Caritas in Veritate

I'm slowly reading through His Holiness' latest encyclical; I haven't read enough to comment at this point (if I comment at all), but here's the link:

http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20090629_caritas-in-veritate_en.html

Deo gratia.

-r

The Humidor

Though burning too slowly and unevenly
For my tastes,
For need of turning it over to burn it so evenly,
Even so,
All cigars are the harbingers of celebration.

--Ah-ha! this particular blue plume is beautiful!
In my estimation
In this particular space the fumes curl
Into themselves dancing into an iris of import;
The smoke transfigurates into a pregnant face.

--So if my friend comes now
Roaring around that bend in a smokestack
Van and trailer in tow in time
To see this angel's face,
I will know there is God, I will know.

--'Oh God
'If Thou wilt
'Butst deliverest my friend
'To see this bloom to-day,
'I shalt
'Becomest Thy voice to Zimbabwe . . .'

--No friend and the flower sighed out,
I hesitate in such expectation
In this space
For another bloom in the stirring of this water
For a sign for him . . .

--Oh! ELEHSON ME, Son of David! pass this way! . . .


-r

'Why Not Save Time and Not Wash Our Hands?'

'Our entire life, the whole liturgy, and everything ceremonial are symbols. If you abolish the symbols, then you tear down the walls of your own house.'

'. . .When we abolish the signs, we lose our orientation. Instead, we should search for their meaning. The signs are not to be questioned. We are.'


-A Carthusian monk outside the Grande Chartreuse, in a Sunday afternoon conversation, as documented in Into Great Silence

God Might not Have a 'Will' for Your Life

'What is God's will for my life?' As a friend has put it, if a twenty-first-century Christian were to journey through time to the ancient Israelite farmer and communicate such a loaded question, the poor Hebrew (after the initial shock) would have many questions of his own; such a strange notion would be cause for utter befuddlement. 'What does this stranger mean by "God's will"? Does s/he not know of the covenant?'

When God created the world, the ancient Hebrew and Catholic would say, God communicated His will to humanity. Namely, He told humanity: 'Go forth and multiply. Eat of any tree in the garden, but don't eat of this tree.' Speaking loosely, God had said: 'Here is the way I have created the world for you to live in it - now, go have fun in that order.' This was and is how God communicates His will for humanity throughout the ages; historically, the people of God - from the ancient Israelites to the Catholic Church - had always understood God's will as intimately bound up in God's covenantal action toward His people, in what He had ordained and established for His people. -God's 'will for your life'? God's will for your life is to love the LORD your God with your whole being, to live faithfully in Him, to love your neighbour as yourself, and to obey and serve Christ in His Church. This is God's will for your life.

We of the twentieth- and twenty-first-century Western world have largely superimposed our understandings onto the reality of God. The 'God's will for my life' philosophy had begun to arise quite a bit earlier than now, but it is accentuated by our cultural context of expansiveness. We enjoy our endless freedom and open choices but seek to go about 'divinising' them in some way. In many ways, this strange behaviour has nothing to do with the choices themselves but with the recognition that God is not typically seen as having anything to do with our choices; our historical/technological empowerment has been a sterile and philosophically agnostic enterprise. In a world in which we can be journalists or firemen, live in a condo in Boston or a house in Denver, we want to 'include' God in some way. Many - if not most - Western Christians play into the language and philosophy of God having an 'individual will' for 'my' life that goes beyond God's historical revelation. Yet this reveals more about our own unfamiliarity toward God's historical will for our lives (or perhaps our subconscious disbelief toward its comprehensive nature) than it reveals about God Himself; that is, God's will for humanity and humans - as it has been historically revealed - is not 'good' enough, is not comprehensive enough, for our liking.

