Wednesday

Reading:

I said I would do more de Maupassant today. Let’s see if I can charge through this quickly, and not end up spending 90 minutes on something that I hoped would take no longer than half and hour.

“La Maison Teiller”  has the most amazing premise: a woman travels to be in attendance that the Confirmation of her niece. The complication is her work obligations: she’s the madame of a small brothel and doesn’t want to leave her five employees alone in the house – for the sake of order as well as their own safety.

So she takes them with her.

What is the point? That religion has no impact on anyone is all simply an empty social ritual? Perhaps – considering that no one is converted, the women all return to work after the celebration and, worst of all, the woman’s brother – the father of the confirmand – is caught trying to obtain one of the prostitute’s services.

Or. Considering that in the midst of the service, all the women break down in tears – which then spreads and leads to a general, congregation-wide meltdown:

The choir was full of kneeling children, the girls on one side and the boys on the other, and the long wax tapers which they held looked like lances pointing in all directions, and three men were standing in front of the lectern, singing as loud as they could.

They prolonged the syllables of the sonorous Latin indefinitely, holding on to “Amens” with interminable “a-a’s,” which the reed stop of the organ sustained in a monotonous, long-drawn-out tone.

A child’s shrill voice took up the reply, and from time to time a priest sitting in a stall and wearing a biretta got up, muttered something and sat down again, while the three singers continued, their eyes fixed on the big book of plain chant lying open before them on the outstretched wings of a wooden eagle.

Then silence ensued and the service went on. Toward the close Rosa, with her head in both hands, suddenly thought of her mother, her village church and her first communion. She almost fancied that that day had returned, when she was so small and was almost hidden in her white dress, and she began to cry.

First of all she wept silently, and the tears dropped slowly from her eyes, but her emotion in creased with her recollections, and she began to sob. She took out her pocket handkerchief, wiped her eyes and held it to her mouth, so as not to scream, but it was in vain. A sort of rattle escaped her throat, and she was answered by two other profound, heartbreaking sobs, for her two neighbors, Louise and Flora, who were kneeling near her, overcome by similar recollections, were sobbing by her side, amid a flood of tears; and as tears are contagious, Madame Tellier soon in turn found that her eyes were wet, and on turning to her sister- in-law, she saw that all the occupants of her seat were also crying.

Soon, throughout the church, here and there, a wife, a mother, a sister, seized by the strange sympathy of poignant emotion, and affected at the sight of those handsome ladies on their knees, shaken with sobs was moistening her cambric pocket handkerchief and pressing her beating heart with her left hand.

Just as the sparks from an engine will set fire to dry grass, so the tears of Rosa and of her companions infected the whole congregation in a moment. Men, women, old men and lads in new smocks were soon all sobbing, and something superhuman seemed to be hovering over their heads –a spirit, the powerful breath of an invisible and all powerful Being.

Suddenly a species of madness seemed to pervade the church, the noise of a crowd in a state of frenzy, a tempest of sobs and stifled cries. It came like gusts of wind which blow the trees in a forest, and the priest, paralyzed by emotion, stammered out incoherent prayers, without finding words, ardent prayers of the soul soaring to heaven.

The people behind him gradually grew calmer. The cantors, in all the dignity of their white surplices, went on in somewhat uncertain voices, and the reed stop itself seemed hoarse, as if the instrument had been weeping; the priest, however, raised his hand to command silence and went and stood on the chancel steps, when everybody was silent at once.

After a few remarks on what had just taken place, and which he attributed to a miracle, he continued, turning to the seats where the carpenter’s guests were sitting; “I especially thank you, my dear sisters, who have come from such a distance, and whose presence among us, whose evident faith and ardent piety have set such a salutary example to all. You have edified my parish; your emotion has warmed all hearts; without you, this great day would not, perhaps, have had this really divine character. It is sufficient, at times, that there should be one chosen lamb, for the Lord to descend on His flock.”

His voice failed him again, from emotion, and he said no more, but concluded the service.

They now left the church as quickly as possible; the children themselves were restless and tired with such a prolonged tension of the mind. The parents left the church by degrees to see about dinner.

Again, things are not black and white here, are they? For the priest treats the women as if they are fine, pious, upstanding women, when in fact, if he’d known they were prostitutes, would he even have permitted them to even enter the church?

But then – something did happen, even if it is simply Rosa’s recollection of her lost innocence – and perhaps her tears, and the tears of the entire congregation reflect something real, whether that be the sense of loss that all adults feel, looking back at the hope and promise of childhood, or even the movement of grace – that can happen anywhere, in any context.

