Seven Quick Takes

1. One of these days, probably sooner than later, I will have to move from Midtown/downtown Atlanta. I will miss it! Today I walked a mile and a half to meet a friend for lunch at her husband's restaurant, and on my way there, I deduced three things just from watching the people around me: 1) The University of Tennessee is playing in town this weekend (football, of course), and their color is orange (I believe they're playing Georgia State, based on a conversation I overheard in the deli). 2) North Carolina (State?) is playing in town this weekend, and their color is red (there just wasn't enough black for it to be UGA). 3) Dragon*Con starts today! Okay, so I knew Dragon*Con was in town this weekend, but it was fantastic to walk down Peachtree St and see costumes galore! Flashbacks to high school, really. Someday I may even go. :)

But the thing I'll miss most about Atlanta itself is actually our homeless people. Their kind compliments and harmless hollas have always been a source of joy, but some days they're more fun than others. Today I took a different route home from lunch, and was surprised to see that Woodruff Park has a Chess Court with chessboard tables and a large chessboard:

Not quite as large as the chessboard we played on in Salzburg,

but still pretty darn cool. Anyway, so as my attention was distracted by these, I saw a gentleman stand up and say, "I didn't know the sun rose twice today!" (A photo of himself, courtesy of Google/Flickr.) He offered to tour me around the park, then to walk me to the MARTA (subway) station that I declared a need to get to, and generally chatted pleasantly and praised my beauty. He, of course, asked if I could spare a buck; I always respond that I don't have any cash, but I'd be glad to buy him something. He did let me buy him two slices of pizza and a drink, which was just lovely. It's an awesome gift to feed the hungry, especially when you know your money is going entirely toward food.

2. I firmly believe that everyone's first car should be an old car, and they should drive it into the ground, if only for how much they learn about cars in the process. My car spent five of the last seven days at one mechanic's or another (don't worry; all fixed for under $200), and when I first brought it in, without even preparing what I'd say I easily explained what noises (and smells and kind of smoke) I heard when, what the car's been through before, and what else seemed to be affected. Just bringing the car in to get things changed every now and again has made me very aware of this potentially deadly machine that I drive around all the time like it's nothing. Don't get me wrong, I still don't know much about cars. But I know about my car, and I've learned how to report its symptoms to the mechanic (possibly better than I can report symptoms of a physical ailment to a doctor), and that seems to me an inestimable strength.

3. So my parents left yesterday morning for a week and a half in Hawaii. My best friend leaves tonight for a week in Israel. How is it that the two people I call most frequently are off the continent at the same time!? It may be a long week...

4. A friend of mine recently hosted a showing of the new documentary Miss Representation:

Ordinarily, I would stay faaaaaaaaaaar away from a project that headlines Oprah, Gloria Steinem, and Nancy Pelosi, but I'd seen the trailer, and it appeared to contain more truth than agenda, so I went to watch and discuss.

It warms my heart when people who value different things can agree on something more important than their differences. The oversexualization of women in our culture is hurting girls from early childhood (also men and boys, respectively, as we discussed), in ways that they carry with them into adulthood. Additionally, for being such a forward-thinking country in theory, the U.S. lags far behind many other nations regarding women in politics (I would love to learn more about how this works in practice in said dozens of other countries.) I am kind of surprised that I recommend this film, but I do, especially if an intelligent discussion is to be had by the viewers afterward.

Language advisory: There are several moments when the women speaking use uncouth language; it wasn't frequent, but when it was there, it was unabashedly there. I mention this because I know it bothers some more than others. The media images shown are really far more offensive than the language, which is by design; this really is a film designed for adults.

5. I am officially a published author! The article based on my Master's thesis was printed in the journal of the organization at whose conference I presented the same paper in January:

Society for Catholic Liturgy Conference, January 2012, St Louis

  

Antiphon: A Journal for Liturgical Renewal, Vol. 16, No. 2 (Summer 2012)

At first my delight was overshadowed by shock and disappointment that they truncated my title (removing its subtitle, "Reverence in Celebration and Active Participation"), but then I decided to get over it and just be excited. Besides, that feeling is probably helpful to me as a copy editor. Solidarity with authors!