The notion that we must all have a burning bush or even a modest 'peace' (as in emotional) about the choices of our lives is a recent development in the West. Not even the oft-cited mystics, to the best of my somewhat well-informed knowledge, ever supplanted God's covenantal Word with emotional connectedness or signs. In fact, in Holy Scripture, Jesus Christ our Lord warns, 'An evil and adulterous generation seeks after a sign; and a sign will not be given it, except the sign of Jonah.' The sign of Jonah - as it becomes fulfilled in the sign of the Church - has always been: 'Repent and be baptised, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.' God's will is to go about saving humans and humanity; God may not have as much concern over your choice of insurance provider as you yourself might have about the matter. Perhaps He is concerned if you are concerned, because He has shown immense concern about His creatures, but He has not necessarily geared the stars in their circles toward your choosing SafeAuto over Progressive. Perhaps if we were to truly embrace the true goodness of God's creation, as it has been historically understood - His desire for us to romp in the Garden, in His gracious covenant with His people - perhaps we would please God and live in healthy relationship toward Him and even manage to be healthy creatures in the process. To expect anything beyond this is to risk being highly presumptuous: no mortal will ever know the full extent of the mind of God.

This is not to say that there is nary a burning bush or wet fleece to be found, nor is it to say that God does not work graciously with our silly understandings of things. This is simply to say that God has already revealed His will, and we shouldn't make it an object to go searching for 'extra' signs. God is definitely gracious with our misunderstandings and works them toward His desire to save the world, whatever these misunderstandings may be (in this particular subject and in many others). God works all things together for our good, for those who love the LORD. And no one would deny that throughout history God has communicated with His people - and to particular persons - in extraordinary, supernatural means. The history of the Church is full of these blessed realities.

The problem comes when we put the cart before the horse, when we begin grasping for signs and wonders to fuel our participation in the virtue of faith. Our faith is in Jesus Christ, who has redeemed the world and established His Church; our faith is in the God who has saved the world. We have been given a New Covenant and we are to live within that covenant in faithfulness and the bestowed peace of God. If God provides you emotional peace, praise be to God. If God comes to you in a whirlwind or a writing on the wall and tells you to do whatever, praise be to God, and you should definitely grapple with that and listen. However, to make this sort of phenomenology the object of faith is to supplant what God has already historically revealed to be His will for your life. Love God, serve Him, live faithfully, love your neighbour, serve and obey His Church. This is God's will for your life.


-r

Bringing in the Sheaves. . .

Easter is upon us: Christ is risen! Allelulia!

Three more Treveccans - amongst a slew of other persons - were confirmed into the Church at the vigil. The pilgrimage home continues.

-r

The Greenway

I went to Shelby Bottom Greenway (or, as Judd calls it, 'Shelby's Bottom') on Saturday afternoon in order to write, pray, etc. People-watching came as a secondary but ultimately domineering activity. The greenway in East Nashville contrasts so starkly with 'dragon park' downtown; at the dragon park, every conceivable and embarrassing aspect of humanity parades around in front of you. It's glorious. I had actually tried to go to dragon park first, but she was already packed out to the point of no return, no room for me to write anywhere: a small birthday party flailing around in one section, balloons escaping the birthday boy's grasp; some teens at one corner standing in a circle; various children and exasperated parents blathering over the hill. There were several dogs, a few squirrels, and people of all ages romping everywhere. Dragon park is alive and takes on various expressions with the mess of humanity in her. In stark contrast, there is something sadly expected and expectable at the Greenway. It's not evil or bad; it's just East Nashville in her typical over-calculation and self-conscious sterility. She's somewhat androgynous and meticulously post-modern. Everyone who came out had one of two things in mind: bike-riding or walking a dog. There were lots of trendy cars and SUV's. When couples would show up, they would always be in the late-twenties age bracket or else over fifty. There were few kids and endless dogs whom their owners often treated like kids. Several persons offered me suspicious gazes, as though I existed as a potential threat. Again, nothing evil or bad - it's just East Nashville. I longed for someone to pop out of a station-wagon with a handful of balloons, or to show up with a bundle of embarrassing children. The Greenway just offered up a protected grin, telling me punctually about a wine-tasting event in a few weeks, and I grinned back - but I would have liked her to smile or laugh. Even so, the protected grin is part of the beautifully awkward human creature. -r

