Category Archives: Culture (Movies, Music, Literature, etc)

Noel: A Christmas Poem by JRR Tolkien

JRR Tolkien was much more than just a fiction writer – as any regular reader of this blog should know! He was a devout Catholic, and like CS Lewis (his good friend) his faith provided a rich theological backdrop to his writing. Here is a poem that Tolkien wrote about the birth of Jesus. It was published in 1936 (the year before the Hobbit), which means it came out before he was well-known. For this reason, the poem had been relatively obscure until being included in a collection of his works in 2013.

My favorite part is the way it contrasts the cold and dark of winter with the joy, light, and bells of Christmas. In particular, this can be seen by looking at the close parallel of opposites between the first and last stanza (a device he will also use to great effect, in reverse, in the Song of Durin that Gimli recites in Moria!).

Its image of the star is very appropriate as we celebrate the Epiphany this weekend, with the emphasis on the journey of the Magi. It is also fitting as today (Jan. 3rd) was Tolkien’s birthday! I pray all who read this have a merry conclusion to the Christmas season, and a blessed new year!

Grim was the world and grey last night:
The moon and stars were fled,
The hall was dark without song or light,
The fires were fallen dead.
The wind in the trees was like to the sea,
And over the mountains’ teeth
It whistled bitter-cold and free,
As a sword leapt from its sheath.

The lord of snows upreared his head;
His mantle long and pale
Upon the bitter blast was spread
And hung o’er hill and dale.
The world was blind,
the boughs were bent,
All ways and paths were wild:
Then the veil of cloud apart was rent,
And here was born a Child.

The ancient dome of heaven sheer
Was pricked with distant light;
A star came shining white and clear
Alone above the night.
In the dale of dark in that hour of birth
One voice on a sudden sang:
Then all the bells in Heaven and Earth
Together at midnight rang.

Mary sang in this world below:
They heard her song arise
O’er mist and over mountain snow
To the walls of Paradise,
And the tongue of many bells was stirred
in Heaven’s towers to ring
When the voice of mortal maid was heard,
That was mother of Heaven’s King.

Glad is the world and fair this night
With stars about its head,
And the hall is filled with laughter and light,
And fires are burning red.
The bells of Paradise now ring
With bells of Christendom,
And Gloria, Gloria we will sing
That God on earth is come.

Tolkien’s Vision of Creation, Sin, and Redemption

Background on Tolkien’s approach to writing myth/legend

JRR Tolkien had a profound theology/philosophy of what it meant to write mythology. Rather than denigrating it as “mere” fiction, he saw creating mythology as an aspect of what it means to be made in the image of God. If God is a Creator, then we are “sub-creators,” capable of devising “Secondary Worlds” that reflect the real/“Primary World.” We see throughout the Scriptures the way that God invites us into His work, not choosing to do everything apart from us, but calling humans constantly to be co-workers with the plan of redemption. Saints are not “rivals” to God’s work (as some misunderstand it), but rather shining examples of God’s grace in action.

Tolkien saw the challenge of authors to be to create a Secondary World with the “the inner consistency of reality.” If this was done correctly, readers would be able to imagine themselves actually living in that world – something that Tolkien called “Secondary Belief.” He wrote: “To make a Secondary World inside which the green sun will be credible, commanding Secondary Belief, will probably require labour and thought, and will certainly demand a special skill, a kind of elvish craft. Few attempt such difficult tasks. But when they are attempted and in any degree accomplished then we have a rare achievement of Art: indeed narrative art, story-making in its primary and most potent mode” (from his essay “On Fairy Stories”).

This Secondary World has to be like our world in some ways, but unlike it in others. The difference is what allows it to shock us out of the familiarity that makes us miss what is truly fantastic in our everyday experience. It also lets us see old truths in new ways. It is similar to Jesus’ use of parables – images that draw us into truth through story. In one of his most significant letters, Tolkien explains, “I believe that legends and myths are largely made up of ‘truth,’ and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode” (Letter 131). 

Tolkien’s Image of Creation

On this note, I want to share a little about the way that Tolkien approached Creation in his Legendarium (“Legendarium” refers to the massive amount of background material that he prepared around the stories of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings). This text can be found in the Silmarillion, the central writings that were put together and published after his death by his son Christopher. Here I give the text written by Tolkien in italics, with my commentary in brackets. You will notice that Tolkien writes the text in a more archaic style, a method to evoke the sense that we are reading something from the olden days. He uses the image of singing to represent sharing in the thought and music of God. It is set as a prelude to the actual creation of the world, considering how God might have planned for the work that was to come. This happens through the cooperation of the Ainur, who represent the highest angels – including Melkor, the one who introduces discord into the song (representing the devil). This account of creation shows the way that God works through this interference to create beauty.

There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but few together, while the rest hearkened; for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Iluvatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they listened they came to deeper understanding, and increased in unison and harmony.

 [“Eru” means “the One,” and is the first title given to God by Tolkien. It represents one aspect of the truth perceived in many stories of God – that this being is the one who has no equal. The second title – “Ilúvatar” – means “All-father.” It highlights a second key aspect of God perceived by religion broadly speaking, that God is the “uncaused cause,” the one who exists by nature and not by previous action of another being, the Creator of creation. The creation of the Ainur corresponds to the creation of the angels.]

And it came to pass that Iluvatar called together all the Ainur and declared to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of its beginning and the splendour of its end amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Iluvatar and were silent. Then Iluvatar said to them: ‘Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song…

[Here God invites the angels to share in his work of creation – they are entrusted with the role of “sub-creating” (explained in the first part of this post), to utilize the gifts given to them by God to enrich the world. Chief of these gifts is the “Flame Imperishable, which represents a share in God’s own uncreated life, which incorporates the ideas of existence and grace]

But as the theme progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor to interweave matters of his own imagining that were not in accord with the theme of Iluvatar; for he sought therein to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself. To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren. He had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own, and it seemed to him that Iluvatar took no thought for the Void, and he was impatient of its emptiness. Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Iluvatar. But being alone he had begun to conceive thoughts of his own unlike those of his brethren. Some of these thoughts he now wove into his music, and straight-way discord arose about him, and many that sang nigh him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed and their music faltered; but some began to attune their music to his rather than to the thought which they had at first. Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of turbulent sound. But Iluvatar sat and hearkened until it seemed that about his throne there was a raging storm, as of dark waters that made war one upon another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged.

[Melkor is the representation of Satan/Lucifer – created as a high angel, but who turned away from God out of pride. Tolkien represents this pride as seeking the Fire (God’s life) apart from God, and his disruption of the plan of creation as introducing discord into the singing of the Ainur, leading to the fall of others.]

Then Iluvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled; and he lifted up his left hand, and a new theme began amid the storm, like and yet unlike to the former theme, and it gathered power and had new beauty. 

[Here, God introduces a counter theme to the discord of Melkor/Satan. This is the promise of redemption (see Genesis 3:15). Rather than destroying us after the Fall, God chooses to redeem us – like the decision to renovate a house instead of demolish it.]

But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it, and again there was a war of sound more violent than before, until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer, and Melkor had the mastery. Then again Iluvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Iluvatar, and they were utterly at variance. The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice, but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern. 

[Melkor contends against the plan of salvation by pushing for a new discord (which Tolkien describes as “loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated” – depicting the way that sin has a repetitive and uncreative aspect about it). God counters with an even more profound theme (the salvation of Christ, which brings good out of evil – “deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came”). One can understand the way Tolkien describes this if familiar with the challenges of his own life – the death of his father when he was three years old, the shunning of his mother by her family when she entered the Catholic Church, the death of his mother when he was twelve years old, his time as an orphan, the challenging courtship of the love of his life, his experience of the horrors of trench warfare as a soldier in World War I, and the death/separation of all of his close friends from the same conflict. Despite all of these sorrows and reasons for despair, Tolkien found healing and hope in the Gospel. He did not see faith as something for the faint of heart, but something that could confront real darkness and bring light.]

In the midst of this strife, whereat the halls of Iluvatar shook and a tremor ran out into the silences yet unmoved, Iluvatar arose a third time, and his face was terrible to behold. Then he raised up both his hands, and in one chord, deeper than the Abyss, higher than the Firmament, piercing as the light of the eye of Iluvatar, the Music ceased. Then Iluvatar spoke, and he said: ‘Mighty are the Ainur, and mightiest among them is Melkor; but that he may know, and all the Ainur, that I am Iluvatar, those things that ye have sung, I will show them forth, that ye may see what ye have done. And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.

[Finally, God brings the music to an end, representing the definitive plan for the course of the world. The singing represented the formation of the plan of Creation – now God will play out the music through events: Creation, the Fall, the Redemption, and the time of the Church until the end of the world. In this process, Tolkien gives a response to the problem of evil. This is seen especially in the final sentences (if it is helpful, here is a rendering in modern speech: “And you, Melkor, will see that nothing can be done that does not have its ultimate basis in me, nor can anyone change the course of events without my permission. For the one who tries to work against me, will find that I use the attempts to disrupt my plan to bring about things even more wonderful, and which the one disrupting me did not even imagine”). In this, God highlights that He will use the evil introduced by Melkor to produce greater beauty. This is where the analogy of music particularly shines – musical notes that seem to only make discord in the melody can be woven in with other notes to make a pleasing harmony. The music becomes richer for this, rather than uglier. This truth is proclaimed during the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil: “Oh happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer.” Instead of just restoring Adam and Eve to the life that they had in the Garden, God gives us a deeper, more profound share in the life of Christ on earth, and in His glory in heaven. In the end, Melkor’s plots against God only result in a greater mercy.]

I hope that this meditation is helpful for you to see the mystery of the Creation, the Fall, and the Redemption in a new light!

Christmas Images and St. John Damascene

Advent/Christmas is a time filled with images – manger scenes, the Holy Family, angels, Saint Nicholas, and many others. This is not unique to the Catholic Church, but something you see almost everywhere this time of year!

What is ironic, is that for some the Catholic use of images is in fact an obstacle and stumbling block to belief in the Church. Many believe that this violates the Old Testament prohibition: “You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the waters beneath the earth” (Exodus 20:4). How can we fill our churches with graven images, when this is specifically prohibited? The extreme view of this position is called iconoclasm (literally, “image breaking”). It is the belief that all forms of images are against the teaching of the Scriptures and the respect due to God, and must be removed or destroyed.

Therefore, I think that it is very fitting that we always celebrate the feast of St John Damascene (Dec. 4th) near the beginning of Advent. He was an active writer in the early 700’s at a time when iconoclasm was very strong. In his writings we find a wonderful defense of the practice of sacred images – seeing them not as an obstacle to authentic worship, but a powerful aid!

First, the extreme position against images is not even a fair interpretation of the Old Testament. Just five chapters after the supposed prohibition against all graven images, God commands that the Israelites make images of the cherubim (a type of angel) to be placed on the Ark of the Covenant: “Make two cherubim of beaten gold for the two ends of the cover” (Exodus 25:18). Likewise, wooden statues of the cherubim are included in the construction of the Temple in Jerusalem: “In the inner sanctuary he made two cherubim, each ten cubits high, made of pine.” (1 Kings 6:23). Thus, the Old Testament does not forbid the creation of all sacred images, but only in the narrower sense of ones specifically worshipped in place of God (i.e., idols). As Catholics, we do not worship the saints in place of God, but rather see them as living brothers and sisters near to the Lord – “He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive” (Luke 20:38). We give thanks for the grace of God at work in them, and ask them to pray for us.

Second, St John Damascene specifically draws out the way that things have changed after the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity- Jesus taking on human nature in the womb of the Virgin Mary, true God and true man. Many of the Old Testament laws were connected to the particular time and situation, or as a preparation toward later fulfillment. There are many times that Jesus declares this about Old Testament teaching: 

  • “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’… [and] ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5: 38, 43-44).
  • “He said to them, ‘Are even you likewise without understanding? Do you not realize that everything that goes into a person from outside cannot defile…’ Thus he declared all foods clean.” (Mark 7:18-19). 
  • “Because of the hardness of your hearts Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but from the beginning it was not so.” (Matthew 19:8). 

In each of these cases, Jesus speaks of an Old Testament teaching that was pointing toward a deeper fulfillment, not one that was binding for all time. Many other examples could be found – for example, the animal sacrifices in the Temple.

Along this line, St John Damascene pointed out that when the “Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:15), God made a living image of Himself. Jesus says, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). The prophet Isaiah speaks of the way that the Messiah will remove what veils God: “On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations” (Isaiah 25:7). Indeed, we see this at the death of Christ on the Cross: “And behold, the veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom” (Matthew 27:51).

For all of these reasons, it is a mistake to take an overly strict interpretation of the prohibition against images in the Old Testament. I provide these abundant Scriptural references, since the attack against Catholic sacred images is often motivated by a desire to be faithful to what the Bible teaches. We can see that the Scriptures themselves teach us that God has reached out to us in a new way. The New Testament proclaims a closeness to God. Saints or sacred images do not keep us from seeing the glory of God as if they were competing lights, but rather they are mirrors that reflect the divine goodness in radiant beauty. It is a wonderful practice during Advent and Christmas to spend time praying in front of the art of the season, calling to mind more and more deeply the presence of God in our lives!

Mr Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore

“Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore” (a 2012 novel by Robin Sloan) came to me just at the right time – and for that I thank my godmother! I had been looking for a new audiobook and received the recommendation just before Holy Week. The book itself is a lot of fun – a fictional story about a set of adventures by a character named Clay Jannon. Clay works in the modern-day California tech industry, but ends up taking a job at the titular bookstore. It has a very small selection of normal books up front, and then a massive set of secret shelves behind. Only an eccentric group of patrons are allowed access to this back section, and their study demands 24-hour access. Clay naturally begins to look into this mystery, and a rollicking adventure ensues. 

While the tone of this book is a bit irreverent (probably a PG-13 rating), it gets into deeper themes that I think were particularly striking during Holy Week. I’d like to share two reflections on it. The first will avoid spoilers, while the second does contain some spoilers to the conclusion (I’ll put a warning before you get to that point!).

First point: Early on, Mr Penumbra explains that the secret section is for those who are committed to “reading deeply.” This was striking since during Holy Week I try to spend extra time in “lectio divina,” which refers to the prayerful reading of the Sacred Scripture. The goal in this practice is not to get through as much Scripture as possible, but to get as much out of Scripture as possible. It involves reflection, conversation with God, and openness to the voice of God speaking within us.

“Reading deeply” can also apply by analogy to what we hear or see. The challenge is not to let words simply go in one ear and out the other, but to let them take root and bear fruit. Holy Week includes many of the greatest liturgies of the year – Palm Sunday, the Chrism Mass, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, and Easter Sunday. At times our mind can be in a million places, and rather than “praying deeply,” we are just counting down the minutes until we are done. If we do this we miss out on the particular grace that the sacraments have to draw us into the mystery of redemption. Thus, “reading deeply” was a perfect piece of advice for Holy Week!

[Warning – spoilers to follow!]

Second point: The second relevant theme of the book was immortality. The readers who Clay meets at Mr Penumbra’s bookstore are seeking some hidden secret of eternal life in the “Codex Vitae” (ie, “book of life”) of the founder of their order. They believe information is encoded in the writing that will point to some key insight from medieval alchemy. Likewise, Clay’s friends in the tech world are seeking immortality through virtual reality and AI. Both groups are trying to overcome the limits of this life. They want more than a temporary reality that eventually fades away. Sloan points out a more satisfying solution than the two above, but he stops short of really asking the religious question. Is our desire for life in abundance ultimately hopeless, or are there any foundations for a hope that does not disappoint? Once again, this point is brought home powerfully in the liturgies of Holy Week. I’ll end with this reflection from the Scriptures-

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who in his great mercy gave us a new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you who by the power of God are safeguarded through faith, to a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the final time. In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Although you have not seen him you love him; even though you do not see him now yet believe in him, you rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, as you attain the goal of [your] faith, the salvation of your souls.” (1 Peter 1:3-9)

The Upside Down

[Note: this post has very mild spoilers for the first season of Stranger Things]

I’m currently watching the newest season of Stranger Things on Netflix (Season 4), which reminded me of something I had thought about posting back when the first season aired. In the first season a lot of the mystery centers upon something called “the Upside Down.” What is it, and what threat does it pose? It proves to be a sort of parallel dimension to earth, with everything twisted in a dark direction (hence the name). The objects of this world appear dark, corroded, and suffused with a sinister miasma. It is cold and largely devoid of life, leaving those that find their way there isolated and alone. What life they do encounter is monstrous and desires to consume them, body and soul. These monsters stalk along right next to us in this life, hidden from sight but hunting for a place to break through and attack. The Upside Down is a terrifying place!

What struck me about this is how it actually gives us an insight into heaven, although in an inverted way. Heaven is often thought of as far away and unconnected to this life. However, this is not what our faith teaches. St Paul quotes a poem to describe our connection to God: “in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). Heaven right now is a spiritual existence – meaning non-material and therefore not visible, yet one that permeates this reality. We often picture it as geographically located above us (the words “heaven” or “cielo” point to the sky), but in fact this is just an analogy used as a crutch to help us imagine it.

Heaven can be seen as the complete right-ordering of this world, “the Right-side Up” in contrast to “the Upside Down.” It is a place of light and warmth. It is a place of communion with God and the angels/saints. These are not monsters seeking to destroy us, but helpers close at hand to lend aid. As the Letter to the Hebrews says, we are “surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses” (12:1).

One place that we experience this in a particular way is in the celebration of the Mass – which in the Eastern Church is often called “the Divine Liturgy.” Here we enter into the proximity of earth and heaven in a way that strongly echoes an inverse of the Upside Down. We have the chance to encounter a break-through of grace into this world and a foretaste of the good things to come.

Spending time in the “Right-side Up” (whether during Mass or in personal prayer) can also help us to see this world more clearly. GK Chesterton invokes a similar image in writing about the life of St Francis of Assisi. St Francis had been drawn during his conversion process to spend some time living in a cave and dedicated to prayer/reflection. Chesterton describes him as coming out of the cave “walking on his hands,” seeing the world upside down. The things he used to trust in (eg wealth) he now sees as precarious. For example, a large castle might seem sturdy and trustworthy, but when viewed upside down it seems to be hanging and likely to fall. In contrast, the things that Francis used to doubt (faith and charity) seem to be the most secure things.

The band Mumford and Sons actually incorporated this Chesterton quote into their song “The Cave,” expressing it this way: “So come out of your cave walking on your hands, and see the world hanging upside down. You can understand dependence when you know the Maker’s land.” A glimpse of heaven (the Right-side Up, the “Maker’s Land”) helps us to better see this world. It helps us to understand the closeness of God, even when we do not perceive it. Likewise, it helps us to better grasp the Communion of Saints. To quote the opening prayer from the recent feast of Corpus Christi, may this meditation help us – especially in the Mass – to “experience in ourselves the fruits of [our] redemption,” and the closeness of the Kingdom!

Moon Knight, Loneliness, and its Opposite

[This first section contains only very minor spoilers for Moon Knight, I’ll warn when we move to the spoiler-heavy section!]

The recent “Moon Knight” Marvel television series begins with an excerpt from the song “A Man Without Love” by Engelbert Humperdinck. It fittingly takes a moment to play the first part that references “Moonlight,” and then jumps to the chorus as the main character awakens: “Every day I wake up, then I start to break up. Lonely is a man without love.”

I thought it was fitting to write a short reflection on this theme as we celebrate Trinity Sunday! The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are one God in three Persons, and we are created in the image and likeness of this triune God. God, therefore, is a communion of Persons, which points to the fact that we are created for communion with God and for community. Loneliness seems to be an inverse illustration of this truth, as its painfulness highlights that something essential is lacking. The amount of fellowship desired may vary by personality, but faith and practice show that at our root we are social creatures. On this point, I first want to spend a little time exploring the concept of loneliness (including in the context of marriage/celibacy), and then briefly apply these concepts to the plot of Moon Knight.

Interestingly enough, the above-mentioned song doesn’t describe loneliness as the mere absence of people. It says, “Lonely is a man without love.” The presence of others can in fact heighten the experience of loneliness if a person doesn’t feel a sense of love or connection. A person may feel alone at a party, in class, or at work – despite the presence of many people around them. A lack of authentic community in many cases can be what pushes a person to seek out unhealthy sources of connection/coping (e.g., toxic people, selfishness, addiction).

On the other hand, a person that has a sense of love may be able to endure physical separation from others as a peaceful solitude instead of painful isolation. Silence forms a space for reflection and rest rather than a reason for fear and escape.

Often I encounter the assumption that celibacy (i.e., not marrying to embrace a religious vocation) necessarily leads to loneliness. However, as mentioned above, I think this is a misunderstanding of the cause of loneliness. This is not to say that loneliness never enters in or that it doesn’t present challenges in some ways. Yet, marriage is not an automatic way to avoid loneliness either. At times married couples experience a break down in relationship such that they feel as if they are strangers living in the same building. They may glide along on the natural proximity of life or on physical intimacy without developing a more profound bond. Circumstances may change, and their foundations seem to fall away.

Therefore, in whatever state of life – married, single, celibate – relationship proves to be something that must be actively fostered rather than something to be taken for granted and assumed to naturally develop. CS Lewis gives a helpful articulation of four types of love – family, friendship, romantic, and spiritual. Each of these has its unique forms of expression, but each is a pathway to the community for which we were made. Divine love (Lewis uses the word “agape”) provides a foundation that gives a basis to deepen and support the other relationships in our life.

Celibacy does involve the sacrifice of a particular type of closeness and intimacy. However, it does not mean the loss of profound relationships. From my own experience I can testify that it is a path to joy and meaning. Something is set aside, but something is also gained. There is a freedom to delve into the spiritual life and to connect with families/friends across a broad range that isn’t possible with the particular commitment of marriage. There is a capacity for solidarity with the struggles of those who for whatever reason never married or are widows/widowers, and a chance for additional service to others. Celibacy and marriage are complementary vocations rather than in competition. Marriage reminds us of the call to love, and celibacy shows that this love must move beyond merely the physical in order to grow and be sustained. If each vocation offers a challenge, they also offer opportunities to live our calling to divine love.

[Spoiler warning! This is where my comments switch back to Moon Knight. This will spoil major plot points of the show]

It’s no accident that Moon Knight begins by invoking the concept of loneliness. The show explores the impact of this in many different ways.

The first striking realization is that the main character is dealing with some sort of split-personality syndrome. What is driving this? Ultimately it is revealed that the situation developed out of a breakdown in family life. The main character was accidentally responsible for the death of his brother, and this caused his mother to effectively reject him. The split in personality developed to deal with the pain of losing this love. There is an interesting parallel with the Trinity here as you see the same dynamic of multiple persons, but it is one that grows out of trauma. It is connection outside of the self that can bring healing.

