church

Intriguing Little Book

/ J. Thorp / 6 Comments

Last night I read a book in a single sitting. That almost never happens.

Last night marked the fortuitous intersection of a quiet evening alone, the completion of a book on Mongol history, and the call of small book from 1928 called Mr. Blue. It was sent to me unprompted by a friend who has known about the book for years, and according to people better-read than me, is an account of a 20th-century St. Francis figure. OK – I’m late to the Catholic Church and poorly educated regarding the saints. At a glance, the online reviews of the book appear to fluctuate between loving Blue and his attempts to live his understanding of his Catholic faith authentically, and hating Blue for flawed and feel-good notions of Christianity.

Whichever. The more compelling figure, to me, is the narrator, who is admiring and incredulous, who sees wisdom and folly in Blue, who badgers him to make something of himself and yet finds himself almost irresistibly drawn to Blue’s ideas and lifestyle.

I wrote my friend afterward: “blue is what the jim-in-my-head aspires to be; the narrator’s back-and-forth (“blue’s so wrong! blue’s so right!”) is why i’m not more that man. (that, and jodi’s desire not to live in a shipping crate.)

I should say that I don’t literally aspire to be Mr. Blue. I don’t wish to live in a shipping crate, any more than Jodi does. But, like the narrator, I can admire a man whose vision and convictions guide him more than the expectations and norms of society, and who manages to live, more or less happily, beyond worldly concerns like stuff and money.

(Sure it’s a simplistic reading. But I’ve got enough complexity in my world right now.)

I also dig a story about people who try to follow “a Way” in a world that has apparently moved on. Perhaps that’s why (in a very different way) one of my favorite movies as a younger man was Ghost Dog. The faithful, the mafia, and the samurai all have their “Ways” to follow. The world doesn’t always understand or agree with those Ways. And sometimes, people die along the Way.

A Hare’s Hare

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Grandma Pam has all of my old newspaper columns in a single three-ring binder at the Venjohn house (courtesy of my mom; I was never so organized), and this one was on top. It originally ran in the April 7, 1998, edition of The Pioneer daily newspaper in Big Rapids, Michigan. You’ll see I remembered my correspondence with the Easter Rabbit differently then, but the sentiment was the same.

For me, the anticipation the night before Easter was second only to Christmas Eve.

It wasn’t the candy and presents that did it (well, not only the candy and presents). Halloween was better for candy, and that kind of dressing up was more fun; birthdays were better for presents – I never got a bike or a rifle for Easter.

It was the magic of the evening, I think – a night when a rabbit might hop through your door on his big hind paws, nose twitching, ears forward for the sound of wee ones stirring in the night. Despite father’s joking, no bullet could touch this rabbit – the bark of a nearby dog earns little more than the flick of one long, white ear. He is The Rabbit – no bunny, he – the grandfather of a million magic rabbits; a hare’s hare in his Easter best, with a top-hat all his own, bearing gifts of chocolate rabbits, jelly beans and candy eggs.

Is he white? Certainly, though perhaps not always. Some call him by the surname “Cottontail,” which suggests he once was brown; “Snowshoe,” on the other hand, might suggest a change from brown to white.

He is white – this much must be true, at his age. He is extremely old for a rabbit – it’s been 15 years and more since I asked him his age in a letter Easter’s Eve, and even then he replied, in long quill strokes like my father’s, that he was “as old as his teeth were long.” I have long been a lover of animal lore, and I knew even then his teeth kept growing – his age could be infinite.

Long in tooth, long in ear, long in whisker – the signs of a wise, old rabbit.

I know he’s real – I’ve seen his tracks in the snow, which, unlike the tracks of other hopping night visitors, led right up to our back door, mere inches away from our sleeping boxer, Bonz, who no doubt lay dreaming of Easter eggs (her favorite seasonal treat – she would carry them around in her mouth all morning, with only the tiniest flash of color showing beneath her graying jowls, until finally she dropped and cracked it – then it was eaten, shells and all).

My sister, in more recent years, has said that she created the rabbit tracks outside our door in an effort to further the illusion that there was, in fact, an Easter Rabbit.

She expects me to believe that, with size 10 feet. Who’s deluded here?

On such an enchanted evening as the night before Easter, it was not always easy to sleep, and sometimes hard to remember the morning as a holy day.

Faith was one thing – this, my friends, was the Easter Rabbit.

The Easter tradition is more than just eggs and rabbits, of course – I’ve only recently come to see how much more. There was another, it is said, whom death could not touch, who came to us in the face of danger bearing gifts to all believers.

The wise old Rabbit knows him, perhaps; perhaps the Rabbit is but a small part of the magic of Easter – a servant who gives children a reason to jump out of bed at least one Sunday a year.

If you can believe in one and rise early on Sunday, perhaps you can believe in the other.

Two Lenten Poems

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

wastelines
it’s lent, which means no
meat on fridays. that’s alright though; see
there’s fish on fridays in the school gymnasium.
friday’s fry day, get it? an entire catholic school of fish —
i could go on, but why waste words in this season of sacrifice?
lent is no time for excess. we feast on fillets and dinner rolls and
pies and cakes, unless we’ve sworn these things away, or sometimes
despite. we should be fasting, right? to show solidarity with each other
and with Christ, who spent forty days in the desert with
the devil, as though it weren’t already hot enough.
that’s the idea, isn’t it? the man took nails for us,
thorns, jeers, spittle, and for six weeks we stop
buttering our bread except on sundays.
he died; we live lent like broken
resolutions looking to lose
weight when what we
seek is significance —
we fast to gain.

j. thorp
18 feb 02

—–

Christ Child
We are seated at the station in which
a man holds Jesus by the shoulders
while another swings the sledge.
I can see the gears are turning —
are they the bad men? why should they
do this? He would tell them to be
nice and they would listen, like the
ones who flew the planes and broke
the buildings. He would go to their
homes; knock on their doors, and say,
“Be nice,” and he would not
complain the whole trip he says.
Behind the altar Christ is risen, but
in our home he bleeds — a splintered
tree; a humbled God. The procession
passes. He sees what we see —
the cross, the Christ, his arms spread
wide — and more deeply. Softly he
prophesies, “Jesus has wings!” and
His vision is revealed.

J. Thorp
06 Jan 02

The Problem of Certainty

/ J. Thorp / 10 Comments

Blogger’s Note: I posted a link to this blog from another blog I’m a part of – it’s generating a bit of discussion there, too. Click here to view those comments.

As a both church-going Christian and a student of evolutionary theory, one of the things that bugs me is a tendency among the non-religious to hold science up as Truth (with a capital T) – as though the prevailing theories in any field hold the weight of undisputed fact. Science is a way of attempting to understand the world around us based on what we can see and measure. It gives us possible explanations (often extremely well-founded) for why things work the way they do – think gravity – as well as tantalizing glimpses of what may be humanly possible.

But while science can give us a reasonable – and often likely and compelling – explanation of what is happening in the world, it can’t tell us what should be happening. And often, scientists are the very people who crack the unbreakable nuts and show how limited our understanding really is.

So while science often appears to bring us close to the truth, I’d argue it can’t give us Truth in terms of moral guidance. That comes from elsewhere – from a faith tradition, perhaps, or a family tradition, or our own discernment. (The faithful often argue that all three of these sources, if they succeed in leading us to Truth, flow from God – but that notion finds little traction with the atheists of the world.)

I’ve talked to a number of religious folks who feel this way – that the certainty and truth of science is overstated and “over-weighted” in public discourse and public policy. I wouldn’t disagree – in fact, the news story this week that scientists have succeeded in reconstructing an organism’s genetic material essentially from scratch and are now a step closer to engineering entirely new life forms is a prime example of science getting way ahead of the greater good.

But the problem of certainty runs both directions – and it’s here that I really struggle. My more devout friends speak with similar certainty about the teachings of the church and the path to salvation – a level of certainty my inner skeptic regarding both scientific and religious understanding just can’t muster.

The frustration deepens when I’m told (alternately, and sometimes collectively) that the answer is constant prayer and continued study, that I’m at a particular point in my “faith journey” that requires me to press on through my misunderstanding or confusion, or that I need to give up the notion that I can achieve grace on my own. And the problem is emphatically not that I’ve “hardened my heart” to accepting these ideas – rather, it’s that all of these responses ring true to me, but fail to address my fundamental question: How can all of these people be so sure that they’re right?

Let be clear: I don’t think they (or I) can be sure. I think that’s what faith is for – to enable us to believe that which isn’t certain or obvious from our limited human perspective. But increasingly, I encounter fellow Catholics who speak with enviable certainty about what is right and just and True – and the foundation for their certainty appears to be the Catholic Church itself.

The Catholic Church has a deep intellectual tradition that appeals to me on many levels – it’s one of several reasons I’m here today. (And believe me, I’m no Catholic scholar at this point.) But the Church is also, I believe, an institution shepherded imperfectly by regular people like you and me, and it offers one of several compelling ways to see the world. I’ve explored some of the other ways, and they appeal to me as well; in fact, their amazing similarities to our faith tradition have led me to a deeper Catholic faith as well as a broader understanding and acceptance of people who believe differently.

I do believe that certain things are black and white, right and wrong, but most (if not all) of these issues transcend any one specific religion. The questions I’m asking today are, how is Catholic certainty different than so-called scientific certainty? How is citing scripture or doctrine or the Pope anything more than a better-footnoted version of a cradle Catholic’s response, “That’s what I was taught”? And why, in the face of the Church’s long history, thorough teachings, and deep faith, are there still many arguments about what it all means?

I guess I’m struggling with the balance between discernment of Truth and acceptance of Truth. I feel – possibly incorrectly – that many of my faithful friends skew toward acceptance of Truth as revealed through the Church. This strikes me, frankly, as dangerous – not because the Church has any overarching ill intent, but because someone needs to “watch the watchers.” Even Christ warned against devotion to misled leaders and misapplied rules at the expense of doing real good in the world. We have to discern what is right – and maybe it won’t jive with what our leaders tell us. He came not just to unite, but to divide, as I recall. And I guess I’m just prideful enough to think that maybe a layperson could be fortunate and discerning enough to catch a glimpse of Truth that the Church has yet to see (or, at least, to widely share).

I get the feeling, though, that discernment makes some people nervous, because it could potentially lead a soul away from the Church’s teachings, and thus, the Church itself. In my case, however, over time it has nearly always led me deeper into the Church and its teachings. (And on the occasions it hasn’t, I’m still praying and discussing the issues with those who are willing.)

Nearly all of my comments (and my only previous posting) on the blog A View From the Catholic Trenches have centered around this idea from a past priest of mine: that God gave me the head on my shoulders, and as long I used it in an honest and continuous attempt to seek the Truth, I’d be alright. I believe he was right (not because it’s comforting or easy; the self-examination this requires is often neither) and I believe that, whether we’re seeking forgiveness of our sins or revelation in Medjugorje, we need to be open to Truth but also constantly aware of the limits of our own understanding and that of the lovably imperfect people around us. None of us should assume that we (as individuals or as a Church) have cornered the market on Truth. Even if you believe your path is best path, ask yourself, is it the only path? (And then ask, if it’s not the only path, how can I be sure it’s the best?)*

For me, there is great wisdom and honesty in the prayerful uncertainty expressed in the passage from … Mark, is it? “Lord, I believe; help me with my unbelief.” As I said in a comment yesterday, keep your eyes open and your God-given wits about you. Always.

—–

*For even more fun, think about this notion of paths from the standpoint of different Catholics within the Catholic Church, not just between faith traditions!