In the meantime, I'm waiting for my author copies of Liturgy Training Publications' The Liturgy Documents: Volume II, and they've contracted me for the 2014 version of other annual publications, even after I lost my job with its conveniently respectable subtitle. Not only is this plenty of fun and a good exercise for my brain, it's also very kind of them to continue to employ me. Besides how crazy is it to see my name next to much more prominent liturgists like Fr Cassian Folsom, Fr Paul Turner, and Fr Rick Hilgartner!? My life has its sufferings, but it's also really darn cool sometimes. :D

6. So I've been watching the BBC series Merlin recently, which loosely takes inspiration from Smallville insofar as it's the "before his powers were known / before he was famous" take on things. It's just a fun take on the legend, as King Uther has banned magic and essentially waged war on all magic users, so naturally sorcerers come in every other episode trying to destroy his kingdom...

It's been a fun show, but what's got me tickled pink is that they've used actual Eald Englisc (that would be Old English for you modern Anglophones) for the words of all their spells! (Example that I couldn't embed here) Granted, my one college course in Old English has not caused me to retain enough vocabulary to recognize more than the occasional conjunction, but there's no doubt in my mind that they've leaned on the ancient linguistic patrimony of the British Isles for their spells (which, in other series, are often Latinate), and that is awesome. I don't recognize what language they use for the dragon-speak, but I suspect it's Old Welsh or something Celtic. As one who very nearly pursued a career in linguistics, this kind of unnecessary-but-fruitful use of dead languages makes me very, very happy. :)

7. Facebook is a-twitter (no pun intended) about the new Mumford and Sons album that's being released at the end of next month. Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it as well, but I'm far more excited about the new Avett Brothers album, which they have had the kindness to release on my birthday! You can even listen to the entire album online now, courtesy of NPR. I really enjoy their rock-influenced bluegrassy/bluesy folk!

Yeah, they are kind of hipster, but their music isn't nearly so pretentious.

I think "quick" takes are probably supposed to be briefer than mine usually are... Hmm... Well, thanks for reading part or all!

7 Quick Takes

1. Okay, I'm doing this. It'll keep me accountable to posting at least weekly, though I'll of course try for more. Liz and Susanna have both discussed with me how we want to get back to the blogging we once did regularly. And they both have adorable children who do hilarious things, as well as keen minds; what more can a girl ask from her old blogging buddies?

2. This past weekend, a few of us were supposed to go peach picking, but all the orchards were suddenly picked out, so we went on a multi-location adventure in the North Georgia mountains instead. Possibly one of the most memorable random places I've ever visited: Goats on the Roof. It's a country store and ice creamery that actually has goats living on the roof.

I believe this was just after we fed them.

Be warned: their ice cream is delicious, but oh my goodness, what portions! Biggest ice cream cone of my life. Seriously, I think it was a quarter pound of ice cream, for $4. Now, I don't know exactly why or how they have goats on their roof, but their Legend of the Goats gives some idea, albeit more absurdity than anything...

3. On said adventure, we also stopped at Babyland General Hospital (aka Cabbage Patch HQ), which looks from the outside like an old Southern plantation. I was never a huge fan of CPK as a kid, so I wasn't quite as enthralled as the other gal in our party, but it was fascinating to see how fully they've developed their mythology and the schtick surrounding it.

There were so many patches like this! Very thorough, they were.

Their employees all wear scrubs, and every 15m or so a "Licensed Patch Nurse" gathers everyone around the Magic Tree to watch as she delivers one of the babies from its cabbage--complete with punny names of cabbage-related birthing procedures, and followed by what looked like all the postnatal tests hospitals give to human babies. Each doll's name is chosen by the people in the audience while it's being born, which was sweet. I expected the thoroughness with which they treated their dolls like real children to be creepy, but it was actually endearingly thorough, especially when watching the children's excitement, and seeing them learn about real babies by carefully holding the newly born CPK.

