to reflect on the fault that caused it, not upon the hurt sinner. Finding the fault, we must seek, with the grace of the sacrament of penance, to excise it completely and allow God to fill the empty spaces that the cancerous sin had once occupied.
True contrition for sin seeks to track down its cause and eradicate it--always with grace as our foremost weapon. It does not roil about in self pity or blithely excuse the fault and sin on the basis of modern psychology.
Hope this helps to amplify and clarify the previous post in which I may have given the indication of too blithe and nonchalant an approach to sin and sinfulness.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:42 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 22, 2006
From Summa Minutiae
Some neat insights into some Latin proverbs. I particularly like
Non mihi sapit qui sermone sed qui factis sapit.
Go and read.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:48 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Soon Enough-Lent
I know that by this post I am treading in the place of the Rat; nevertheless, I have cause to think that this might give her some delight.
from Sermons Parochial and Plain
John Henry, Cardinal NewmanSermon 7. The Duty of Self-denial Seasons - Lent
"Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child." Psalm cxxxi. 2.
{86} SELF-DENIAL of some kind or other is involved, as is evident, in the very notion of renewal and holy obedience. To change our hearts is to learn to love things which we do not naturally love—to unlearn the love of this world; but this involves, of course, a thwarting of our natural wishes and tastes. To be righteous and obedient implies self-command; but to possess power we must have gained it; nor can we gain it without a vigorous struggle, a persevering warfare against ourselves. The very notion of being religious implies self-denial, because by nature we do not love religion.
Self-denial, then, is a subject never out of place in Christian teaching; still more appropriate is it at a time like this, when we have entered upon the forty days of Lent, the season of the year set apart for fasting and humiliation.
If time permits, you may wish to consult the entire sermon here
"To change our hearts is to learn to love things that we do not naturally love." This is the core of the ongoing Christian vocation. In this simple sentence Newman speaks of detachment without ever once uttering the scary word. We must learn to love what we do not by nature love--to do so, we must unlearn our entanglement with the world, the flesh, and the devil.
Lent gives us the beginning of an opportunity for this self-denial. But it is the merest beginnings. Many of us start Lent, fresh as triathletes at the beginning of their ordeal, and we end winded and happy to be released from these self-imposed burdens to return once again to our life as we knew it before Lent.
Here's a mental challenge--take what you plan to do at Lent and stretch it out over a lifetime. Can you continue this self-denial? Is it a good form of self-denial? Does depriving yourself of chocolate for 40 days really mean anything? Or could the denial take the form of one day a weak of a Catholic Fast and prayer. Every weak, inside Lent and Out. Eat a little bit less and keep in mind those who have need of more?
Each year I am challenged by Lent to grow, and each year I reach the end with a certain sense of disappointment. I have not kept to what I have promised with the earnestness I would have liked. And each year I realize that I am relying on myself. I did not do..., I did not keep. . ., etc. Each Lent I'm invited to surrender and I use the Lenten practices to build my cozy fortress more tightly around me.
Meditate then upon these words from a different Sermon:
And be sure of this: that if He has any love for you, if He sees aught of good in your soul, He will afflict you, if you will not afflict yourselves. He will not let you escape. He has ten thousand ways of purging those whom He has chosen, from the dross and alloy with which the fine gold is defaced.
Perhaps God's affliction takes the form of my own disappointment and living with less than the best. Perhaps it takes the form of knowing we can do better and consistently refusing to do so. These too are forms of affliction. But as God does love us, He can use these things to transform us. As God does love us, He will use every means to get out attention. Let's face it folks, some of us just need to be slapped upside the head before He speaks so we'll pay attention. Nothing less will work.
P.S. I truly love the opportunities that Lent presents to grow in love. If only I could preserve those wonderful gifts through the rest of the year!
Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:43 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
February 23, 2006
Adoption Day!
Today we celebrate adoption day by going to the beach and visiting with some friends and perhaps a relative or two, if we can get hold of them.
Please remember us in your prayers today.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:09 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack