On Fiction, Perspective, and the Culture Wars

I've been thinking a lot lately about fiction, and how we process it.

A couple weeks ago, some friends and I went to see Fiddler on the Roof (absolutely phenomenal, btw). While chatting at intermission, I mocked myself, declaring that I should have counted how many times I cried in that first act. One friend replied, "I know, the wedding was so sad!" 

Oh. Yeah, didn't cry at the wedding, even though, yes, it was very sad. No, what made me tear up was every moment when someone took the risk of being vulnerable to tell someone they love something important, something that would be horrible if that person took it poorly. (And when someone listened to a loved one saying something difficult, good or bad.)

Watched Captain America: Civil War this week (barely spoilers ahead, only for the general conceit of the film). It was a fantastic movie, and I spent most of it not quite tense but distinctly uncomfortable, concerned--convinced--that one of these beloved characters would do something they'd regret and not be able to take back.

Discussed the movie with three friends. #1 discussed scenes, characters, legitimate concerns presented and imperfect ways they could have been dealt with, etc., with great nuance (as per usual). #2 was extremely annoyed at Tony, could conscience no reason whatsoever to be on Team Iron Man; obviously Cap was right, as always. #3 admittedly isn't a big fan of Cap, and found him completely unsympathetic because he went rogue and didn't try to compromise or communicate, didn't at all see that he didn't have the time or opportunity to do much of either.

These latter two conversations have stayed with me, not because they impact how I think of these loved ones, but because they worry me. If we can't "see the other side" in a fictional problem, how can we possibly hope to navigate thorny real-life problems?

There's just about nothing in this world I hate more than the culture wars. They divide us so harshly, we don't even notice that we're demonizing (or at least patronizing) real people on the other side, people who may or may not have seen the same data, but who came to a different conclusion. We see agenda, we see malice, we see stupidity.

Yes, there is some agenda, some malice, some stupidity, always. But most of the time, the people "on the other side" are real people trying to fix legitimate problems, even if their proposed solution seems to cause more problems.

I should have some kind of conclusion here, but I don't. All I have are misgivings. Kyrie, eleison.

On Super Bowl Commercials and Sexism

This is not meant to be a full-blown post. Just my two cents on a discussion that, this time, confuses me as much as it frustrates me.

This Audi commercial is one that I enjoyed, though not enough to rank it in my top ten yesterday:

The internets* are all incensed because of this commercial, which is apparently about a high schooler going up to a girl he doesn't know at all and forcing a kiss on her without her consent.

I don't know about you, but that's not the story I saw.

I saw a self-conscious kid who finally got up the guts to announce his feelings to the friend he's had a crush on for months (or years)... a kid to whom his new black eye doesn't matter at all, in the exhilaration of a long-awaited risk finally taken, and in the excited hope that it might have paid off.

And you know what? I'm okay with that message. Sure, I think a kiss is not the ideal way to open such a conversation, but he manned up and made his intentions known, leaving the decision in her hands. Some days, that sounds like a dream come true!

This video leaves a lot to be inferred, much of which reflects more on the viewer than the directors. For those particularly sensitive to misogyny, I can see how this could be upsetting. But I simply cannot believe that their read of the situation is the more plausible one.

*Or at least the corner of the internets that I've been inhabiting lately...

Job Searching = Having a Crush on Every Boy

That title either rings true immediately or causes confusion; in either case I'm finding it often brings laughter. Observe.

There are a staggering number of possibilities out there, statistically speaking.

A few of them even seem like they might be a good fit.

So you dress up real pretty (resume/cover letter), and spend a lot of time saying "Hi" and smiling across the room (sending resumes).

Sometimes, you get a "Hi" back (acknowledgment of receipt of resume), and occasionally even a coffee date (interview, perhaps via phone or Skype).

This may even be followed by a dinner date (second or in-person interview), but it's still a little premature to obsess over how you'll respond if he offers you a ring--after all, unlike a conventional proposal, you get a few days to ponder out a job offer, and no one's really that heartbroken if you say no.

 ≠ 

Okay, funny analogy, but so what? Searching for a job, like obsessive crushing, more or less requires the subject to live in a fantasy world that is only tangentially in touch with reality. Because there are so many targets and so few responses, everything changes so quickly; the story is so often completely different in just two days.

That's why so many conversations that are meant to be straightforward and kind are felt like this:

Friend 1: I want to show that I am interested in your life and well-being, so I'll ask how the job search is going, because I know that's a big thing in your life. It's the equivalent of asking "How's work?", right?

Friend 2: OH MY GOSH will people please stop asking me to give them the painfully intimate details of the fundamental uncertainty of my life at the present moment!? I mean, I'm glad you care, but can't we talk about anything else!? (Not that I can think of anything else, as the job search is kind of consuming my life at present... Hmmph.)

Ah, stress.

What's the moral of the story? I'm not really sure it has one. Sometimes the observation of a truth is enough.

Spiritus sapientiae et intellectus, miserere nobis.

Spiritus consilii, fortitudinis, scientiae, et pietatis, miserere nobis.

Spiritus timoris Domini et prudentiae, miserere nobis.

Note: The video whence the title catchphrase originates is entirely superfluous to my point, but for those of you now having Homestar Runner cravings, I've just saved you a Google search.

from "The Liturgy and Women"

The good Christian woman is as it were a natural sacrament in the world, an external sign of inner grace radiating goodness. She is a power for good in the world to which only the most debased of men will fail to respond, and whose active influence the world never needed more sorely than today. Her true mission she can fulfill, as of old, only by drinking deep at the fountain of the true Christian spirit, the life of the Church. She must become imbued with the spirit of Christ, as were the women of early Christianity. Above all, she must, under the moulding powers of the one true Sacrifice eternal of the Altar, become another Christ, burning with His own zeal to spread His kingdom in the hearts of men.

Virgil Michel, O.S.B., "The Liturgy and Women," in Orate Fratres, Vol. III, No. 9 (July 1929), 274-275.

No, I have not forgotten about this blog. Perhaps an inspirational quote will help to fill the page until my thesis is finished and I have time to return to blogging...

The Difference Between Men and Women: A Memory

I am in the throes of finals right now, so naturally my mind thinks back to completely unrelated incidents in college.

In all the dorms at Steubenville, the RAs would wander around before they went off duty and bless all the doors in the building with holy water, as well as any students still up studying or socializing.

If we were in a girls' dorm when it was this time, the RA would poke her head in the door and ask, "Would you like a blessing?"  If we said yes, she'd come in, dip her thumb in holy water, and trace the sign of the cross on our foreheads.  (She'd then, of course, remind us that our male guest had to leave shortly.)

If you were in a guys' dorm when the RA was doing his rounds, he'd poke his head in and ask if we wanted a blessing.  If we said yes, he'd take the holy water bottle and shake it at us, sprinkling us liberally with holy water, before reminding us that the ladies had to leave the building very soon thereafter.

The differences between men and women.  Love it!

On Good Friendships and Inaccurate Assumptions

I am generally pretty astute when it comes to social situations (like most women, I consider a million details all the time), but I have my moments.  There was a dance in college to which asked a guy friend (we'll call him J) on a date by accident.  That is to say: I didn't realize until during the asking that this was obviously a date.  He was very good about it, and picked up all the chivalrous things guys do just as if it'd been his idea.  Needless to say, I was mortified!

Relatively new to the idea of gender-appropriate behavior, I quickly grabbed a mutual guy friend and told him the whole story, asking whether I'd made a huge misstep.  He told me I was fine, that sometimes it does a guy good to have a woman make a move every now and again.

He had taken for granted that I had a crush on J.  I had no such feelings; J was merely a great guy who liked to dance and was always great company (and in my collegiate cheapness, saving that extra dollar on the dance ticket seemed to be worth so much!).  All the girl friends to whom I told the story in the days until the dance also took for granted that I had a crush on him.

There is some reality to your friends knowing your feelings for someone before you're willing to admit them.  However, I will insist to my dying day that the crush I developed on J at and after that dance was precipitated by my friends' unanimous belief that I already had a crush on him.

This is not an isolated incident (the friends perceiving crushes where they were none, that is.  I haven't accidentally asked out /too/ many guys since then).  When I first started telling stories to friends from college about my musician friend back home, they all thought I was in love with him, though I was not.  His music uplifts my heart, and his friendship is a delight, but there were no romantic feelings there.  However, I learned to rarely speak freely about the joy his music and his friendship brought to me, because I just didn't want to have to explain that he was not the new romantic interest (and, of course, denying a theory like that only gives credence to its likely truth)...

I have to be careful when telling stories to friends outside of here, even.  Mention the same guy's name in a funny story more than twice, and the other person is already suspicious that I like him.  Conversely, if I mention a visitor before his arrival to friends here, the sentiment (dare I say the hope?) is that perhaps this one might do as more than a friend...

I have long been aware of the phenomenon wherein a girl discovers that a guy whom she only likes as a friend likes her as more, and then she develops a crush on him.  The phenomenon wherein a girl's friends think she likes a guy because he's fodder for funny stories, and she consequently develops a crush on him?  Much less documented.  No less real.

I take great delight in God's creation of human persons.  He really did an excellent job all around, and one of the most fulfilling -- and, thankfully, most consistent -- ways I experience his love is through discovering the personalities and idiosyncrasies of other people.  And I like to tell stories.  Heck, the bedrock of my friendship with Anne is that we both show love for people by telling them stories about other people we love!

What am I getting at here?  I don't know.  Perhaps all I've done is reveal one of my own weaknesses.  Still, it brings me much joy when people accept friendship at face value without suspecting other motives.  C. S. Lewis calls friendship the "least natural of loves," because it is not essential for the survival of the species (as is affection, to keep us from killing each other, and eros, for reproduction), and perhaps it is this very unnaturalness that causes us to infer eros where he is not present.

Crushes are not fun, (well, they may have an element of fun, but they're usually more trouble than they're worth).  As with many of my musings, these thought processes are not new.  But there's nothing new under the sun, eh?

On Early Marriage - and Early Divorce

This week I learned about the first "Steubenville divorce" of people I knew before they were married.

Now, early marriage can be controversial, insofar as many people think it unwise precisely because it often leads to divorce.  Unfortunately, those figures count "early marriage" as anything from 14 to mid-twenties.  There's a lot of growth in those ten years; those figures are pretty skewed.  (Here is a long but insightful defense of early marriage).

Then, of course, among those who desire an early marriage, there are many for whom that's simply not how the cards play out.  Whether your focus is waiting for the one God has prepared for you or choosing someone based on practical qualities that will make them a good spouse and parent, the fact remains that we can't always get what we want.

Of these who are not able to marry as early as they'd like, there come, of course, the unmarried woes (in women, at least, these often begin in the late twenties; I've no experience of men facing such, though I'd imagine they do): a loneliness mixed with despair at an ever-shrinking pool of applicants (if you will) and fear because of decreasing fertility.

None of these fears justify "settling" in the contemporary mind: tying the knot with someone you don't /really/ love, just to have the security of being married (unless you're open to things like adultery, divorce, etc).  Of course, it is possible to have a good marriage in such a situation, but it requires a lot of self-discipline, and pushing forward just as strongly as if one were "in love with" one's spouse in the first place.  (This is entirely doable, cf. many centuries of arranged marriages, but very foreign to the modern mind.)

I didn't know the couple in question well at all.  I knew her, mostly by association, and I had wondered that she had matured and been tamed so entirely as to be entering into marriage with such fervor and purity as they displayed (as most all engaged couples at Steubenville so piously display).  Trouble is, some people are inspired to virtue by the fact that everyone around them is striving for holiness out there, but others lose discipline because they no longer have to fight for their faith, and still others seem to be completely oblivious to the campus-wide peer pressure to be holy.

So I can't say I'm any more surprised by their divorce than I was by their marriage, especially since I keep hearing that the divorce rate from Steubenville is the same as the divorce rate for the rest of the country (though usually those divorces are blamed on the couple's loss of faith that resulted from the loss of community upon graduation).  And, from what little I know about them, he should have little difficulty obtaining an annulment, and should probably be able to win custody of their child.

But just imagining this poor man, whom I could hardly pick out of a crowd, divorced with a daughter after just two crazy years of marriage...  he can't possibly be older than 27.  I have a hard enough time being single and post-college, and everyone I know has had a hard time making that transition from college to adulthood.  How much more difficult will it be for him!

Please pray all those involved in this sticky situation.  Yet another reason to be careful before settling for someone who may not be motivated to work as hard as you to keep the marriage going.

And another reason to remember that marriages don't make themselves.  Keep in mind, my fellow singles, that life does not actually get easier upon making those vows.  What struggles we have just change.

Sancte Ioseph, ora pro eis
Sancta Maria, ora pro eis
Sancta Familia, orate pro eis

On Flirting

They told me the girls complained that I was a big flirt in middle school (said girls, in classic middle school fashion, never told me this themselves).  This upset me at the time.  Why did they think I was a flirt?  Because I was comfortable hanging out with the guys and I laughed at their jokes?  News flash: I thought their jokes were funny!  I was /not/ being a big flirt!  (Anachronistic observation: Sure, I wore quite the booty shorts, but that was for fashion and for fun, and was never intended to land me a man.)

My whole extended family functions by way of humor.  Somebody's the straight man (usually me), somebody's got the witty retort or the hilarious story (never me, save in extra-familial situations), and everybody's the audience.  My parents have always communicated via witty banter exchanged across the kitchen or over the dinner table.  One of my earliest childhood memories is of desiring such a banterability with the man I would one day marry.

But this enjoyment of humor (and especially of banter) was not limited to romantic situations, not by far.  I have bonded with many a friend over the years (both guys and gals) with such verbal interplay as could (I suppose) be considered flirting.  But flirting seems to contain an essential element of showing off, an interior risk or danger, which has rarely been part of the situation for me.

This is not just a tension between my family and the rest of the world, though.  In my secular office back home, wordplay and banter are absolutely essential to the friendly, fun office dynamic.  I take this as a confirmation that it's not just the quirks of my family or the insularity that can afflict Steubenville circles but a reality of life that people banter and are funny, and this is good.

So why is it that women still get accused of being flirtatious for such things?  Double standards?  Jealousy?  Certainly misperceptions, but is there more to it than that?

Let me know if I've missed anything.  In the meantime, I've got some co-workers to banter with.

On Christmas in Advent

When I was packing to return to school after Thanksgiving, I debated whether to bring back my Christmas decorations et cetera.  The deciding factor was the thought: I'm studying at the Liturgical Institute.  If we celebrate Christmas in Advent, there's something wrong with us!  And so I left it all at home.

The celebration of Christmas in Advent has always been a question I've debated.  Certainly it is better liturgically to celebrate Christmas, well, during Christmas!  Yet it does seem a bit excessive not to celebrate it at all during Advent, when the rest of the world is celebrating, especially since Advent is a season of preparation for Christmas - in joyful expectation more so than in sorrowful penitence.

A few groups of which I've been part throughout my life have celebrated Christmas after the holiday break (from work or school), but the vast majority of even Catholic groups celebrate before the holiday.  After spending this Advent almost completely out of touch with any holiday celebrations, I'm beginning to think this is more than just conforming to the secular holiday culture.

First problem: This Advent has not felt like Advent.  Sure, I've been doing the Jesse Tree on my own, and we've been praying Lauds and Vespers in common, and I've gone out of my way to wear the appropriate liturgical color each Sunday (epic win!), but it simply hasn't felt like Advent.  My Christmas shopping has been done gradually.  I've only listened to Christmas music on occasion (in an effort to keep myself from getting sick of it before Christmas came).  I've done no decorating.  My Christmas cards are not yet written (because I don't want them to arrive in Advent).  And I've been to a grand total of two parties.  It does not feel like we are approaching Christmas.

Second problem: I'm focused on Advent-not-Christmas.  As a result, I've been hesitant to wish people a Merry Christmas - whether they're people I know and see regularly or total strangers at the mall - which does little to support the celebration of Christmas or put anyone in a Christmas mood.  Even upon leaving school for the break, I felt no compunction about wishing people a happy new year, but had to force myself to say "Merry Christmas!"

Third problem: It's perfectly natural to meet and greet and wish people well in the weeks before Christmas.  There are some people with whom you'll part ways before the holidays, and others whom you won't see until the holidays; in both cases one wants to celebrate with such people and wish them the best.  The weeks leading up to Christmas are a perfectly natural time in which to reminisce and celebrate with those people who are close to your heart but are not the family with whom you spend the feast day itself.

Fourth problem: We have a hard time celebrating things for a long time.  I don't know how much of this is innate to the human psyche as opposed to twenty-first century American culture, but anticipation builds toward a major event and then dies down much more slowly.  That is to say: it seems to be easier to celebrate "Christ is coming!" for the whole month of December than to celebrate "Christ is here!" for the whole month of January.  Certainly this is aided by the fact that our society plays Christmas music and displays Christmas decorations on that time schedule, but I wonder whether this is something deeper than a societal disorder...

* * *

It's now Christmas Eve (I wrote most of the above yesterday).  After watching Christmas movies with my friends and sister (four in the past twelve hours), wrapping Christmas presents, and eating Christmas Eve dinner with my family, I am beginning to feel like it's time for Our Lord to be born.  Advent still felt too brief, but the calendar marches inexorably on, and the holidays come anyway.  I suppose my challenge now is to live out the other side of the coin: to keep the Christmas spirit even after the octave has ended. 

Puer natus est nobis, et filius datus est nobis . . . Cantate Domino canticum novum quia mirabilia fecit!

On Chivalry, Egalitarianism, and Restraint

I like to think I've mostly recovered from my feminist days.  But every now and again, I'm proven wrong.

By the time I hit high school, I'd already gotten over the self-esteem crisis that besets (nearly) everyone in adolescence.  I was fully aware that I'm a fantastic, beautiful person (who, admittedly, makes mistakes), and that I can make great contributions to whatever social situation I'm a part of.  Two primary goals of mine were to make people feel loved and to keep them from feeling awkward.  Consequently, I developed habits of complimenting people, telling them I love them, and hugging them; I also took it upon myself to rescue conversations from the dreaded "awkward silence".  I prided myself on being someone whose presence markedly changed social situations for the better (or so I always presumed), someone who could be relied upon to be a major player no matter what we were saying or doing.

Enter college.  I had already begun to learn the value of comfortable silence with good friends, and discovering the treasures of silent prayer only increased my interior life and consequent comfortability with silence.  I slowly but surely realized that I had set up for myself unrealistic expectations, and let go of my felt responsibility to fill pauses in conversations.  I discovered that it's okay to sometimes hold back from saying what's on your mind, and that it's possible (and permissible) for me to be fully present to a conversation without saying much.  Even so, I remained a major player in most conversations, especially among good friends.

These musings are not new.  What is new is the revelation of the way this has affected my outlook on chivalry.

I was brought up to think that one favor deserves another.  When I sleep over someone's house (say, while traveling), I bring a gift for the family to thank them for their hospitality.  If you invite me over for dinner, I'll show up bearing wine or dessert.  For the guy friend who pays for my food while we're out, I'll occasionally cook or bake.  I know these things are not necessary, but they seem appropriately gracious, and are always appreciated.

Well, I was at a special dinner with classmates last week, and our host (not a classmate) was a charming older gentleman who took a kind interest in me, the only woman in the group (at the time).  He held the shoulders of my coat while I took it off, and accorded to me the honored seat immediately to his left at the table.  During the meal, however, I did not converse with him much - sometimes because I was talking to the people to my left, sometimes because he was talking to the person to his right, sometimes simply because I didn't know what to say to him to spark a conversation.  And yet, at the meal's end, he took my coat and held it for me to put on, thanked me for my company, and bid me good night (along with everyone else).

I was bowled over.  I felt as though I'd failed in some responsibility (for surely the privilege of sitting at the host's side should be repaid with charmed attention and delightful conversation as well as feminine beauty), and yet he treated me no differently.  Certainly he was pleased that I'd enjoyed myself (for his job as host was to empower everyone to have a grand time), and thought nothing less of me for not engaging him conversationally, but I still felt remiss and entirely unworthy of the honor he'd bestowed upon me by being such a gentleman.

And herein lies the culprit: egalitarianism!  Michael reminded me last weekend that true chivalry would be cheapened were there strings attached: that a man who opens a door or holds a chair (or a coat) for me does so simply to honor me as a woman, and would be horrified to learn that I felt obliged to return the favor somehow, even if in a different and complementary fashion.

I've already had to break myself of the habit of immediately returning compliments, and have found that all compliments are now more meaningful.  Perhaps by humbling myself to accept chivalry in return for naught but my presence - even if that presence is not patently charming or hilarious - perhaps thereby I will more deeply interiorize chivalry, and consequently grow to better understand my role as a woman in this intricate dance we call life.

Still, maybe it is time to brush off those good conversationalist skills. They really are handy.

On Provocative Language in Everyday Use

As I believe I've alluded to before, this campus is over 90% male. This means that at nearly every meal I eat, I am the only woman present at the table. It's an interesting dynamic; I am the honored guest as often as I'm the fly on the wall.

There have been moments like when those generous men gave up (or at least delayed) their sports talk time and asked me about my local sports teams, diverting the center of attention to me, because they'd noticed I had nothing to contribute to the sports talk. On the other hand, there have been a number of moments when unflappable Claire was a just little bit surprised that they really just said /that/ so unabashedly, with a woman sitting right next to them.

The men here (the seminarians, the priests, and the few who are neither) are very conscientious to bid adieu to "Gentlemen" and to "Claire". If they refer to a group of which I am part as "guys", they are always quick to apologize and restate with a more gender-neutral term.

On the other hand, when vulgar language is used, there is almost never an apology nodded to me, the woman who has to sit through this (even my secular office accorded me that courtesy).

I am an educated woman, with a background in foreign languages and in Catholic tradition. I understand that a mixed group is referred to by the masculine plural. As a personal stylistic choice, I actually prefer "brethren"!

I have no opposition to vulgar language, especially when used appropriately. But I like to think of myself as a lady. I intentionally refrain from using such words for propriety's sake.

It's not that I'm upset or offended. And it's not everyone here who does this; these are just general trends I've noticed at random meals. But it does make me wonder:

When did feminist egalitarianism replace common decency as the most important sensibility to avoid offending at all costs? And what can I do to help switch it back again?

On Brains and Career Choices

Two good friends of mine have surprised in recent months me by asserting quite forcefully that I am smarter than they are.  It's not that I disagree with the assessment; it's more that I'm bewildered by how they came up with enough data to make such a claim (in both cases, I feel quite certain that I lack the evidence necessary to evaluate such a claim).

Out here, too, I am widely regarded as being very bright.  Now, I'm accustomed to being regarded as being highly competent, because good, efficient work speaks for itself.  But I've not been here very long, and I don't feel that my brain muscles have been stretched in a way that would be observable to others. It's not like I've been the center of attention (well, perhaps my fashion, but much less my conversation),  and I haven't been around for many intellectual discussions (I'm quieter out here than you'd probably expect).

Don't get me wrong; I know I'm clearly an intellectual, and that does come across to people (hence why most of my friends from Spirit and Truth expect me to write a book someday).  What really baffles me is how other intellectual friends can so easily assign me a slot above them in that great mental hierarchy of intelligence.  (Not that I don't mark out other friends as geniuses myself, but that's usually only after I've had some sort of intellectual background with them...)

But let's take this supposition and run with it.  So I'm smart.  Smarter than most people.  (Certainly logical thinking is a good beginning that's lacked by most Americans.)  I realized tonight that perhaps my own intelligence is the trap behind my unfortunate Jansenistic tendency of separating my faith from others' reason.

See, I know that faith is reasonable, especially ours (well, to a point, anyway).  And I've heard all the philosophical arguments for faith; they all make sense, but I find none of them to be quite compelling enough.  So I don't get into philosophical arguments about religion, unless it's with people who are coming from the same philosophical playing field as I'm on.

So I've learned, over time, to explain my education and life plans in such a way that they make sense and sound reasonable and nonthreatening (if a bit bizarre) to religiously apathetic people.  My passion remains invisible (though implied), but I'm okay with that; sometimes that's how it's gotta be.

Well. Tonight I was in a social situation with mostly areligious peers, strangers.  So naturally, the first conversation opener is to ask about work or school, and I run through my usual spiel, receiving the usual polite-but-not-particularly-interested responses.

And then it hit me: My intellectual gifts are near-completely hidden in such a situation.  Sure, my social competencies play out nicely, but these people first meeting me will likely place me in a mental bin with people of lesser intelligence than they have, simply because I value religion.

Perhaps that's why I feel like universalizing my life's ambitions is just dumbing them down: because speaking in such a way fails to bear witness to the glorious reasonability of our faith.  And that reasonability so desperately needs to be borne witness to.

And maybe it's just the nonconfrontational people-pleaser in me that only wants to engage with those people who positively want to have religious discussions.  But you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.  And while you might have fewer buyers at first if you leave the honey loose, it'll last longer and be better kept if you seal it in a jar and open it only at the appropriate time.

Peddling honey is somebody's role.  I just think mine is more like serving tea and waiting for my guests to ask for it.
 

And yes, Luke, I did title this post just for you.

On Slowing Down, and Being

Sometimes it takes a visitor for you to realize what a new place has taught you.

This weekend, Greg came to visit.  We pretty much did the same things I'd normally do anyway, except that the homework bits were replaced by the two of us chatting.  As we took a leisurely drive around the lake this morning, Greg commented that, "It's so weird not to be doing fifty things at once."  And I realized: I've become used to that, to whatever is the opposite of multitasking (unitasking?).  But let me back up.


For meals here on campus, they only serve at certain times, and for only so long.  So the whole campus eats lunch at 12, for instance.  Because of this, it's standard procedure (and only polite) to remain at your table until everyone who's seated there - including those who arrived as you were finishing your food - has finished both eating and talking.  If you have a particular reason why you need to go, that's not held against you, but the primary time of socialization here is over meals, so you just budget an hour for lunch and chat with who you sit with.


Even the campus itself invites you to slow down.  The speed limit here is 25, but every time I glance at my speedometer, I'm barely hitting 15.  There's just this serene feeling of being in nature (on nature's turf, if you will), such that you want to slow your car down to be as inconspicuous as possible.  The focus is not on where you're going to end up but on the journey, on the beauty you're in the midst of as you go.


Too, there aren't a million social activities here like there are at undergraduate colleges.  This place is just a grad school and a seminary, nothing else.  So while there are things to do and people to see... let's just say I don't think I've had so few extracurricular activities in my schedule since middle school.  Not to suggest that I'm not doing anything - I work, and I go to class, and I catch up with friends via the phone, and I do research, and I pray, and I eat, and I sleep - but only that I spend larger chunks of time doing fewer things.


I suppose I'm learning about small town life, in a way.  Not to suggest that ours is a self-contained community, but that it is small, intimate, and slower-paced. And I've always had a hard time with not-fast-paced.  I do, I suppose, expect that others who come to visit are looking for something to do, which we don't really have.


You don't come here to do; you come here to be.  It's a distinction I often forget.  Hopefully two years here will enable me to internalize this enough that I can live it even in the midst of Big City life.

On Names

They told us in theology classes years ago that, in the Hebrew tradition, names are a big deal. That God renaming Abram Abraham was significantly more than just a nickname. That God's revelation of His Name to the Chosen People through Moses marked a covenental intimacy that no other people had with their God. That even still, when one writes the Name of God in the original Hebrew, he is required to break the pen (or whatever writing implement) he used, because it has written the greatest thing it is possible to write. That at the Name of Jesus, every knee must bow.

But names still never seemed like anything to write home about, other than these sacred Names. Making connections at a new place here has reminded me how normal it is to name-drop - not even to impress people, but just to find common ground, whether it's people you personally know or perhaps those with a bit more notoriety that you mutually follow. I'm sure my fellow Steubie grads who read this are well aware of the moment when you introduce yourself and identify your background, and the Catholic you're talking to immediately throws out names of others who attended our school. It's just a natural way to put ourselves at ease with others.

So when I'm now meeting awesome people who are headed to my alma mater, I think nothing of telling them to send my best to those people still there whom I most treasure and/or whom they're likely to meet.

There is one particular professor whose class I recommend as worth nearly as much as the entire rest of one's education there; naturally, I tell these new student friends of mine to seek him out and take his class at all costs. Turns out at least one of these friends made it in to his already overfilled class specifically because he told this prof that I told him he had to take the class.

That brought it home: My name is important. Perhaps that's just me developing notoriety, but it was a strange feeling, to know that my name alone - not my presence, my email, or anything else I directly did, but just my name - was enough to influence such a decision.

Growing up, I always called the Mother of God simply "Mary." That was her name, so that's what I called her. When I began to meet other Catholics my age who practiced their faith, I noticed that most of them called her the Blessed Mother. As I grew to learn bits and pieces of other languages, I saw that in Polish, she is usually called Mother of God; in French and Spanish, Our Lady. Whenever a Marian priest said Mass, his homily always tied in Our Lady.

My point? After a time, it became clear to me that those people with great devotion to the Immaculate Virgin called her by different titles, and almost never by her name. So I intentionally switched from referring to her as Mary to our Blessed Mother. As time continued, I found myself desiring a deeper love for Our Lord's Mother, so I thought I'd do what everyone I know with strong Marian devotion does: intentionally refer to her as Our Lady.

And, wouldn't you know it, my love for her has soared. And all I've done differently is change how I refer to her. Not even how I address her; that's the same as it's been since childhood. Just calling her "Our Lady."

Because of which, I've unconsciously begun to refer to Jesus as "Our Lord," rather than simply as Christ. It's a title that radiates both loving affection and submissive intimacy. And I love it.

I pray that Our Lord bless you and Our Lady watch over you and all those whom you hold in your heart.

On Transitions

Note: Though I rarely break the fourth wall (save in the combox), I apologize for the interruption in my posts.  Moving halfway across the country will do that to a gal.  I hope to be more faithful to writing here during my graduate studies.)

I have always been a very adaptable person; I acclimate to new situations without much difficulty.  But I have noticed that in recent years, my transitions have become more difficult.

Perhaps it's because more of my heart remains with the community I've left behind.  Certainly I've made more and deeper friends over the years, whom I dearly miss.  But I was pretty darn connected to my high school friends when I started college, and that didn't stop me from meeting a zillion exciting people and diving headfirst into college life.

No, no more perhaps.  I know exactly what is going on.  As I have grown closer to Our Lord, and He has shown me more both of Himself and of myself, it has become more difficult to give myself to others precisely because there's so much more of me to give.  How can I communicate to another the incredible depth of my being?

Consider this stark contrast: Here I am awkwardly making smalltalk with priests and seminarians I hardly know, largely in order to pleasantly pass the time.  But just a few days ago, I roamed this beautiful campus in near-silence with a friend so dear to my heart that words were unnecessary to express the depth of God's glory that we were experiencing in tandem.

Transitions are hard because they're lonely.  I am lonely because I know myself, and long to give of myself on a deep level.  I know myself because Our Lord has revealed myself to me.  I know Our Lord only through His gracious mercy, and as that knowledge increases, so does each transition become more of a challenge.

So the solution to a tough transition would seem to be: Remain centered upon Our Lord.  Everything else may change and pass away, but He alone will remain.

I love You, O Lord, my strength.

On the Danger of Knowing a Little Psychology

One of the classes that was required for my undergrad was Philosophy of the Human Person.  I took this entry-level class as a senior with a good background in philosophy, so I wasn't particularly bowled over by any major revelations in the class, but the one thing that did stick with me was the distinction between self-presence and self-reflection.

Bear with me, you non-philosophers.  Self-presence is just living your life; self-reflection is being aware of the fact that you're living your life (and of how you're living it).  For instance: Picture yourself at a funeral home, alone in the viewing room with your deceased love one, just grieving.  That's self-presence.  Now imagine that someone walks in the room.  You are instantly aware of how you appear and sound, and (unless you have an enormous amount of self-confidence) probably interrupt your grieving because you are aware of being observed.  That's self-reflection.

So I tend to be somewhat psychologically oriented.  This is great, because Our Lord can point out to me that I suffer from this terribly silly insecurity that I'm an overbearing personality (a total lie), and I can look critically at my friendships to see that this is far from the case.  He can also suggest that I need to let Him increase a particular virtue in me, and I do so easily because I'm so aware of myself.

On the other hand: it often makes life more difficult.  When with a group of men, for instance, I usually have to fight the fear that I'm infringing upon guy time, which makes it much more difficult to just relax and enjoy myself / be able to give myself more freely to others.  When I'm not going through a particular crisis or growing period, I begin to ask God what He wants to fix in me next, as if it's all about Him improving me (whereas it's really about Him loving others through me).

Don't get me wrong: self-reflection is important and helpful and all that.  But it's like being that kid from the Wonder Years and always narrating your life.  Sure, it's funny.  But are you really living life to the fullest?  Are you really able to truly be there for the friend crying on your shoulder if you're thinking about the fact that she's crying on your shoulder (as opposed to listening wholeheartedly to her story that is the reason for her tears in the first place)...

For those of us who routinely first examine our motives to be sure we're not manipulating or using others, it's a tough job to trust ourselves to not screw up God working in us, and to just be present to those around us and to what's going on.  Like most things in life, however, difficult only really means entirely worthwhile.

* * *

Special thanks to Emmy for awarding me the Anti-Muffin Award in the sidebar to the left!  Reading her blog and corresponding occasionally with her has made me feel like I've made a new friend, which is a really novel and awesomely cool feeling.  :D

On Angst and Truth

I recently confessed to Isaac* that I wrote some angsty fiction in high school.  While he laughed (with an appropriate degree of loving mockery), I came to realize that beneath most angst there is truth.

Certainly my angsty writing (this one example is humiliating enough) got at a deeper truth, something that I felt wasn't known in the world at large.  You know how, in high school, your closeness with your friends is such that their problems become your problems, too?  This was a case of learning something from my friends with initial shock, but then wanting to spread the knowledge once the shock faded away.

And realizing that my writing of angsty fiction was coupled with my desire to make people understand the truth makes me feel a little bit less sheepish for writing complain-y rants like that.  But just a tiny bit.  It is, after all, angsty fiction.

At least I never wrote fanfiction.




*I know I have a bad habit of name-dropping just so I can link to my friends' websites and blogs.  I still haven't yet gotten over the novelty of my friends having websites and blogs to link to, and it's fun, so cut me some slack, okay?

On Stalker Phobia, and Receiving Love

The other night, Isaac pointed out that so many of us in this day and age have a "stalker phobia", if you will - an overexaggerated fear that other people are paying too much attention to them. His example was that if he were to mention to a casual friend that he was browsing through their facebook pictures, their first reaction would probably be to pull away, almost as if they felt violated!
But as even this story illustrates, we are also fickle exhibitionists. A simple search by my name can easily direct you to my blog, facebook, MySpace, LinkedIn, and umpteen other pages that put my information and my personality directly on the web - not counting the various xangas, livejournals, and other accounts I've deleted since high school - and I'm not even trying to promote myself on the web!

My Christian Marriage professor taught us that love is based in knowledge. This was revolutionary to me at the time, but seems more fundamental the more I consider it: the more you know someone, the more you can love them, and the better you can love them. We all desire to love and to be loved; when we invite others in to the mystery that is each one of us, we are inviting them to deeper knowledge of ourselves, for better or worse.

If you draw people in and invite them to know and love you, you may be perceived as desperate or pathetic. But if you genuinely pay attention to others and love them by knowing them, you run the risk of being perceived as a stalker, someone who's unpleasant and even dangerous.

Why is it such a risk to reach out and love someone? Why is it scary for me to admit that I remember your birthday? I know that I feel special when people remember my birthday without the help of facebook. So what's the difference?

Perhaps it has to do with our view of love. I think one could make an argument that the dominant American culture's view of love is rather similar to its view of life: that is, if an unborn child is wanted, its mother is praised and protected and cared for with great affection; if the child is unwanted, however, it's an unfortunate circumstance that is best simply taken care of. Similarly, if love is felt by both parties, they should be able to marry and do whatever they want, but if the love is unrequited, it's a terrible shame and the lover is pathetic and needs to get over himself.

In past ages, much emphasis was put upon unrequited or unattainable love - arguably too much (though I suspect Joe may disagree). Perhaps one can blame Bacon and the empiricists for putting rationality into science's hands and, in the long run, orienting our whole society toward valuing the factual and the practical over the abstract and the emotional.

Having recently gotten over a situation in which I was head over heels in unrequited love for two years, I can appreciate thoroughly the pros and cons of such a thing. I used to think, as does the prevailing culture, that the best thing to do in such a case is to just get over yourself and move on with life. But I found myself unable to do this, so I embraced the feelings, and learned some very valuable lessons. Most pertinent now: love is a risk, and truly loving someone is always worth that risk. It is often painful, but true, selfless love is one of the most real experiences a person can have, and one of the best ways to understand God's love for us.

Yet love is based in knowledge. Every kind of love, that is (not just eros). Those of us who are detail-oriented with a good memory can easily flatter or scare casual friends with our recollection of minute details about their lives, and it is a relief to us when we realize that we've found another who will accept our quirks, including our minutiae, without feeling threatened and running away.

Yet here I find a point I missed earlier - why do we feel a need to run away? Is loving pursuit so terrible? Is receiving love so hard? (Admittedly, sometimes it is.) Or have we all been so hardened by sin (original or personal) that we expect people to use us before we expect them to love us? Love is a tender emotion, and vulnerability an important factor toward increasing love. True, we oughtn't be so vulnerable to everyone all the time, but we should let the Lord push us out of our familiar little box every now and again.

I challenge you to go out of your comfort zone sometime in the coming week and show someone (probably someone other than your beloved) that you love them in a way that's a little bit scary. Too, pay attention to how well you receive unexpectedly personal moments of affection, and try to be as open to them as you can. I pray the Lord to bless these endeavors, that they may be a vehicle of great grace to you as they have been to me.

On Vulnerability, Redemption, and a Continued Recovery from Feminism

I was a feminist in high school. Of the courteous, egalitarian school of feminism, but still. For instance, if I were walking into a building and the guy walking with me held the first door for me, I would thank him and hold the next door for him. If a female friend complimented my appearance, I would quickly scan hers for something upon which to compliment her. Accepting a compliment without returning one seemed almost ungracious.

I was alerted to the fact that I treat compliments this way over four years ago. In a long end-of-year conversation appreciating an amazing friendship, Joe kept giving me compliments, and I just didn't have as many to return as he had to give. And he called me on it, telling me that to simply accept a compliment was enough. This rocked my world, and I worked to become proficient at sometimes graciously accepting a compliment without returning one.

Back to the egalitarian side of things. Even as a feminist, I didn't think that men and women should be the same, just equal. So the way I now work out visits to my chivalrous guy friends would have been perfectly acceptable to me then, too: they pay for things, because they want to, and I pay them back by accepting it graciously and then making them dinner. Perhaps not always an even exchange, but an exchange nonetheless (and one that allows me to sneakily spend money on him without breaking the taboo on the woman paying for things).

Too, the man paying for dates in a relationship rarely bothered me. Perhaps because I knew the woman would pinch hit on occasion, or because their finances would ideally be united in the end anyway, or because she contributed to the relationship in non-monetary ways.

But a man going out of his way, freely spending his time and money on a woman just for the joy of her company? That's a little humbling. That's a part of the equation I don't like to think much about.

But I was thinking about it at Mass yesterday morning, my eyes fixed on the crucifix as the priest offered prayers at the altar, and the Lord reminded me that He spent much more than money on me. My naive response (we silly humans always think we're right): But it wasn't just for the grace of my company!, thinking of all the great victories the Paschal Mystery won for us.

Ah, but it was. I spent all I had for the grace of your eternal company with me in heaven.

Oh. Don't I feel dumb. Check, please!

Rant on Homo-judgementalism

Unless you're in those circles that are drawn together precisely because of these issues, anything related to homosexuality is pretty much taboo.  If it NEEDS to be mentioned in a given setting for some reason, it might be glossed over briefly before being left behind in relief.

Why is it that so many of us are so terrified to be perceived as condoning another's public sin?  One dear friend always used to say that he was a much worse person than all these who were publicly living in sin, in reference to his pride and judgement and other interior vices, for which he was so much more responsible. The epic poet Dante would agree. He placed fornicators (including, I would presume, sodomites) in the ninth circle of his hell, the least painful part.  Their sin is so much lesser...

Heck, I would say that even St Augustine would agree.  "Love, and do as thou wilt," was how he summed up the law.  In that order - love first, and /then/ do other things, because when one loves first, everything else will fall in line.

But we're afraid.  I think part of it is that those of us who are theologically orthodox have been so scarred by our more progressive brethren that we're offended to be clumped in with them, afraid to come across as like them.  In an effort to avoid compromising ourselves, we project our prejudices and make our voices known.  And sometimes it is important for our voices to be heard.

But we can't be in ministry mode all the time.  Sometimes, we have to just accept people where they're at.  Is a man living with another man really all that different from a man living with another woman?  If someone is living in some other sinful way, do we feel morally obligated to make it known that their sin discomforts us?  Usually not.

Another college friend was discussing with me tonight two mutual friends who have quite flamboyantly come out of the closet since their graduations a few years ago, and how these men just felt so alone, so shamed into themselves on our conservative Catholic campus.  Sure, it's great that most people around you are striving for holiness with all their being, but how can you strive for holiness if you're barred from ministry positions because an adult you trusted spilled the beans that you struggle with homosexual temptations?  That's a far cry from blatantly living a lifestyle at odds with Church teaching, and yet it's often treated the same way.  Who can blame people with such temptations for holding them in and then exploding once they were allowed to let out that forbidden breath?

In the end, we straight folks fall into the same pernicious trap that ensnares anyone who's faced homosexuality in their own life: placing so much emphasis on the homosexuality that it overshadows absolutely everything else about a person.  It's uncomfortable, but you can live in harmony with those with whom you disagree on important things.  Get used to it and get over it.

That nun.  She really does have it right.  I respect her a lot, and I hope to one day achieve a balance like what she has.  May the Lord bless her, her cousin, all people anywhere on the LGBTQA continuum who feel rejected by Holy Mother Church, and all those in the Church (myself included) who reject them, from time to time).

None of us dare to even hope for heaven save for God's great mercy.  And if it's mercy that brings up both the biggest sinners and the dearest saints, who are we to judge who neeeds His mercy/