Self-referential Incoherence

I saw the video posted below on the blog Return to Rome and absolutely had to share it. Deepak Chopra is a modern 'spiritual' guru who has contributed substantially to the current obsession with being "Spiritual but not Religious." He's written the book on it. (Quite a few, actually.) A fundamental tenant of said movement is that clinging to specific creeds or beliefs is unimportant and, at worst, dangerous to genuine spiritual growth. But any remotely reasonable person who looks at that tenant will recognize that it, too, is a creed, a belief. So that leaves the entire movement in a mire of self-refuting, vapid nonsense... which is not a foundation on which I would want to build anything, let alone my spiritual life.

But yes, the man in the red shirt is my hero for the day.

The Glories of Upstate New York

For as long as I can remember I've had a deep appreciation for natural beauty. Growing up, I was always fascinated by animals, captivated by sunsets, and would gladly spend hours romping around in the woods. So thinking that the Finger Lakes and the rolling hills of the Chemung Valley were astonishingly beautiful as I was growing up was nothing out of the ordinary. But it was only after leaving the area for school and other travels that I recognized within myself a new appreciation for the simple beauty that this region of the country so consistently provides every season of the year.

Seneca Lake from Watkins Glen

So it was a great delight to find another "evangelist" for upstate New York in Thomas Merton. As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm chipping away at his spiritual classic The Seven Storey Mountain during lunch breaks and the like. Currently, Merton is telling of his years in graduate school and, specifically, about a trip he and his friends had taken to Olean (near Buffalo) via train from Columbia University. It was with a certain sense of pride--and gratitude to God--that I read the following passage:

"For the first time I saw a part of the world in which I was one day going to learn how to be very happy--and that day was not now very far away.

It is the association of that happiness which makes upper New York state seem, in my memory, to be so beautiful. But it is objectively so, there is no doubt of that. Those deep valleys and miles and miles of high, rolling wooded hills: the broad fields, the big red barns, the white farm houses and the peaceful towns: all this looked more and more impressive and fine in the long slanting rays of the sinking sun after we had passed Elmira.

And you began to get some of the feeling of the bigness of America, and to develop a continental sense of the scope of the country and of the vast, clear sku, as the train went on for mile after mile, and hour after hour. And the color, the freshness, and bigness, and richness of the land! The cleanness of it. The wholesomeness. This was new and yet it was old country. It was mellow country. It had been clearned and settled for much more than a hundred years."

Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain (Harvest Press, 1998: p.219)

Thomas Merton (1915-1968)

Haiku Anthology #1

Now, I'm definitely not "all in" when it comes to the whole Twitter craze. But I have jumped on the bandwagon. As you may know, Twitter allows you to post short status updates, so long as they are under 140 characters in length. Thinking that I was being original, I therefore started using Twitter as a place to write Haikus, a Japanese poetic style traditionally comprised of three lines of five, seven, and five syllables. But many others noticed Twitter and the haiku's synergy well before I did. I wrote a poem about it, anyway:

It seems like Twitter
was created for Haikus
like Eve for Adam.

Thanks to my smartphone many of these haikus were conceived while at work and delivered kicking and screaming into the world-wide-web shortly thereafter. (A good number relate to my job as well...) Each haiku can be found, in its original habitat, on my Twitter feed which you can view and access via the link on the right-hand column of this blog.  Enjoy!

I.

Puppies in the sun.
From the shade my eyes relish
July 4th hot dogs.


II.

Here's the funny thing:
I love the sun more due to
air conditioning.


III.

Coos and toothless smiles
wrapped in a diaper, pink-bowed.
Our Liana Rose.


IV.

Haikus are easy
and very overrated
but I haiku on.


V.

Working all day long
when I could be imbibing
the Wine Festival.


VI.

"Roast beef" sounds tasty,
but "ground beef" sounds muddy and
unsanitary.


VII.

Dogs crap everywhere.
But I, like the Poopsmith, scoop
in gallant silence.

The Single Hauz

May I introduce to you the Single Hauz:

How great would it be to have one of these on the shore of Seneca Lake? I'm not sure I could actually live in one, but as a modern getaway it would be ideal, I think.

I'm not sure what it is, but there's something in me that just loves the idea of having a small, private place to call my own. Maybe it's that "man-cave" instinct all guys seem to have.

