Ed Wynn! The actor who played chronic laughing man Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins!
Ed Wynn!
Regardless: thank you, Holy Spirit! How does one say “Viva il Papa” in whatever language they speak in Argentina? Whatever it is: THAT, to Pope Francis!
Not Ed Wynn!
…After nearly forty-two years on planet Earth, I think I can confidently explain who Jesus means when he says in Mt 5:3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”
The poor are people who have nothing. They are like Steve Martin in The Jerk, only without the ash tray, or the paddle game, or the chair, etc., etc. The poor have nothing. But that doesn’t automatically make them blessed. After all, some of them might go day after day despising their poverty, filled up with bitterness. They could hate God for it, and if they died that day they might march sullenly right down to hell. Poverty itself is not good, or a cause for happiness.
The poor in spirit might technically own some things, but they know it isn’t really theirs. They know that it all comes from God. In other words, they are people who know they have nothing and who choose to trust in their heavenly Father.
More’s Monkey
More
A rich guy can be poor in spirit—St. Thomas More had a big household, the chancellorship, loads of British currency, even a pet monkey. But he was poor in spirit; he knew at all times that they were gifts given him from God. He always knew he was just renting, with no real ownership rights. He was at all times ready to give any or all of them up, as directed by the Holy Spirit. Eventually, Thomas was asked to give them all up, and so he did.
Francesco di Bernardone and Some Guy’s Skull
St. Francis of Assisi was a rich guy, too. He had it all,and, unlike Thomas, there was no earthly pressure to give it up. But he did…he dropped everything, literally, right in the middle of a legal proceeding with Mr. Bernardone watching and everything. But Francis could not have made that break with traditional society if he was not already poor—in spirit.
“It is the Spirit that gives life,” said Jesus, “The flesh is of no avail.” If “flesh” equals “material goods of any kind,” then I can easily see why I could pile on all the flesh I like and never be “blessed.” But by the same token, I can take away all the flesh I like, too, and if I’m not poor in spirit it won’t do me any good.
The whole thing turns on being humble—consciously knowing that everything we have comes from God, including mere existence. When things get taken away (as they must), like the waves running from the shore, I have to love God just as much as when the waves were up to my waist and I was happily splashing in the water. If God makes the waves of material goods flow away, he’s still God. He’s still Dad. When I have lots of things—plenty of food for the kids, a full tank of gas in the van, a bottle of wine waiting on the counter—I know that He’s a good Dad. When the things become rare…what? Did God turn evil? Nope. I love him. I love his will, because it’s always good, and it’s always moving me towards Him.
That, at least, is what I keep telling myself. It took me nearly 42 years to get to this point so, based on that rate, and factoring in a general decline in mental acuity and physical health, I calculate that I will be The Official Next St. Francis by 2074, barring some unforeseen capitulation to the Devil involving real estate in New Zealand and an offshore bank account.
I have all the time in the world, Mr. Lord! All the time in the woooorrrrrlllld…
Many of you say you don’t believe in God, but I don’t believe you. Call me an “aatheist”. I think you’re rejecting other negative things that you associate with belief in God, even you professional double black belt advanced level atheists who write whole books about not believing in God. I know you. You have been my friends, cohorts, co-employees and drinking buddies all of my life. I don’t believe there are really “40-50 million” of you in the U.S. as was blithely claimed in some article I read recently, but I know that the appeal of atheism is strong and you haven’t found a good reason to resist it. I can respect that. To a degree.
Read the rest of my strident, fanatical article at Creative Minority Report…
I rolled up to a red light behind a car with a license plate that read: NVMYTC.
With only seconds remaining before the light turned green, I set about decoding the cryptic message on the license plate. Was it an acronym? No Valley Minnesota Your Total Carnage? That couldn’t be it, could it? Curses! Just a few seconds left!
Oh, but look! It’s a Scion brand car, specifically a “tC.” It’s belongs to the driver, who could fairly claim that this was “my tC.”
Envy My tC? That’s it! Green light! Go! Go! Go!
That brief minute of pretending to be the star of an espionage film in which the fate of the world rested on deciphering a personalized license plate having now been exhausted of all of its dramatic tension, I was left to ruminate over any possible theological implications of the tag. See how productive I am when I’m driving? Most people just crank on the AC and dial up Bieber on the radio, but not me! My air conditioning is broken, and my radio would quickly break, too, if I played Bieber on it, because I would hit it. Instead, I thought about that license plate.
Envy my tC? “Hey world: I want you to envy my new car.” It occurred to me how funny (to me) it would be if, at the next light, I smashed into the back of her car and, as we exchanged insurance numbers, I explained: “Look, you asked me to envy your car. So, I did. That’s why I hit it.”
See, that’s what envy can lead a person to do. The word means “discontent over the success of another person.”* It makes you want that success for yourself, because it should be mine,
and why should you get it? You’re no better than me! In fact, you probably cheated to get it!! (pause here for fist-shaking and nonsensical gurgling)
I was in no way envious of the girl’s Scion tC, but I have been envious before. It’s the most embarrassing of the 7 Deadly Sins, I think. Pride and Lust can both be invested with a certain amount of (false) dignity; Sloth gets away with appearing harmless; we forget about it. Wrath fools men into thinking it’s no more than a mode of expression, useful for highlighting an important point—broken furniture and shattered relationships are just unfortunate side effects. Greed is good, like Gordon Gekko said. You need it to get ahead, right? And Gluttony? What’s wrong with that? Are you saying the Triple Sized Chili-and-Bacon Ox Burger With Cheese Fries and a Stunningly Large Coke is gluttonous? What, are you stupid?
But Envy? Gross. Nobody will admit to real envy. C. S. Lewis wrote that it was Pride that was the sin “which everyone in the world loathes when he sees it in someone else, and of which hardly any…imagine that they are guilty themselves.”^ I don’t doubt it, yet I would say that in the 21st century United States it is Envy which more closely matches that description.
So, how’s that for an open-ended blog post? Any thoughts, anyone? Which Deadly Sin takes the cake?
*paraphrased from Fr. Hardon’s Catholic Dictionary
^from Mere
Christianity, III, 8.
I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to the changes to the Mass which will go into effect later this year (see Orthometer for the official Countdown Timer). I ordered a copy of Catholic Update Guide to The Mass (St. Anthony Messenger Press) to help me memorize the new wording and to better understand the reason for the changes.
It’s only 48 pages; I read it in an hour. The third and final chapter, by Fr. Lawrence Mick, was the really helpful and informative part. Father Mick does a fine job laying out the exact changes, what to say, when to say it, with some brief explanations.
The first two chapters, by Fr. Tom Richstatter, O.F.M., were intended to put the Mass updates in context with questions like “why do we go to Mass?” and “how has the Mass changed over time?” Father Richstatter (judging from his writing style) strikes me as a warm, generous man who is probably an excellent pastor, but I had trouble with some of his points.
First, there is a lot of effort to calm the reader, as if there was serious concern at St. Anthony Messenger Press that people are going to be deeply freaked out by the updates. It isn’t necessary; the changes aren’t THAT huge.
Second, Father Richstatter, in sincerely trying to put the reader at ease, seems too eager to justify the removal of good things which have always been important to the Church.
An example. In a section entitled “Where Did the Beauty Go?” he addresses the obvious loss of “magnificence” in our modern liturgical celebrations. He remembers “with nostalgia..the dozens of candles on the altars, the smell of the incense, the glitter of the spotlights on the gold thread in the priests’ vestments…the monstrance with its jewels…Where did the beauty go? Where is the grandeur? What has happened to my devotion?”
His response to the anguish that many of us share over the absence of beauty at Mass these days is: “I can only say that I am getting a new perspective. I see a new beauty and a new grandeur. It takes a different eye to see my God in the faces of my sisters and brothers with whom I share the broken bread…Today I judge whether a liturgy is “good” or “bad” not by the number of candles that are lit, nor by the cost of the vestments…Today a “good” liturgy is one which transforms me and my fellow parishioners…”
I agree completely with Father that if the liturgy doesn’t transform us interiorly then all the externals, no matter how costly or beautiful, are pointless. But why would the absence of beauty necessarily aid that interior transformation?
It’s fair enough to say that earthly beauty can be a distraction; keeping in mind that the intention behind its use is to give glory to God and to draw us closer to Him by virtue of its faint resemblance to His awesome beauty.
But is Father right in suggesting that the mundaneities of the modern celebration of the liturgy do a better job at that? Keep in mind the sad reality of what we’re talking about here: the lack of décor; the irreverent conversing and gum-chewing; the childish felt banners in place of statues; clanging acoustic guitars and pounding drum sets instead of well-trained choirs and finely played pipe organs; low-pile dentist office carpet and folding chairs instead of polished marble floors and strong, wooden pews; arbitrary, nonsensical digressions from the rubrics of the Mass to satisfy the egotistical whims of irresponsible priests…you get my point, I hope.
The modern liturgy is positively starving for some beauty and grandeur; it might even get some people’s minds off of themselves and thinking about the God of beauty and magnificence Whom we all worship.
I hope, if Father Tom Richstatter is reading this, I haven’t offended him; like I pointed out, he seems to be a very pastoral, big-hearted man. I disagree with his conclusions, is all. What about you?