The story was adapted to film by Max Ophuls as part of an anthology films Le Plaisir. 

“Boule de Suife” is, after “The Necklace,” de Maupassant’s most well-known story. 

The premise is, again, film worthy – a group of French people are leaving Rouen, which has been taken by the Prussians. They are three married couples of various classes, a local revolutionary type of fellow, two nuns and a prostitute. They stop for the night in another town, find that it, too, has been taken by the Prussians. The next morning, they find that the Prussian leader will not allow them passage. He won’t let them leave – it gradually becomes clear – until the prostitute sleeps with him.

And she refuses.

Again, a most interesting plot, in which morals are held up for close examination, and our sense of who is right and wrong is challenged at every turn, and, of course, social hypocrisy is on full, blatant display.

It reminded me a bit of the Mad Men’s devastating plot point of Joan and the Jaguar dealer. 

And the religion angle? Well, none of those pressing the prostitute to just go ahead and do the deed have made any show of being religious, but I think de Maupassant makes his point by the fact that the two nuns, while present throughout, have absolutely nothing to say and spend their time either alone and segregated from the rest of the company, or absorbed in their prayers.

Again – religion is just part of the social fabric, with nothing meaningful or life-giving left to say to anyone.

And then, yesterday, I got tired of sitting around here, went for a hefe weisse at the local German beer garden – it was a gorgeous day, read some J. F. Powers and played with ideas.

But I’ll hold off on commenting on that, because I have long owed you all a post on my re-read of Morte d’Urban. 

Also reading: This interesting article: “The Use of Nahuatl in Evangelization and the Ministry of Sebastian.”   – you guys! Yes! It’s interesting!!! 

I presume that many of you who read me are interested in church-y things, including ministry and evangelization and catechesis and such. So sure – reading about how non-Christian cultures receiving the Good News for the first time out of the blue were ministered to – should be interesting to you, too! It’s not some obscure bit of trivia. How was the Gospel spread in the New World? Too often, we settle on either: “By cruel brute force” or “Through the miraculous intercession of Our Lady of Guadalupe” – when in fact….there’s a lot of well-intentioned hard work, choices and decisions that real human beings made on the ground that is fascinating and even helpful in the present moment.

So the question of that article is – the Spanish, on the one hand, mandated Spanish – but then in other contexts, mandated the Nahuatl language. What was the reality? What did the friars use and how did they use it?

In general, most ecclesiastics supported the use of Náhuatl in evangelization.
Don Carlos de Tapia Zenteno endorsed Ignacio de Paredes’s 1759
Promptuario for its translation of Christian doctrine into Náhuatl, stating
that “neither Castilian nor Latin could more expressively persuade nor
teach the mysteries of our Catholic religion.”‘” In his small confessional
manual, don Bartolomé de Alva commented on the absurdity of natives
praying in Latin “without knowing what is being said.” He then submitted
his own Náhuatl translations of various Catholic prayers.” And fray Alonso
de Molina justified his Nahuatl/Spanish confessional manual in 1569 by
emphasizing the need for such works so that natives could properly learn
the Christian doctrine.’
Although many ecclesiastics endorsed the use of Náhuatl, many also
recognized the danger of doctrinal truths becoming lost in translation. The
Eirst Mexican Provincial Council of 1555 decided that sermons should no
longer be translated by natives alone.’^ Moreover, the ecclesiastical authors
of many religious works in Náhuatl frequently commented on changes or
alterations they made to existing, inferior translations in efforts to clarify
doctrine.'”*

And so this scholar looks in particular at a life of St. Sebastian written Nahuatl, and focuses on textual clues that tell him – this was probably written by an indigenous person, not a Spanish friar.

