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I had forgotten to post the appropriate pages from our favorite vintage 7th grade Catholic textbook, part of the Christ-Life Series in Religion …so here they are. The first about the season in general, the second about this past Sunday (before it became Divine Mercy Sunday, of course).

What I like about these – and why I share them with you – is that they challenge the assumption that before Vatican II, Catholicism offered nothing but legalistic rules-based externals to its adherents, particularly the young. Obviously not so

I also appreciate the assumption of maturity and spiritual responsibility. Remember, this is a 7th grade textbook, which means it was for twelve and thirteen-year olds at most. A child reading this was encouraged to think of him or herself, not as a customer to be placated or attracted, but as a member of the Body of Christ – a full member who can experience deep joy, peace and has a mission.

"amy welborn"

 

"amy welborn"

 

"amy welborn"

 

"amy welborn"

 

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St. George is in the Loyola Kids Book of Saints.  The only part of the chapter that is online in any form is the last page, so I grabbed that and scanned the first page of the chapter from a copy – so take a look. In the first part of the chapter I try to strike the balance between what we think we know about George and the legendary material. But I also always try to respect the legendary material as an expression of a truth – here, the courage required to follow Christ. He’s in the section, “Saints are people who are brave.”

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"amy Welborn"

More on the book. You can buy it online, of course, or at any Catholic bookseller – I hope. If they don’t have it, demand it!

amy welborn

 

Buy signed copies of some of my other books for children here. 

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— 1 —

This year, we celebrated the Triduum at the Casa Maria Convent and Retreat House, the boys serving Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday – we chose Sunday rather than the Vigil this year, and it was good, I think, because they were the only servers. Father John Paul, MFVA celebrated all the liturgies, and it was as it always is: simplicity, depth, reverence. Music that was offered as praise, and since this was so, was beautiful but not ostentatious or self-referential.

As I was waiting for the boys after one of the liturgies, a young man was speaking to his friend nearby. He was explaining what he liked about the liturgies at the convent. “It’s not too much,” he was saying, “It just is.

It just is.

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(For some audio clips of some of the liturgies, go to my Instagram profile/page.)

— 2 —

Next year, though, I am thinking that I want to take off for the Triduum. I see all these newsfeed and Instagram photos of processions and pictures on the ground fashioned out of flower petals, and I want to go to there.  I might try to go to a place where the culture is still all in on Holy Week. Suggestions? Somewhere in Mexico or Central America? Preferably no more than one time zone away from me?

— 3 —

We have a new driver in the house. As I said on Facebook, four down, one to go.  It really is, in my mind, the worst thing about parenting. I hate guiding a new driver through all this, and it causes me more stress than almost anything.  Yeah, potty-training is hassle, but wet diapers don’t risk anyone’s life or limbs. Usually.

We still only have one vehicle, though, so drive time is limited. As it happens, the day before his driving test, a car popped up on the local neighborhood discussion board – a fellow who seemed legit was selling a decent car for a very decent price – under 2K.  I almost jumped at it. I even emailed him about it, but after letting it swim in my brain overnight, I told him I’d pass.  For you see, I have been making regular speeches on the theme of We Are Not Getting Another Vehicle Until At Least Late Summer if Not Later  with clear (I hope) subtexts of how the new driver needed to probably kick in some funds to offset insurance costs, which was intended to incentivize job-seeking.  In a way, life would be a lot easier with another car right now, but upon reflection, I decided my original instincts were correct. We need a little bit of time to sit with the pain of being-able-to-but-not-having-the-means-to-do-what-we-want. Waking up with a set of wheels to drive, even if they’re old and not-shiny a couple of days after you turn sixteen doesn’t contribute to that cause and just encourages taking-for-granted, which no house which harbors adolescents, even good-hearted ones – needs more of than it already has.

— 4 —

Recent listens:

In Our Time program on Rosa Luxembourg, a Polish-born socialist revolutionary thinker murdered by her fellow-travelers in a divided movement in Germany. The whole discussion was interesting, since I had never heard of her, but what really caught my attention was the post-show discussion in which loose ends are tied up and missed points are made.