A Man For Seasons Past
Father John Corapi has led a nearly unparalleled effort leading countless souls from error and into deeper communion with Christ, myself included. Now, here in this latter season of his ministry, after having done so much good, it seems to me that Jesus was giving him an extraordinary opportunity to save even more souls by entering into that part of Christ’s suffering experienced by Our Lord when He stood in humble silence as authorities heaped false accusations upon Him. It was a gift—and Father Corapi rejected it. He chose not to accept Jesus’ Trial. He had the chance of all chances to show Jesus’ obedience, Jesus’ meekness and humility–and he missed it.
I don’t see much good at all coming out of this “Blacksheepdog” thing…when a man who is supposed to be a father decides to become a dog, it is reasonable to suspect that the “roaring lion” had something to do with it.
Quiet Prayer? No problem.
One day not long ago I went to daily Mass. I went to the Cathedral; downtown was looking beautiful, like always, and I was feeling good. During Mass I couldn’t help but notice that I was doing some particularly nice actuosa participatio, right on, right on…one negative: palms got a little sweaty just before the Exchange of Peace, which always makes me feel bad for whatever dude has to shake my hand, but all things considered I was just enjoying Mass.
After receiving Holy Communion, I knelt to pray. I thanked God for the gift of His Son’s Body and Blood, right on, right on…then it occurred to me that some holy silence was in order. That’s right: just silence, no Anima Christi, no Divine Praises, no supplications—as profoundly wonderful as those all are, it was time to just be silent with the Lord.
The following is my attempt to “just be silent with the Lord,” and I’m exaggerating none of it:
Eyes closed, steady breathing…and I realize that I am internally giving an address to myself on the virtues of being silent with the Lord.
So, I shutup. Let’s try that again, please: eyes closed, quiet, just me and Jesus, bein’ silent, right on, right on…because it’s good to be silent with the Lord, the Lord loves a quiet soul, and really, if you can’t be quiet with the one you love then doesn’t that betray a discomfort of some kind and after all in 1st Kings Elijah doesn’t hear the Lord in the earthquake, or the hurricane, or the hydrogen bomb, but in the still, small oh crap I’m doing it again. The interior sermon to myself about being quiet.
This is stupid. Just be quiet, will you? Silent with the Lord. Just me and Jesus. Maybe it would help to visualize me and Jesus, just sittin’, together, bein’ quiet.
You're not very good at this, are you Dan?
O.K. there, in my head, is me and Jesus. Just sittin’ together. He looks like Jim Caviezel, of course, because Jim Caviezel IS Jesus. If I was sitting next to Jim Caviezel, and the real Jesus suddenly returned in glory out of the sky with trumpets blasting I would look at Him and say: “So, who are you supposed to be? You’re not Jesus. I got JC right HERE, and he was in a MOVIE…”
So, there’s Jim Caviez-us, with the fake Semitic nose and everything, and me…where are we? By a river, I decide. A stream…a babbling brook, in a forest, and everything’s green and beauteous, I guess…Jesus is dressed in 1st century Palestinian robes, and for some reason they’re all raggedy. Why are they raggedy? Change that. Now he’s in nice, neatly pressed 1st century Palestinian robes. But why does He have to be dressed like that at all? It looks kind of silly: me in my 21st century middle/lower class digs and him in full-on Nazareth.
My mind adjusts the image, and now it’s Jesus in khakis, with a white button-down shirt tucked in (!), and he still has Jim Caviezel’s face, and I still haven’t been genuinely silent with Him this entire stupid time!
Too late. Time for Final Blessing, missa est and get out and take your blabbering brain with you, Dan.
My consolation is that it used to be MUCH, much worse. Back in my pre-deliverance days I would try to have some quiet time with Jesus and it was all but impossible. There would be a song going on in my head—sometimes just one phrase of a song, repeated ad infinitum—plus some internal dialogue, plus some images from a movie or two, plus reflections on some recent event, all at the same time. It was excruciating. Since my deliverance I never have that problem anymore, but nonetheless silence is a habit we all have to work at, and it takes self-discipline. Anybody out there find this to be a recurring problem? This seems like a good time to share some tips, right on, right on…
The Shiny Shoes
My oldest son just had his First Holy Communion.
The church was packed, of course, and my parents (who were sitting in the back) observed a travesty going on: visitors from everywhere, rolling around in the aisles and swinging from rafters with cameras and tripods, waving like monkeys and gesturing to each other and all that. They acted like blind, thoughtless fools—let’s just say it. It doesn’t bother me, because I don’t think they knew any better because in all likelihood no one ever told them that people in Catholic churches ought to behave like Moses before the burning bush—because the burning bush signified that God was especially present, which meant that the ground all around it was holy ground. You shut up and listen in places like that—that’s the right response.