4. Four clicks to a less annoying YouTube. Thank you, Lifehacker, for making the internet a better place.

5. Tim O'Malley strikes again with this arresting piece on the violence inherent to the American political system, and how we as Catholics are called to more. For those of you who are unfamiliar with his work, I highly recommend his reflection on infertility. Possibly the single most heartbreakingly beautiful piece of prose I have ever read.

6. This morning, as I was praying Morning Prayer in the customary spot on my porch, albeit earlier than usual, I noticed that the spider whose web sits just a few inches away was still spinning. Note: I love spiders. I got to watch her while reciting psalms from memory, and to reflect upon the beauty in the simultaneous strength and fragility of her web, even as a metaphor for our own lives...

7. I saved the best for last. My awesome, beautiful (absurdly tall) sister is moving into college today, and I am sooooooooooo proud of her!

Pretty sure I'm wearing a low wedge heel, and she's barefoot.

Love you, T! ♥ I can't wait to see what wonderful things the world learns from you as you continue to grow into the beautiful, talented woman you've become. (And what do you mean, of course I'm not crying at all right now...)

Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel, / quia visitavit, et fecit redemptionem plebis suae...

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.

On the Heartache Inherent to the Pursuit of Pleasure Alone

I just finished Melinda Selmys' excellent book Sexual Authenticity: An Intimate Reflection on Homosexuality and Catholicism. It's part autobiography, part bridge between gay culture and Catholic culture, helping both to understand the other. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Selmys makes it clear that beauty and truth are driving forces in her life, and these show clearly in her writing. One passage in particular has stayed with my memory: so hauntingly true, so plaintively evocative...

          Do you think that you know, better than someone who is trying the path of flesh, that its promises are void? That you know better that it is all heartache and failed romance? That you have a keen insight into its existential abysses, lacked by those actually drowning in the darkness?

          We needn't squander too much time demonstrating that there is no hope for man in the satisfaction of his impulses and desires. Those who pursue Lady Pleasure as their mistress will find out, sooner or later, that she is a ruthless goddess, a consumer of hearts, who feasts on the carcasses of her faithful and leaves their bones to the dogs. Those who are involved in sexual excesses of any variety -- heterosexual, homosexual, or other -- will eventually discover that they are held hostage in the prisons of their own desires, and that what looks like freedom tastes like death. People who languish in the dungeons of sin know. They know. They are only trying to tell themselves otherwise as a means of keeping sane -- much as a certain kind of prisoner, confined in chains and kept for years from the light of the sun, will slide into a deep and imperturbable fantasy in which the bedbugs do not bite and the whip does not crack. If you feel compelled to rattle someone into a realization that they are sauntering down the wide avenues to hell, concentrate on the complacent, the respectable, the self-satisfied. The sinners -- the public, obvious sinners, the prostitutes, the tax collectors, and the men on Queen Street with the leather thongs -- they know. Christ was always very tender with these people. He saved the epithets and violence for the Pharisees and the moneychangers in the Temple.

Andrea Vincentino, Christ and the Adulteress
Credit: Web Gallery of Art

May we all be a bit more tender with the manifest sinners in our lives. May our love for them draw them to Christ, Who is the only source of healing from the sores left by Lady Pleasure's reign. And may we each embrace His love and forgiveness, and welcome Him to heal the wounds of our own sins.

Propitius esto, parce nobis, Domine.

Propitius esto, exaudi nos, Domine.

On Thinking Outside the Box and Seeking the Unanswered Questions

So one of my penances for Septuagesima and Lent is that I'm reading Abp Bugnini's thousand-page tome about the postconciliar reform of the liturgy. I'm keeping a pencil and a notebook next to the volume and jotting down questions as they occur to me. The very first one:

But whence came the idea of revision by committee?

At the beginning of Archbishop Bugnini's narrative, Pope Pius XII gathered a handful of scholars into a committee that seemed to be aimed at exploring the possibility of future liturgical reform, clearly suggesting that this idea was not new as of the postconciliar era.