A second aspect of the main character is that he has undertaken service to the spirit of Khonshu, an Egyptian deity bent on punishing evildoers (reminder, this is a show based on a comic book!). At first this seems noble, but later it proves to be toxic in its own way. Khonshu is manipulative of him, and able to prey on the character’s wounds and guilt to get him to do what he wants. When someone makes an idol of a relationship (here this happens both literally and figuratively!) then they open the way to disillusionment, addiction, use, or abuse.

Last, we learn that one of the split personalities has married. In the course of the show the wife realizes how much has been hidden from her and how little she really knows her husband. The bond helps alleviate the main character’s pain in some way, but is not a healthy relationship and needs healing as well.

I won’t reveal the ending of the series or to what extent these tensions are resolved. They highlight something important, though, and I hope these reflections may be helpful in pondering this aspect of the human condition. When we experience the pain of loneliness we are tempted to run away in the quickest way possible, often in unhealthy ways. Yet, love grows to maturity by letting the grace of God, family, friends, or a spouse sustain us in the moments that we struggle. St Augustine wrote, “[God], you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” This restlessness/loneliness is an invitation to develop connections, deepen bonds, and seek more established foundations to our life. Those who have experienced the fruits of this process can make the words of the steward at the wedding feast of Cana their own: “You have saved the good wine until now” (John 2:10).

Back to blogging – 5th anniversary!

Well, it has been a little over a year, but I’m ready to get back to blogging. I started this page for Pentecost of 2017 as a way to expand my digital outreach. This format gives me a chance to dig more deeply into topics that I am preaching about, as well as a place to put down other thoughts I may want to share. With the sudden passing of my father last May and the busy school year that followed I have drifted away from taking the time to write. Even before that my writing had been sporadic, and so I thank everyone that has stuck with me!

Lately I’ve again been feeling the desire to share some thoughts on things that I’ve been reading/watching (in line with the “Imagination in Action” reflections I had been posting last Lent/Easter). A large inspiration for this blog (including the quote on the sidebar that gives an explanation of the word “lore”) is the writing of JRR Tolkien. In one of his letters, he wrote: “After all, I believe that legends and myths are largely made of ‘truth’, and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode.” My next series of posts will be centered on looking at ways that some modern stories can help us to see the world with new eyes. This power of imagination lets us conceive of new ways of seeing our present world, and I hope inspires us to live with a renewed purpose and clarity. May God bless all that read these reflections, and please pray for me as well!

A Canticle for Leibowitz

[Week 10 of the Imagination in Action reflection series. Theme this week: the Teaching of the Apostles]

What will the world look like in 600 years? Walter Miller approaches not only this question in “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” but also what the world will look like 600 years after that… and 600 years after that! Originally published in 1959, this novel is drawn from three short stories he had written for a sci-fi magazine. Taken together they give a speculative view to the future that has deep resonance with the past.

Miller’s story is set in a post-apocalyptic society brought about by nuclear war. Beyond the destruction caused by the bombs themselves, this had led to a strong backlash against all technology. During a period called “the Simplification” books were destroyed and scientists hunted down as criminals. One scientist – Isaac Leibowitz – had found refuge in a Cistercian monastery (a Catholic religious order developed from the Rule of St Benedict). He ultimately chose to enter the monastery and dedicate himself to the preservation of knowledge, becoming a “booklegger.” Leibowitz eventually founded the Albertian Order to continue this mission.

The first section of “A Canticle for Leibowtiz” picks up 600 years after this backstory. It is now the 26th century and the world is still largely in chaos. The Albertian Order continues its work of preserving knowledge. They have stored up not only religious knowledge, but all the aspects of scientific and artistic knowledge that they could as well. The next section jumps forward 600 years to 3174 AD. A new Renaissance has broken out with the re-invention of electricity drawn from the Albertian Order’s knowledge. Finally, the novel concludes with a section set in the year 3781 AD in which the world is once again on the brink of nuclear war (I’ll stop the recap here to avoid spoiling the ending!). Utilizing this structure allows Miller to look at the way some things change and others stay the same, with a dazzling scope of action.

Miller’s choice of structure was hardly random. The author had participated in the World War II battle of Monte Cassino in 1944. This mountain in Italy held a monastery founded by St Benedict in 529 AD. It was not in use during the time of the battle, and was destroyed because it was suspected of providing cover for Axis troops. The battle was a traumatic experience for Miller and inspired the plot of the Canticle. He sought to draw a parallel with the life of the abbey in the three sections of the book. Benedict had founded this monastery during the decline of the Roman Empire, and the monastic tradition stood as a strong barrier to the loss of knowledge during the “Dark Age” of the barbarians. The printing press was not invented until the 1400’s, and so a large reason that we have much of the knowledge of antiquity that we do is on account of monks copying texts by hand. As in the novel, in this way the Church preserved both theological texts and the classical works that formed the foundation of the renewal brought by organizations such as the University of Paris, the Dominicans, and the Franciscans in the 13th century. From here was sparked the Renaissance and the development to the modern period, which had led to World War II and the Cold War in the time during which Miller wrote his book.

These parallels direct us to reflect on cycles of history. What do we learn from the past, and what does this knowledge get us? War had shown Miller the way that advanced knowledge did not necessarily lead to a better society. However, he did not see the answer in the type of “simplification” he portrays in the novel (seeking to destroy the past), but by trying to return to the sources of knowledge for insight on how to build a better world. Miller had been drawn to become a Catholic after his experience in the battle of Monte Cassino. Although the Church is often portrayed as an opponent to knowledge, he had seen that this is not truly borne out in a study of history. He saw the positive commitment to the preservation of wisdom in the monks of St Benedict, as well as theologians such as St Albert the Great (a Dominican master of theology and the natural sciences, and the source of the name of the Order that Leibowitz founds in the novel). In fact, the Church sees both faith and human reason as avenues provided by God to reach truth (St John Paul II used the image of the two wings that lead a bird to flight). They enlighten one another, and only come in conflict when one is distorted in contrast to the other.

For this reason, I think study actually proves to be a key aspect of the spiritual life. Faith is not an enemy to the life of the mind. Although “study” may give the sense of boring “book learning,” this is a reductive view of the term. Instead, I think it is best to see it as taking time to place ourselves in contact with the gift of wisdom present in the thought of others. The Holy Spirit speaks in a unique way in the inspired Scriptures, but we believe has not abandoned us after that! Christ desired that the Gospel would continue to be present to us throughout time, and if this were dependent upon the teaching of the human members of the Church alone we would be in serious trouble! The Holy Spirit is the breath of the Body of Christ (the Church) and continues to provide life to the Church’s voice. When we turn to the writings of the Church and the saints we have the chance to encounter the Holy Spirit at work. Spiritual study provides fuel to the mind and heart so that the fire of our love can continue to burn. I have certainly found this true in my own life – it sparks reflection, deepened prayer, and new inspiration for action.

We have more opportunities than ever to encounter the living tradition of knowledge. This type of “spiritual reading” can take the form of reading a book, listening to a podcast, or watching a video series. A great parish resource we use is formed.org, filled with a large range of different media options. How can we in our own lives make time for this type of study, and through it give the Holy Spirit room to speak?

The Stormlight Archive

[Week 9 of the Imagination in Action reflection series. Theme this week: the Eucharist]

The Stormlight Archive is a series of books within Brandon Sanderson’s “Cosmere” universe, an epic fantasy like Lord of the Rings, Wheel of Time, or The Kingkiller Chronicle. It is a genre of writing I have really enjoyed since junior high/high school, and I find Sanderson’s work to be some of the best developed that I have read. I highly recommend it if this type of writing is of interest to you! I’ll try to avoid spoilers as much as possible, since part of what I like in the series is the gradual revelation of the backstory and powers.

What I want to highlight is a moment in which one of the characters is able to unite the three “realms” of the Cosmere (physical, mental, and spiritual). A “perpendicularity” is created in which the real world of thought as well as the divine power in the spiritual realm are made present to people of flesh and blood. This unleashes a great source of strength and transformation.

Looking at this from the perspective of a priest, it reminds me of the classic description of the celebration of the Mass/Eucharist as uniting the three elements of the Church: those on earth, souls in purgatory, and those in heaven (God, angels, and saints). Likewise, it reminds me of the way that in the Upper Room we have the connection of the Last Supper (with its reference to the Cross), the Resurrection appearance of Jesus, and the gift of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. Understanding the way that these aspects are connected is essential to realizing what is really happening when we celebrate Mass.

From the beginning we see the Apostles continue the celebration of the Last Supper, often referred to as celebrating the “breaking of the bread” in the Acts of the Apostles. At times the Scriptures speak of fellowship meals, but here is another type of celebration that is more than this. A study of the sixth chapter of the Gospel of John, the appearance on the road to Emmaus, or the writings of early Christians like St Justin Martyr show the difference. It is a sacrament – an outward sign instituted by Christ and entrusted to the Church to give grace. It makes present the power of the Cross, the Resurrection, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. We become partakers with the celebration of the “wedding feast of the Lamb” going on in heaven (as described in the book of Revelation). Likewise, it unites us with the celebration of the Mass throughout the world. In a sense there is just “one” Mass that we all enter into when present at an individual celebration – a collection of timeless moments condensed into time.