But whatever. Frankly, I turned them all off with an invisible dial on the side of my head that is connected to a mental filter that shuts out dumbness. My concentration was entirely on the Mass and my boy’s relation to it.
He was chosen to bring up the gifts. On his return from the altar his big, blue eyes found me—and he smiled the most natural, beautiful smile of all time.
And when he finally received (on the TONGUE, thank you—take THAT, Establishment That Hates Reception on the Tongue!!) I nearly fell over. I mean that literally, because there was some guy with a motorized tripod in the pew directly in front of me.
My boy was awesome. I know every parent thinks this way about their kid receiving First Holy Communion, but that doesn’t make it less true, does it? And to top it all off I suddenly realized that all my other little kids were craning their necks to see, all of them excited and fascinated, proud of their brother, eager to follow in his footsteps.
“Just keep bringing them to the table,”I heard a voice say in my head.
I'm sorry...were You speaking to me?
Yeah, that’s right: God spoke to me at that moment. Cool, huh?
And, no, I won’t admit to you that I got all choked up. That would just be plain embarrassing.
For everybody receiving the Eucharist for the first time, young or old: cherish it! It’s the greatest gift we have. It’s food, it’s medicine, it’s Life Himself in what appears to be—of all the ridiculous things—a piece of bread!!
That’s just deeply, deeply awesome.
God bless!
Hi everybody! If you get a minute, go read my article over at Fathers For Good–it’s about singing, or not singing, in church. A tough subject for you fellas, especially.
Also: Happy Easter, peeps!
Face it. It's where we're all headed. We might as well talk about it.
TSOW reader, Dusky, sent me the following email:
“Hi Dan, I’m a recent reader of your blog. I hope you won’t mind me barging in and ask some things with regards to the blog post that you made, in particular the one about deathbed confessions. I’m a cradle Catholic btw, although I’m just beginning to learn more about the faith.
Does the concept of “last minute conversions” place Christians from different denominations on an even playing field? I mean as far as salvation is concerned, a Catholic is no different from a Baptist or from a Lutheran. Moreover, it would be difficult for other Christians to convert to Catholicism considering that it has a lot of other “trimmings” in their eyes.
Also, doesn’t it also in a way give more credence to what Protestants say about “faith only” as a means to salvation? Certainly not much “works” can be done while you’re in your deathbed.
Thank you very much for the time and keep up the good work on your blog. God Bless.”
Good questions, eh? If it’s alright I’m going to restate them just slightly: If a man is dying, and seeks salvation in Christ, why should the Catholic Church be preferable to a Protestant denomination? Either way, you get salvation. In fact, if that’s true, it implies that Luther was right and works don’t really matter—only faith.
First, Luther wasn’t totally wrong: faith is essential, it’s vital. But it’s dead without works, right (Jas 2:17, 24)? That being the case, Dusky points out that a guy isn’t physically capable of doing many works on his deathbed, so where does that leave his relationship with Christ?
That got me thinking over all the “works” that a person can do—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, pretending to like Angelina Ballerina so your 4 year old daughter won’t cry—and I have a hard time thinking of a greater “work” than dying in the arms of Holy Mother Church.
Think about that: in one awesome moment you have just testified to the entire world that Jesus is Lord and that the Catholic Church is the place He called you to, thereby not only saving your own soul but also strengthening the faith of all those millions and millions of Catholics out there who hear your story, AND reminding all of those millions and millions of non-Catholics out there that the Church is alive and strong and worthy of their attention. That, it seems to me, is a work par excellence.
This sets the stage for the larger, more important part of Dusky’s question, as re-stated by me: If a man is dying, and seeks salvation in Christ, why should the Catholic Church be preferable to a Protestant denomination? Either way, you get salvation.
As I’m sure Dusky and most TSOW readers already know, nobody has a right to salvation—not even Catholics. It’s by the sheer, unmerited charity of God that anybody is saved. Now, I realize that the big, gnarly can of worms I’m about to open will probably get me banned from speaking in the diocese of Scranton, but if it’s true that God, out of His infinite charity, has sent His only Son to establish a church by which souls can be saved, a church we call “Catholic,” then why wouldn’t someone who desires Jesus desire the Catholic Church?
Maybe they didn’t know that the church Jesus founded “subsists in the Catholic Church, which is governed by the successor of Peter and by the bishops in communion with him,”* as Vatican II put it. Maybe they weren’t told the truth. We are forbidden to judge (by which we mean “condemn”) anyone, least of all our brothers and sisters who are trying to reach out to God in their last moments the best way that they know how. At the same time we should always bear in mind the Catholic Church’s unique place, and pray that the graces unleashed into the world through her reach everybody who is in their last hour of life, surely the most important hour of all.
Plenty of follow-up questions jump out here, I’m sure. Thoughts, anyone?
* Lumen Gentium, #8