Now, my study into the process of reforming the liturgy has only just begun; there are many histories left for me to read. Perhaps Alcuin Reid addressed the genesis of the "revision by committee" idea in the 20th century in The Organic Development of the Roman Liturgy, and I missed it in my targeted thesis-related skimming (or perhaps he do so will in his sequel Continuity or Rupture?, rumored to be released in 2013).

Too, previous liturgical reforms, minor though they admittedly were, have left us much sparser records. I would love to compare in what manner the various popes who've made liturgical revisions through the centuries leaned on the respective experts at hand. Alas! There is little hope of such comparisons. Earlier centuries were not so concerned with recording every confessional detail for the edification of future generations.

Now that I'm a whopping 8% of the way through the book, I realize that not one scholar or bishop presented in the narrative for my consideration seems to have ever asked himself my question above. It's simply taken for granted that this method of revision by many committees is good, because it avoids the errors of revision by one person, and the work moves forward.

This oversight reminds me directly of my complaint with most liturgical catechetical resources in the field today. Books like Fr Paul Turner's popular Understanding the Revised Mass Texts are full of solid theology and good praxis, but take for granted that the reader knows and appreciates why his presence at Mass is important. The vast majority of resources out there never address what seems to me the central question: Why should I bother to go to Mass anyway?

We can do great things for the spirituality of all the faithful by helping the liturgy to look and sound more beautiful, by teaching people when they're supposed to do and say what, and why. But we cannot afford to lose sight of the important questions, the questions no one seems to be asking.

In the current case, it's our bored teenagers who've got the missing question. In the 60s? I don't know. The more I learn about the 60s, the less I understand them (recommendations of a readable history on the 60s welcomed in the combox). Those who voiced opposition to the reforms were perceived as stuck in the past - as sometimes they truly were (as par. 7 here). But it seems to me that finding this answer, discovering where the idea of reform by committee originated, may reveal where the floodgates flew open and allowed for reform that is so easily perceived as a rupture with our liturgical tradition.

The Church, in the promulgation of her liturgical books, is indeed infallible, or at the very least highly trustworthy. The reformed books of the Roman Rite are unquestionably valid, and I do think that future reform must begin with them. However, the actions of her individual members are not so objectively defensible, and a careful examination can be helpful. Unfortunately, it seems that my question will not be answered in this book, so I will have to tuck it away in my brain and keep seeking.

It's going to be an interesting Lent. You may be hearing from me more frequently...

Qui mysteria abscondis prudentibus et sapientibus et revelas ea parvulis, miserere nobis.

Apologia pro "Patre"

Many of you have probably observed that priests don't usually call each other “Father,” but rather simply by their first names – as seems perfectly appropriate to their brotherhood. What is less easy to observe is that this same practice has become commonplace among laity, in settings where the ratio of priests to laypeople is fairly high.

So these last two years of living at a seminary among priest classmates, and now my brief time working at a chancery, have shown me that I am in the vast minority, to piously insist on calling priests “Father.”

Thus, with no judgment implied on those whose practice is otherwise, I humbly undertake to explain to a generic priest just why it is that his title is so much more important, in practice, than Doctor or Judge or even Mister.


Why do I call you Father?

It's not out of respect, though I do respect you. You have sacrificed much to serve others, to serve me, and I do appreciate it, but that is not why I call you Father.

It's not in deference to your education. To be frank: In most cases, I am equally educated, or at least darn close. I have equal facility in general philosophical and theological fields and more knowledge in specialized liturgical ones. When you do know more, I have for you the respect of a scholar, not of a priest.

It's not because you're better than I am, or of a higher spiritual class. True, your vocation is supernatural to my natural one, but we are both children of God, merely different parts of the body. No, it is not out of self-debasement that I call you Father.

It's not because I think a friendship or working relationship between us would be impossible or inappropriate. I work with priests nearly every day. Too, I know so many priests who are yet dear friends. Just because he calls me by name and I call him Father does not bespeak an inequality that prevents communication or authenticity.

It's not because you've been a priest the entire time I've known you. Of course, sometimes this is the case, but so many of you I have been privileged to know during your seminary days or even before, and I am only the more careful to call you Father.