Colonial realities necessitated a bilingual exchange between Nahua and
Spaniard that allowed Náhuatl to play an essential role in the evangelization
of the Nahuas. Relying on Nahua aides to help compose doctrinal treatises
in Náhuatl, friars could disseminate the Catholic message in the vernacular.
However, although the use of Náhuatl made the ecclesiastics’ task
feasible, it also could subvert the formation of an orthodox, uniform faith.
As demonstrated in the account of the ministry of Sebastian contained in
the sermon examined here, Nahua assistants trained in religion and writing
could create texts of questionable doctrinal accuracy. In this Náhuatl
account, Sebastian preaches Christian morals to nobles possessing characteristics
identical to those of the Nahua nobility and converses with God
regarding the matter. Although likely inspired by works such as the Flos
Sanctorum, the Náhuatl sermon ultimately creates an account foreign to
Catholic tradition.
Yet this rather unorthodox account of the ministry of Sebastian should
not be seen as an act of resistance or even as an attempt to invent a history
where Sebastian proselytized in Mexico. Rather, the sermon joins
the many other extant examples from throughout the colonial period of
Nahuas adopting Spanish concepts for their own purposes. James Lockhart
offers an excellent summary of the practice: “In one domain after another,
we see that the Nahuas had no doctrinal distaste for Spanish introductions
as such but related to them pragmatically as things they might make their
own, according to criteria of familiarity, usability, and availability.”^* In
this case, Nahua authors appropriated St. Sebastian and placed him in a
Nahua, Central Mexico setting for the purpose of creating a sermon that
would more readily resonate among a Nahua audience and convey Christian
morals. As a result of such practices, and due to the bilingual exchange
between Nahua and Spaniard, diverse versions of the Catholic message
were conveyed, allowing, in this case, the authors and audience of the text
to envision the Old World and its saints along the lines of the New.

(Forgive the funky formatting – it’s from a pdf and I don’t have time to reformat. Article read through the research portal of my local library – EBSCO – you probably have access to it through your library, as well – or something like it.)

I hope you’re seeing the commonalities here – the problems seem completely different, but they’re actually the same: how to translate the Gospel into a culture that’s hearing it for the first time and how to preach it to people who might be threatened by its message?

And here’s your final rabbit trail from this (although the notes of scholarly articles always give plenty…).

Did you know about the Nahuatl Plays? Sort of like European Miracle Plays, but…in the New World. They’ve been published by the University of Oklahoma Press. 

Start with the linked volume and just skip to others in the series – fascinating.

Death and Life in Colonial Nahua Mexico presents seven dramas from the first truly American theater. Composed in Nahuatl during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, most of these plays survive only in later copies. Five are morality plays. Presenting Christian views of moral reform, death, judgment, and punishment for sin, they reveal how these themes were adapted into Nahua culture. The other two plays dramatize biblical narratives: the stories of Abraham and Isaac and of the three wise men.

In this volume, Barry D. Sell and Louise M. Burkhart offer faithful transcriptions of the Nahuatl as well as new English translations of these remarkable dramas. Accompanying the plays are four interpretive essays and a foreword that broaden our understanding of these rare works.

Writing: 

Just a reminder that today’s Reformation Day. Yay.

And here’s an article I wrote a couple of years ago on women and the Reformation. 

Although Marian devotion did persist in many Reformed areas, it was always discouraged and, just as importantly, the approved understanding of Mary shifted: she was no longer a powerful intercessor or protector—she was instead, the Reformers preached, a model of domesticity. As the cult of the saints was eliminated, what went with it was the notion that a woman could powerfully serve a community’s interest, and could be a role model, guide, and help for women and men, with no female saints or other holy women permitted to offer spiritual consolation, protection, and inspiration to the community.

The community no longer celebrated these women’s virtues on their feast days, no longer passed their shrines on their daily travels, no longer sought their intercession. Confraternities devoted to Mary, to the Rosary—composed of mostly men—disappeared.

In short, in this new world, there seemed to be no place for brilliant, compelling women like Catherine of Siena or Hildegard of Bingen to be revered for their spiritual wisdom. Here no one, woman or man, could look to a mere woman for protection, from women calling on St. Margaret in the midst of labor, sailors praying the Salve Regina as they launched, Parisians honoring Genevieve who had saved their city, Spaniards under the patronage of Teresa of Avila—all inconceivable in this new world in which women, driven from the convents, brought in from the spiritual margins which they themselves shaped, and even banished from the heavens, were directed by force of theology and law to their only proper place:

…a woman is not the master of herself. God fashioned her body so that she should be with a man, to have and to rear children. – Martin Luther

These experiences of women challenge narratives. They provide a window into real experiences. And as we read a letter written by one Anna Wurm to her brother, who was trying to remove her from the Strasbourg convent in which she had lived for a decade, they even offer insight into what this notion called “Christian freedom” might actually be about—and for:

I do not owe you obedience and I will not obey you…I am in a good, pious, blessed, honorable, free, spiritual estate, wherein both my body and soul are well cared for…I want to stay here…I have given myself to God with full knowledge and awareness in eternal chastity here to serve him…No one of the world can sway me.