While in the Stormlight Archive the uniting of realms is something spectacular that no one can miss, this is not necessarily the case for us! Sometimes Mass is a transcendent moment, but other times we find ourselves tired, bored, or distracted. Perhaps the preaching is not great or something goes wrong with the music. A child is misbehaving or the heating is not right and we are shivering/sweating and can’t focus. For this reason I think it is important to continue to return to a remembrance of what lies under the surface. Underneath all of the human elements is what Christ entrusted to us – His perfect act of love for God and humanity; the offer of divine grace in our need; communion with God and the threefold Church. As imperfect as our participation may seem, we unite it with Christ’s prayer so that it transcends our limitations. It is a great thing to compose our own personal prayer or song in praise of the Lord, but nothing can rival offering the very celebration He asked for in the Last Supper (“do this in memory of me”). A perfect gift is based on the desire of the one receiving the gift rather than the one giving the gift. Therefore there is nothing better to offer to God on the Lord’s day than this!

The transcendent nature of this celebration is both a consolation and a challenge in this time of pandemic. It is a consolation because it means it is more than a local human celebration, and so we can join in spiritually even when unable to participate in person. A “spiritual Communion” is the practice of uniting our heart and soul to a celebration of the Mass when something impedes us from the opportunity to attend (or if we are able to attend but have a reason we are not able to receive Communion at that time). Watching a celebration on tv or online can help us to enter in more fully. If that doesn’t work, we can come up with other ways to do the best we can. This is one part of the challenge the pandemic presents – creativity in how to stay connected spiritually when separated physically. The other aspect of the challenge is discovering ways for as many to celebrate safely in person as possible. Keeping in mind the centrality of this sacrament invites us to put our imagination into action and seek anew the grace God desires to give!

Avengers: Endgame

[Week 8 of the Imagination in Action reflection series. Theme this week: Fellowship/Community]

I think it is highly significant that Avengers: Endgame (the epic sequel to Avengers: Infinity War) was released April 26, 2019. This was the weekend of Divine Mercy Sunday, and I see mercy as one of its major themes. Although I do not think this connection was intentional, I want to look at how the movie portrays two different approaches to mercy, and hence two different approaches to society. Warning: major spoilers if you still haven’t seen these movies!

The main villain of Infinity War/Endgame is Thanos, a powerful being that is seeking the Infinity Stones. With these he hopes to gain the power to destroy half of all life in the galaxy so that the other half can thrive. He is noble and articulate, and sees this as a sacrifice that he has to make for those that are not strong enough to do so. His approach resonated with some who saw this as a logical solution to overpopulation. Thanos expected to watch the sun rise on a grateful universe after he accomplished his goal. Wasn’t it a mercy to remove so much competition for resources?

I think this way of thinking illustrates what Pope John Paul II called the “culture of death” in his encyclical Evangelium Vitae (“The Gospel of Life”). The culture of death is rooted in a vision of others as competitors/enemies, and leads to the destruction or exploitation of the weak by the strong. John Paul contrasts it with the “culture of life,” which is rooted in respecting the dignity of others and building up resources for those in need. Thanos’ name derives from the Greek word for “death,” and he embodies it well. For example, he never even addresses the possibility of using his great power to double the resources of the universe rather than destroy half of the life. He seems to have the same blind spot as Malthus – an 18th century English writer that predicted an upcoming famine due to lack of resources. Malthus could not see the possibilities of improved farming techniques and other changes that would be able to provide for the future needs of the people. What seemed logical to him in fact failed to account for the creative power present within society.

Mercy, then, has a positive meaning in a culture of life (rather than just “mercy killing”). Here it indicates the readiness to give of oneself to provide for those in need. We see this type of mercy in the Avengers, who do not “trade lives” of others for their own benefit, but are willing to give of themselves to protect others. In the end, it is their effort at restoring what Thanos had destroyed that creates the “grateful universe” he had hoped to create.

This positive sense of “mercy” is essential to building true community (what the New Testament calls “koinonia,” authentic fellowship). Without it, other people become threats. John Paul II saw the fruit of the culture of death in exploitation, abortion, euthanasia, and “structures of sin.” Divine mercy, however, encounters us with saving and transforming grace, and then impels us to bring this new life into the world. It challenges us to build up life rather than destroying it. We find here the logic of the Resurrection, in which life appears where death was expected. What we may see as an impossible situation in fact has avenues of hope that have not been imagined.

The early Christians are described as devoting themselves to this type of fellowship (Acts 2:42). They allowed grace to transform not just their individual life, but their family and “church” life as well. From there, they sought to extend this new life into the world through works of mercy. Embracing the culture of life is as challenging as changing the world, but as easy as thinking about the way we are living today. The Gospel invites us to turn away from the limited thinking of death and to embrace the possibilities of life. Here we will find that fellowship that makes us whole.