It's not because you're holy, although certainly you ought to be. But you're subject to at least as much temptation as the rest of us. When I learn of (or observe) your sins, it does hurt more than do the sins of others. But even if you were to be caught in public scandal, I would still call you Father.

No. The reason I call you Father is much greater than all that.

I call you Father because Our Lord Jesus Christ has configured your soul to His own, has transformed you into Himself in a particular way. You remain the man you've always been, and yet become Jesus Christ in the flesh. His presence may be hidden in you, just as His divinity was hidden on the Cross, but appearances matter differently in this world of sacraments and symbols.

I call you Father to remind myself of Jesus' great gifts to us, continually poured out in the sacraments. I call you Father to thank you for humbling yourself and putting on the person of Christ. I call you Father because it is your very identity to be Christ embodied in the 21st century.

So the next time I call you Father, recognize that it's not merely a polite greeting. It's a thank you for your vocation; it's an encouragement to be holy as He is holy; it's a recognition that your presence manifests His glory.

Thank you, Father. 

That You would deign to maintain the whole priestly order in holy religion, We beseech You, hear us.

That You would deign to provide Your people with pastors after Your own heart, We beseech You, hear us.

That You would deign to fill them with the spirit of Your priesthood, We beseech You, hear us.

Hymn for Vespers of CTK, EF

This hymn is not from the Mundelein Psalter, surprisingly enough. Yesterday (for the first time alone) I prayed the Office from a 1965 breviary, which did soooooooooo much to help the personal spirituality frustration about the divergence of calendars! It's translated as prose, but that doesn't make the hymn any less lovely:

We acknowlege You, Christ, to be Lord of the ages, King of the nations and only master of man's soul and heart.

The wicked mom screams out, "We don't want Christ as king," while we, with shouts of joy, hail You as the world's supreme King.

Christ, peace-bringing Prince, subject rebellious souls to Your rule, and in Your love lead back to the one fold those that have strayed from it.

For this, with arms outstretched, You hung, bleeding, on the Cross, and the cruel spear that pierced You, showed man a heart burning with love.

For this, You are hidden on our altars under the form of bread and wine, and pour out on Your children from Your pierced side the grace of salvation.

May the rulers of the world publicly honor and extol You; may teachers and judges reverence You, may the laws express Your order and the arts reflect Your beauty.

May kings find renown in their submission and dedication to You. Bring under Your gentle rule our country and our homes.

Glory be to You, Jesus, supreme over all secular authorities; and glory be to the Father and the loving Spirit, through endless ages. Amen.

Book Review (sort of): The Ottaviani Intervention

Long before I ever conceived of entering graduate studies in liturgy, there was a small study group in college. Among the first important names that came up during this study group was The Ottaviani Intervention. This essay, it was explained to us, was written and sponsored by some cardinals shortly after the Council, and it really iterated all the major things that were “wrong” about the novus ordo, those elements that were dramatically changed to the detriment of the Catholic faith – an example being the mention of the Parousia, of Christ's Second Coming, in the embolism of the Our Father, thereby speaking of the future presence of Christ after He had just been made present in the Sacrament of the Altar.
After obtaining the book at a used theology book sale, it was with heavy heart and high expectations that I opened it to read this groundbreaking report.

Maybe my senses have been dulled by the “multicultural” liturgy that was forced upon me at the FDLC conference last week, but the Ottaviani Intervention didn't shock me. In fact, I thought its authors were overreacting in quite a number of places. I must be less traditional than I'd thought.

Some of the accusations that didn't surprise me were probably very potent ones in their day, but have lost much of their fire through repetition. I really don't get excited anymore that the notion of sacrifice was completely excised from the offertory rite. The special effects in Star Wars (the original trilogy, of course!) were groundbreaking in their day, but when I watch them now, they're old hat at best. Doesn't make them less true, but explains my lack of response.

Other issues that I dismissed have been nuanced over time and corrected with translation. We are on the third typical edition of the Missal of Paul VI (i.e., it's been revised twice since 1969).