During the entire program, the scholar guests, particularly the two female academics had been working hard to make the case that Luxemburg was very important and had an enormous impact on German leftism in the early part of the 20th century, all of this despite being a woman, and thereby being prohibited from expressing her views and promoting her agenda through running for office herself or even voting.

Her contributions were outlined and emphasized, her major themes delineated including, it was said, her pacifism.

Well, hang on, said the third scholar at the end. In the post-Great War German revolution, leftist forces employed devastating destructive violent acts that we might even say verged on terrorism. Luxembourg, he said, said and did nothing to discourage this direction and even held positions that contributed to the climate in which such violence was acceptable and innocents were victimized.

Oh, no, no, no said the other two scholars – she really didn’t have that much influence – whatever she might have said along those lines or any perceived approval in silence had no impact on the events that were unfolding at the time.

It’s such a familiar pattern. My marginalized hero/heroine contributed so much when the cause is beneficial to my point of view, but when it gets uncomfortable…eh. She was really just a repressed marginalized voice, you know. Not her fault.

— 5 —

On Books and Authors, I heard a short interview with British Muslim writer Ayisha Malek, the author of a couple of so-called Brigid Jones with hijabs. I was intrigued, especially after being in London and being one of the 2% of non-Muslims in Harrod’s one evening.

What interested me was her statement that as a teenager, she couldn’t identify with contemporary young adult literature or chick-lit, but she could identify very closely with Austen and other writers because, as she said, as an observant Muslim, her social life had more in common with Elizabeth Bennett’s and Isabel Archer’s than it did with Brigid Jones’.

Well, that’s intriguing, and a good point, I thought – I’d like to peek into the lives of those women I saw in their hijabs and niqabs, toting Luis Vuitton and Chanel bags. So I downloaded the free sample of the first few chapters of her novel, Sofia Khan is Not Obliged..  Meh. The writing was pedestrian and the humor obvious and forced. Which was too bad, because I was up for it.

— 6 –

Start the Week had a program on the Reformation which initially prompted mild but decidedly ragey feelings as I stomped around the park and listened to a litany of caricatures of pre-Reformation England from people who really should – and probably do- know better. But the arrow swung back in the direction of “approve” as the topic of women came up and both women on the program, one of whom was novelist Sarah Dunant – began to rather forcefully make the point that perhaps the Lutheran and Calvinist movements were not great for women. One of the male scholars argued that the Reformation helped women because it emphasized their role as keepers of the faith flame in the home, but one of the women responded, quite correctly that well, yes, then according to most of the Reformers, that was it, then, wasn’t it? Hmmm…someone else has made that point recently, I do believe!

— 7 —

Are you in need of gifts for First Communion, Confirmation, graduation? Mother’s Day? End-of-the-year teacher gift? Perhaps I can help….

(For children, mom, sister, friend, new Catholic….)

For more Quick Takes, visit This Ain’t the Lyceum!

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“Lachrimae Amantis“
Lope de Vega Carpio (1562-1613), translated by Geoffrey Hill

What is there in my heart that you should sue
so fiercely for its love? What kind of care
brings you as though a stranger to my door
through the long night and in the icy dew

seeking the heart that will not harbor you,
that keeps itself religiously secure?
At this dark solstice filled with frost and fire
your passion’s ancient wounds must bleed anew.

So many nights the angel of my house
has fed such urgent comfort through a dream,
whispered ‘your lord is coming, he is close’

that I have drowsed half-faithful for a time
bathed in pure tones of promise and remorse:
‘tomorrow I shall wake to welcome him.’

Agony in the Garden

Source

Also, from my favorite vintage textbook. We’ll just keep it simple today. That’s the best way.

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Perhaps"amy welborn" you remember at the beginning of Lent, when I was on a Vintage Catholic tear, I posted a section from a late 19th-century book called The Correct Thing for Catholics.  Somewhat dated, of course, but still, if you think about it, useful.

Well, here’s the author’s advice for these days in particular. Other sites are offering you deep thoughts. I simply offer the correct thing. 