As the architects say on their website, the concept of a Single Hauz is meant to fill a domicile "gap," allowing a single person to own a home that isn't meant for a family. It recognizes that marriage and family are no longer "the only way of life" and attempts to artistically meet the need of the single, contemporary "Western Man."

Meeting needs is all well and good. I know I'd at least try living in one given the chance. I just cringe a bit when Western Man is idealized as the free, detached bachelor; a monad who has no need of others--least of all a wife and children--and strives to float, even in his home, above it all. Does that mean everyone interested in a Single Hauz wants to be this kind of Nietzschean "overman"? No. But it's just somewhat troubling that we often look in that direction as an ideal. We Americans have it ingrained in us at an early stage that there's something perfect about being beholden to no one, utterly free, an able to determine everything on one's own. E pluribis, unum. Luckily, reality has a way of neutering such ideas.

I'm not saying that the architects are necessarily encouraging that worldview, either. Frankly, I just think it would be fun to have a Single Hauz. It's like an adult treehouse. While floating a few feet over streets and other homes, it's nevertheless planted firmly in the ground. It looks like a place where you could get your bearings, rest, and take a deep breath of fresh air before ultimately descending the stairs and re-entering the hustle-and-bustle of daily life.

I'm also pretty sure the design is merely "concept art," as I haven't found any pictures online of built, extant Single Hauzes, but a man can dream...

What's the big deal about relics?

According to a report from the Boston Globe, a relic of the True Cross was stolen from Holy Cross Cathedral in Boston on the night of June 30th. The relic had been in the diocese since the late 18th century and belonged to the first bishop of Boston, Rev. Jean-Louis Lefebvre de Cheverus. Housed in a small reliquary at the base of a crucifix in the Church's Eucharistic Adoration chapel (pictured left), the reliquary had been pried open and the relic removed.

I was shocked to see this story as a major headline on CNN.com. I'm sure for many the word "relic" was of no general interest, as most people (to the shame of us Catholics) are completely unaware of the rich traditions surrounding relics in the Church. For all those unfamiliar with the Church's beliefs concerning relics, the brief explanations given by the Archdiocese of Boston certainly helped to emphasize the tragedy of the event. But, as I'll explain, the tragedy is hardly an insurmountable one.

Here's my angle:

Using Catholic Churchspeak, relics are physical objects that once belonged to--or were closely associated with--Jesus or the Saints and, as such, are used as aids in prayer and contemplation. In other words they are "sacramentals," physical signs that, while not Sacraments proper, help the faithful to grow in the life of Grace.

But to say that relics are a purely Catholic phenomenon is to do them an injustice, I think. The use of relics is a human phenomenon, and if we don't understand this human element first, how can we possibly understand how they work when "baptized" by Christianity? It's easy to dismiss them as being unimportant and trivial if we can simply compartmentalize them as "religious things," as if they have no relation whatsoever to regular, human life. But when we recognize that "relics" are a part of how we interact with the world and with how we connect to our past, their "elevation" into the religious sphere of our life becomes comprehensible and thoroughly reasonable.

Look around the room that you're in right now. I'm sure that you're surrounded by mementos: seashells from your last trip to the beach; photos of loved ones alive or dead; souvenirs, keepsakes and gifts. I know from where I'm sitting I can see a picture of my family and me on a boat in Poland, a large empty bottle of Red Cat wine and a worn old Frisbee. And while I don't claim that those objects have any sort of "energy" or "power" in-and-of-themselves, I am very comfortable saying that each of them has the power to evoke a strong bond with my past. The ability to have them, to hold them, or even to gaze at them from afar creates a palpable link with those events and people. Are we completely disconnected from our past without them? Absolutely not. But it's wonderful to have them. Our fascination with photos, museums and archaeology are just a few examples of our obsession with, well, "relics." And if we understand this aspect of our humanity, the Catholic Church's understanding of relics is cast in a much more reasonable light.