There was some hair-splitting and stretching, of course. Apparently, by having the priest say, “Do this in memory of me” rather than “As often as ye shall do these things, in memory of me shall ye do them,” the Church has caused people to lose focus on the sacramental action being re-presented, and instead think of the Eucharist as a commemoration. I understand that it's a big deal to change any text in the canon, but this comes from the very next verse in Scripture and means so nearly the same thing...

Then there are the overstatements. Most of these had to do with the novus ordo being Protestant in theology. As much as I am usually wildly entertained by inflammatory statements about Protestants made by Catholics trying to preserve Catholic identity (favorite: Ralph Adams Cram!), the statements in the Ottaviani Intervention – in addition to being vaguer and much less witty – just strike me as untrue, at least judging by today's variety of Protestants.

But the reaction that surprised me most was when I thought, “Oh. Well, that assessment is true, but actually I think you're kind of wrong for caring.” Theological ideas I have always taken for granted – like the baptismal priesthood of the laity (different in kind from the ordained priesthood but present nonetheless) – were held up as examples of the crazy ideas promoted by this liturgical reform.

Too, I thought its authors were just as nearsightedly obsessed with sacrifice as modern whiny traditionalists. (Admittedly, both also acknowledge the doxological element, the need of glorifying the Triune God, so I suppose they're two-trick ponies.) I don't mean to suggest that sacrifice is not an absolutely essential element of the liturgy, especially the Eucharistic liturgy (although, in light of Ratzinger's statements in Spirit of the Liturgy, I can't help but ask what is meant by sacrifice, but that's a topic for another time). But where is their eschatology? What about the legitimate communal aspect of liturgy, which is of its very nature a communal act? What about the communicant's moment of intimacy with the God of all creation? Not to mention the liturgy's cosmic dimension? Yes, sacrifice is absolutely essential, but let's not be reductionist here, people.

It's been forty years since the novus ordo was promulgated. The Church is still standing. One can argue that she'd be in better shape now had the Mass never been reformed – but one could make just as strong an argument that she'd be in worse shape. At this point in time, despite the various traditionalist communities around the world, the piety of the vast majority of Catholics has been shaped and formed by the novus ordo. Certainly some of the theological trends preserved more strongly in the old liturgy are less clearly understood by many. But the world has not become Protestant. Catholicism is as virile as ever.

Is a book like this worth reading, for a scholar of the liturgy? Sure. It was a landmark book in its day: shocking, unusual, and insightful. Is it likely to be relevant to the average interested reader? Less so. If you're looking for traddy liturgical books, I'd still send you to the early 20th century long before I'd recommend Cardinal Ottaviani..

On Martyrdom

“Would you be a martyr for the faith?”

Again and again I hear this question – often enough, in the homily for the memorial or feast of a martyr (or group of martyrs, like yesterday).

But martyrdom has really never struck me as all that difficult a thing. Sure, it would be sad to leave behind all those I love, and it'd be absolutely terrifying to effectively volunteer to be killed, but the alternative is committing apostasy in the most cowardly manner. Go big or go home, essentially, and with my disposition, it’s plain that I'd regret going home for the rest of my life. It'd be easy to die for Jesus.

So the focus shifts to white martyrdom, to the everyday things: swallowing your anger at that guy who just cut you off; treating that person who thinks you're an idiot just as kindly as you treat your best friend; doing your best to remain healthy yet accepting without complaint the inevitable decays of age. (I feel like I'd have better examples of this if I were a mother; feel free to chime in the combox, ladies!) I already strive for virtue in my everyday actions; the reminder is helpful, but not earth-shattering.

However, the everyday martyrdoms grow deeper still. The most striking thing, to me, about the story of Isaac Jogues, centers around his return to France after years of mission work in what is now the U.S. He was so deformed from the tortures he'd suffered that his brother Jesuits did not even recognize him! And yet, after a few years back at the monastery, he asked to go back. To return to the people who cut (or bit) off his fingers and marred his face, among so many other tortures! After all they'd done for him, he genuinely loved them, still wanted to bring Christ to them. And he did, until they martyred him.