The focus is on Holy Thursday, and in particular the tradition of visiting the altars of repose in various churches – “throngs” of people did this….

 

"amy welborn"

 

"amy welborn"

There won’t be any Seven Quick Takes this week, so here’s an offering for you to read that is take, although not a quick one. I think it’s an essential article to read – Patricia Snow in First Things on screen time. 

Sixty-four years ago, in her novel Wise Blood, Flannery O’Connor saw all of this coming. Describing the beautiful movements of a night sky over an artificially lit street in a small town, she commented dryly, “No one was paying any attention to the sky.” The cinema on the lit street was O’Connor’s metaphor of choice for the alienation of modern man, mesmerized by huge, internally generated images as if he were walled up behind his own eye; today everyone has a tiny cinema of his own, on the seat back in front of him or in his pocket, that he can carry everywhere.

Snow offers more than the now routine concerns about the impact of all of this on us. She takes it to a spiritual level, appropriate reading for this week, and this day, in particular, in which we ponder the Real Presence:

For centuries, the Catholic Church has been a place of prayer and recollection, deep reading and peaceful communion. It has been a place of limited social interaction, where the mind can wander and the nerves relax; a quiet place, far from the noise and incessant demands of the world. It has been a place where the poor have had access to certain luxury goods of the rich: great art and music, spaciousness and silence. If the rich have always taken expensive, unplugged vacations in remote, unspoiled places, in our churches the poor, too, have had a place of retreat from the world. The church’s thick walls and subdued lighting, her “precisely-paced” liturgies and the narrowing sight lines of her nave, drawing the eye to the altar and the tabernacle behind it—everything in the church is designed to ward off distractions and render man “still and listening.” Everything is there to draw him into the Church’s maternal embrace, so she can fill him with God.

Besides this way of prayer and contemplation that has been described as a mutual gaze (“I look at him; he looks at me”), there is a second path to God, equally enjoined by the Church, and that is the way of charity to the neighbor, but not the neighbor in the abstract. Catholicism, Christianity generally, and other religions as well have always inveighed against telescopic philanthropy. “Who is my neighbor?” a lawyer asks Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. Jesus’s answer is, the one you encounter on the way.

This encounter cannot be elided or put on hold, pushed to the periphery or dissolved into an abstraction. Man cannot vault over the particular to reach the universal, or bypass the present to seize the future. Virtue is either concrete or it is nothing. Man’s path to God, like Jesus’s path on the earth, always passes through what the Jesuit Jean Pierre de Caussade called “the sacrament of the present moment,” which we could equally call “the sacrament of the present person,” the way of the Incarnation, the way of humility, or the Way of the Cross. In C. S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters, a book that teaches by inversion, the fiend Screwtape urges his nephew to envision his human prey as a series of concentric circles, and then “shove all [his] virtues outward till they are finally located in the circle of fantasy.” The tradition of Zen Buddhism expresses the same idea in positive terms: Be here now.

Both of these privileged paths to God, equally dependent on a quality of undivided attention and real presence, are vulnerable to the distracting eye-candy of our technologies. In an essay in these pages, “Reckoning with Modernity” (December 2015), Bruce Marshall wrote of the Church’s need to discern modernity on her own terms, “by searching her own mystery.” In the past, the Church has censured the content of certain media: the violence in video games, for example, or the pornography available online. But preoccupied with content, and excepting a few recent remarks by Pope Francis, she has overlooked the greater danger of the delivery system itself, or the form of the screen, which for many people turns out to be as irresistible as pornography and as addictive as any narcotic, with the result that it is on its way to becoming as formidable a distracter in the life of the Church as it is everywhere else….

….The Church’s definitive mystery is a mystery of real presence: the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, above all, but also her own uninterrupted presence in the world and in history. There is nothing “virtual” or disembodied about the Catholic Church. Her Gospel—her whole life—is a communication of real presence: God made man; God with us; God still with us, in the sacraments and in the baptized. For centuries, the Church has spread this Gospel by face-to-face encounters, live preaching, tangible sacraments and real texts, media ontologically well suited to a message of Incarnation.