Greetings From the North Pole, Part V

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

Blogger’s Note: Over Christmas 2003, we became annual pen-pals with an elf named Siberius Quill, and he has again delivered this year! Transcriptions of the 2003, 2004, 2005 and 2006 letters from him can be seen in the Archives.

My dearest Children!

Another year spent, and quickly! They say, among Your Folk, that the years go Ever Faster the older you get—imagine, then, when your age reaches into the centuries! It seems only Yesterday I was introducing myself, and here we are, Old Hands, as they say.

The Watchers Corps tells me you’ve been Exceptionally Good, all told. All Children have their naughty moments, but according to your assigned Day-Watcher Seamus Farseer, yours are scattered and relatively minor in the Big Scheme of Things. Scopes, as we call him, lacks the patience of his grandfather, the astronomer Nebular—he quickly tires of good families like yours! Old Nebbs has scolded him many a time for betting cups of hot cocoa on the wrongdoing of Other Children!

Lady Emma Rose, now in Kindergarten: already you’ve made a name for Yourself as a child of Honesty and Kindness. It is hard, no doubt, to be the Only Girl among Boys—but Always Remember: it is more important to be Nice than to be Noticed! You are lovely and polite, sparkling like the snow, as your Dziadzi’s song says, so you’ll always be seen, regardless. And young Master Trevor: with So Many older kids about, it is no wonder you feel Overlooked, but believe me: we see and hear you, too! Patience, little Master: Good things come—truly!

Magnificent questions this year, Masters Brendan and Gabriel! To G. first: You asked how Father Christmas writes so well, by which I suppose you mean, how does he make such Splendid Letters when he writes Children by hand. Well, the Old Man has written the notes for So Many Christmases now, he’s had plenty of practice! But more importantly, he makes his Joy (which is Abundant!) manifest through his pen! Think of it this way: You must feel what you want your Reader to feel, then imagine what you want them to see, and only then put pen to paper!

And B., you asked about the Differences between St. Nicholas of Myra and Santa Claus, aside from the obvious—by which I suppose you mean the fact that Nicholas was an Archbishop who died circa 342, while your Santa is evergreen and ever-present (not to mention no longer a priest!). Sister Mary Faith Splendour of the Devout Sisters of Our Lady of Perpetual Winter tells me that this is an Especially Common question among Children your age. She reminds us that the simplest answer is best when you’re young—and that is, there is no difference; they are one and the same.

But you, Master Brendan, are a decade Wiser than when you arrived, so she shares this: The differences are all those you expect between the physical and the spiritual; the mortal and the immortal. While a Turkish priest can only work what Miracles own his imperfect Faith and frail Form will allow, the Spirit of Christmases Past, Present, and Future can do whatever needs doing, on a whim, fueled by the Faith of millions of people just like you! Miracles are difficult for Human Minds to comprehend, which is why your thinking deeply on these subjects is So Important!

Which brings me to it, at last: There is something I must ask of you, B., as Eldest Brother. As a Tweener, as you say, you may be called upon to take on New Responsibilities with regard to Christmas, as your Father did when he was ten. This new role is of the utmost importance and is, for Now, entrusted to You and You Alone. In a quiet moment, ask your Folks—I warn you, they might be caught off guard, but I’ve no doubt they’ll share it with you The Instant they are Ready!

Happy Christmas and Safe Travels to your Busia and Dziadzi. God Bless You and your Family. I wish you All the Best in the New Year—and Always!

Yours truly,

Siberius Quill

P.S. You may have noticed, as I have, that the older children get, the smaller their gifts (video games, for example, instead of great rumbling racetracks!). Since Santa’s sack is Magical, of course, this has no physical effect on how much he can carry—but it does require a recalibration of the spells. Two Mathematimagicians, Voluminous Theorim and Lucia Croix-Parallux, are responsible for such geometric calculations in the Fourth and Fifth Dimensions—assuring that everyone’s gifts show up precisely where they should in Space and Time.