I own a relic. I have a piece of one of Mother Theresa of Calcutta's veils. (Pictured on the right: the little white circle to the left of my finger.) And while I never had the opportunity to meet the woman, I can tell you that simply having a piece of one of her garments makes her feel significantly closer to me than if I did not. And that emotive response is something familiar from the experience of any memento. Its physical presence (its look, its feel, its smell, etc.) evokes in us a deeper understanding that places us in a much closer relationship with the reality it represents. For all Christians, this close relationship really becomes even closer. We believe that when we are Baptized, we become members of the Body of Christ. That is, we share in a loving, living communion that stretches through time and space, and even beyond the threshold of death. So for the Catholic woman clutching her relic of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, she not only feels closer to St. Thérèse, she mysteriously is closer. Like any beloved memento, Catholic relics are safeguarded and venerated for their ability to link us to these real, physical Champions of the Faith who 'ran the race' and 'fought the good fight,' years before we did.

But relics of the True Cross bring us into near-physical contact with the Savior Himself. The True Cross is, tradition holds, THE cross on which Christ was crucified. St. Helena (d. 330), Constantine's mother, was given a vision that compelled her to travel to the Holy Land and to discover the Cross of Christ. A piece of the cross remained in Jerusalem in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (first commissioned by St. Helena) and the rest brought to Constantine in Constantinople. Through history the Cross was divided throughout Christendom, with at least one piece making its way to Boston in the 18th Century.

The small slivers of wood purportedly from The Cross are powerful mementos of an historical event that took place nearly two millenia ago. To those who desire it, relics of the True Cross bring them to that moment in time when God died, and death with Him. And because Christians believe that His body was raised triumphantly from death, drawing close to the cross on which He died is almost as good as it gets. 

All the stories report that the parishioners are not only praying for the relic's return, but are also praying for the one(s) who stole it. In this video story from CNN, I think Sr. Claire O'Rourke beautifully encapsulates an authentic Catholic response to the entire tragedy:

"We forgive people who do things like this. As long as they didn't touch the Blessed Sacrament, that is of essence to us. That's the Real Presence, and that's why we come to Mass."

That's why even relics of the True Cross are only "almost" as good as it gets. Relics, like those photos of loved ones, are not the people they represent. While they can be lost, stolen or destroyed, the person--or at least their memory--lives on. But for Catholics especially, Christ becomes truly, physically present in the consecrated bread and wine at Mass. The celebration of the Eucharist isn't merely a memento, it's quite literally a re-presentation of Christ and His loving sacrifice. He becomes total, personal, physical Presence. When Catholics receive the Eucharist, we are not making "near-physical" contact with the Lord, but genuine physical contact. The mementos are only there to help us better appreciate that Reality!

But the upshot is this: "relics" and mementos are important because they allow more than just our minds to make contact with the past. They facilitate a deeper emotional bond with people and places removed from us in either time or space. It is absolutely a tragedy that the people of Holy Cross and the Archdiocese of Boston have had such a precious relic stolen from their church. But while His cross might be missing, they've still got Christ. And that, in the end, is all that matters.

The Green Hornet!

I'm a sucker for superhero movies. You can basically bank on the fact that if a new superhero movie is being released, I'll be there on opening night, and if it's still in production I'm reading about it. It's not true across the board of course (Jonah Hex??), but it's a pretty safe bet. I just love 'em.

There's something satisfying about seeing a comic book character "translated" to the big screen, whether it's done well or not. If nothing else, it gives me something to critique and an opportunity to be creative: "How would I have made that film better?" But it's enormously satisfying to see it done right (The Dark Knight, for instance), and even more satisfying when the filmmaker knows the character well enough to surprise you.


That, of course, is also why I'm a sucker... superhero movies have a tendency to be over simplistic and one-dimensional.  A lot of the time it feels like I'm an addict standing at the slot machines, mumbling "maybe this time I'll get what I'm paying for, maybe this time I'll win big."

A lesser known superhero will be making a comeback in January of next year: The Green Hornet. I've been following the production of this film for quite some time and, quite frankly, don't know why I'm so obsessed over it. As superheroes go, The Green Hornet is kinda lame: his superpowers basically consist of 1) his vast wealth and 2) his sidekick, Kato. I think the source of my otherwise inexplicable fandom is that I was introduced to the Green Hornet while I was still a kid, perhaps leading to the following rationalization: (A) The Green Hornet is a superhero (B) Superheroes are awesome (C) Therefore the Green Hornet is awesome. (When you consider that Superman and Spider-Man are also superheroes, the weak premise is clearly A.)

But I can't fight it. I'm excited to see this movie.

And here's the trailer, for your viewing pleasure:

Apparently I can blog via text messaging. This could be dangerously convenient.