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Pope Emeritus Benedict’s birthday is this coming Sunday..if you’d like an simple, free introduction to his thought, take a look at the book I wrote a few years ago, now out of print, but available in a pdf version at no cost. Did I mention, “free?”

Here. 

Pope Benedict 90th birthday

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From my favorite old-school 7th grade catechism, With Mother Church. 

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From B16 in 2007

It is a moving experience each year on Palm Sunday as we go up the mountain with Jesus, towards the Temple, accompanying him on his ascent. On this day, throughout the world and across the centuries, young people and people of every age acclaim him, crying out: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

But what are we really doing when we join this procession as part of the throng which went up with Jesus to Jerusalem and hailed him as King of Israel? Is this anything more than a ritual, a quaint custom? Does it have anything to do with the reality of our life and our world? To answer this, we must first be clear about what Jesus himself wished to do and actually did. After Peter’s confession of faith in Caesarea Philippi, in the northernmost part of the Holy Land, Jesus set out as a pilgrim towards Jerusalem for the feast of Passover. He was journeying towards the Temple in the Holy City, towards that place which for Israel ensured in a particular way God’s closeness to his people. He was making his way towards the common feast of Passover, the memorial of Israel’s liberation from Egypt and the sign of its hope of definitive liberation. He knew that what awaited him was a new Passover and that he himself would take the place of the sacrificial lambs by offering himself on the cross. He knew that in the mysterious gifts of bread and wine he would give himself for ever to his own, and that he would open to them the door to a new path of liberation, to fellowship with the living God. He was making his way to the heights of the Cross, to the moment of self-giving love. The ultimate goal of his pilgrimage was the heights of God himself; to those heights he wanted to lift every human being.

Our procession today is meant, then, to be an image of something deeper, to reflect the fact that, together with Jesus, we are setting out on pilgrimage along the high road that leads to the living God. This is the ascent that matters. This is the journey which Jesus invites us to make. But how can we keep pace with this ascent? Isn’t it beyond our ability? Certainly, it is beyond our own possibilities. From the beginning men and women have been filled – and this is as true today as ever – with a desire to “be like God”, to attain the heights of God by their own powers. All the inventions of the human spirit are ultimately an effort to gain wings so as to rise to the heights of Being and to become independent, completely free, as God is free. Mankind has managed to accomplish so many things: we can fly! We can see, hear and speak to one another from the farthest ends of the earth. And yet the force of gravity which draws us down is powerful. With the increase of our abilities there has been an increase not only of good. Our possibilities for evil have increased and appear like menacing storms above history. Our limitations have also remained: we need but think of the disasters which have caused so much suffering for humanity in recent months.

The Fathers of the Church maintained that human beings stand at the point of intersection between two gravitational fields. First, there is the force of gravity which pulls us down – towards selfishness, falsehood and evil; the gravity which diminishes us and distances us from the heights of God. On the other hand there is the gravitational force of God’s love: the fact that we are loved by God and respond in love attracts us upwards. Man finds himself betwixt this twofold gravitational force; everything depends on our escaping the gravitational field of evil and becoming free to be attracted completely by the gravitational force of God, which makes us authentic, elevates us and grants us true freedom.

Following the Liturgy of the Word, at the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer where the Lord comes into our midst, the Church invites us to lift up our hearts: “Sursum corda!” In the language of the Bible and the thinking of the Fathers, the heart is the centre of man, where understanding, will and feeling, body and soul, all come together. The centre where spirit becomes body and body becomes spirit, where will, feeling and understanding become one in the knowledge and love of God. This is the “heart” which must be lifted up. But to repeat: of ourselves, we are too weak to lift up our hearts to the heights of God. We cannot do it. The very pride of thinking that we are able to do it on our own drags us down and estranges us from God. God himself must draw us up, and this is what Christ began to do on the cross. He descended to the depths of our human existence in order to draw us up to himself, to the living God. He humbled himself, as today’s second reading says. Only in this way could our pride be vanquished: God’s humility is the extreme form of his love, and this humble love draws us upwards.

Seems appropriate that this will be my reading for the week:

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