Now that is a style of martyrdom I ought to work toward: deep, self-giving love for those who have given me only pain. That kind of love is indeed divine.

Iesu cuius corpus percutientibus, et genae vellentibus, dedisti, miserere nobis.

Iesu fortitude Martyrum, miserere nobis.

Important Things I Learned This Weekend

Absolutely nothing compares to the deep joy of reuniting with loved ones after months or years apart.

Reaction: Gone with the Wind

SPOILER ALERT - I am going to discuss the plot freely, presuming you have read the book &/or seen the movie. If this is not the case, and you don't want surprises spoiled, stop reading now.

I picked up Gone with the Wind at an estate sale a few weeks ago. I'd never seen the movie before, but had heard wildly positive recommendations, and it was $5. I didn't just start reading it; I started devouring it. I read from it every single night, even when my mom was visiting. For every day when I read 20pgs, there was another when I read 200pgs. I even found myself going about my normal day, and applying to my life advice given by one character to another. I LOVED reading that book, and I looked forward each night to returning to these beloved characters, often staying up far too late just to keep reading.

But toward the last few hundred pages, I began to fear that there wasn't space left for Mitchell to wrap things up nicely and return the book to its former glory. As I read, I felt only anxiety - some sadness, but mostly just anxiety, just a feeling that something wasn't right. The sort of feeling where you just expect things to get better... and then they just didn't. I didn't cry much (which is very unlike me). When I finished the book, I spent the next few hours in a daze. That's it? I found myself wondering again and again. That's really it? It just didn't seem like enough. I'd loved the book for the first thousand plus pages, but now... ?

She certainly stopped at a stopping point, with some issues resolved and others opened new. There was growth in some characters - certainly Ashley, and arguably Scarlett (though it's just as arguable that she didn't learn any lessons from her flashes of understanding). And Mitchell had to stop the book somewhere; for goodness' sake, it was already 1500 pages long! But I was still unsatisfied. Unsettled. I was not pleased with Ms. Mitchell, and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

Until I found the lynchpin: Rhett. One of my favorite characters from the whole novel, and she just abandoned him, a mere shell of a man. Of course he doesn't love Scarlett; he has no feelings left! The death of his daughter, whom he loved more than life itself, compounded by his own guilt about it and years of unrequited love selflessly delivered? Of course he's not himself! Isn't it obvious that he's spiralling deeper and deeper into depression? And pushing Scarlett away is just another hopeless rejection of someone who might help him?

They say that one of the major themes of this book is survivors - some people can survive through anything, and others just kind of float through life. Certainly Rhett is a survivor type, as is Scarlett. But to our knowledge, he's never faced a tragedy like this before. Rhett can survive any external problem; he's shown that very clearly. But this is an internal problem, an emotional problem. Sure, Rhett can read other people's emotions clear as day. But does he know how to deal with his own? I fear not, and I'll never know. I fear that the Rhett I grew to love is gone forever, lost in grief - not as dramatically as Gerald had, but as completely - and just as after the death of a loved one with an illness, I will have to rewrite the recent memories over time and replace them with the old vibrant ones, which is always doable but sad.

And Scarlett, whose own chance at real love - that intense, surreal moment when she and Rhett loved only each other and knew it and wanted the other to know it - she sabotaged it by her fear, her need for control, and her consequent insistence on playing games with her beloved instead of being vulnerable and honest with him (admittedly, his fear and consequent games and lack of honesty helped much, too). And what does she do at the end but return to the very games she's played all her life? How does she cope but to do precisely the one thing Rhett most strongly refused: she plans to try and win him, just as she tried Ashley.

I know that happy endings can be imagined, particularly in light of his devotion to the children. And I did like the book, and would absolutely recommend it. I look forward to watching the movie. But I can't help but feel disappointed that Mitchell has left us in a place where all our most beloved characters are either dead, utterly desolate, or - in Scarlett's case - a damned fool.

On What Constitutes Good Liturgy

It's simple, really:

 "Good liturgy is when they're closer to Christ on the way out than they were when they walked in the door." -Msgr. Moroney (41:20)