The wind-chime porch faces ocean; it stirs. The back-door cellar shivers.
Oh, don't know: it must be far past compline even, the moon slipping,
And somewhere down the evening slope the heavy conch is climbing
From retreating waves; the cellar winces, whispers,

Muffled by His own thick mould-ridden door, beside the coastal grass,
Beneath, behind the rustling shadow of the home
In which all gave of each in marriage, now asleep; the groan,
Unheard, murmurs with the conch shell's groping path

-Though, even so, the chimes of hurricanes in motion,
Men, drunken, sleep, begin to murmur in the house beside the ocean,
Conch unobserved this evening, no share of cellar-door's care spoken.


-r

Last Things, First Things, and a Monastery

A. Last Things

Allegedly, we had a tornado blow through town to-day, despite my need to write a research paper. Human energy vibrated everywhere; all the persons in the apartment building lined the hall and made noise, and some of us congregated at my patio door to watch it blow in. The sirens went off, places and things became slightly violent for awhile, we retreated indoors, and eventually the other side of the storm blew in. We humans came out all right on the other side.

It's about time for things to be finished here. Despite almost losing my mind (literally) on a few occasions as well as wondering if I could keep on 'keeping on' in these nominally helpful studies, praise God our Father, the other side has finally blown in. There are still assignments to be finished - and there is always room for practise in the virtues of patience, courage, and humility - but I can already feel the gentler side of the storm easing this way. It will be good to complete this chapter.


B. First Things

Besides being an interesting periodical, it's about time for healthy daily rubrics. My mental processes have gradually unravelled, on and off again, in each semester, in the last three-and-a-half years. Part of the relief of the end of this chapter is the ability to have time to evaluate and affix a daily routine - prayer, work, writing, etc.; this will be a respite and a chance to refocus my energies. In this next chapter of life, hopefully, I can begin the practise of living in ritual health so as to be able to live healthily even in the stressful times.

I'm also becoming aware of the need to be faithful and finish work that is started. After finishing up this graduate work and taking a well-earned sabbatical (that is, with a hopeful restoration of healthy mental processes), I'm probably going to try to finish up the 'Reasons to Not Become Catholic' entry series, as well as the 'Masculine Principle' series, the 'Orthodox Economics' series, etc. This may or may not be done on Xanga, and it may or may not be a quick or efficient process. In any case, I'm not good at apologetics and really don't have a lot of interest in apologetic material, but with a few more considerations and a lot of editing, I've just about written an apologetic book with the 'Reasons to Not Become Catholic' entry series - and might as well finish it up. It would be good to bring things to completion.


C. and a Monastery

It's difficult to describe the mystical ways in which things sometimes mesh - the texture of a person's very existence meshing with a certain lifestyle, the simultaneous and subconscious offering and accepting of certain kinds of relationship, and so forth. I met up with friends last weekend at a vocational retreat at St. Bernard Abbey, having no idea what to expect. As it turns out, we lived with the monks as the monks do: we slept in our cells, woke up early to sing the Office, had meals with them, etc. I had the mystical experience of 'meshing' - noticing elements (previously unrecognised and/or unappreciated) that the lifestyle evoked in my person, and noticing in bold new ways how I could serve Christ and His Church in this capacity. Brother Jacob (one of the monks) pulled me aside from the group to talk to me, and he said that he was profoundly convinced (from his observing me that weekend) that I have a vocation to the monastic life. Very strange things.

This is not to say that I've made the decision to be a monk at St. Bernard, or even to be a monk at all. I presently have several debts upon which to make restitution, and it will be at least another year before I can join any monastery. Perhaps a saint or true disciple or whatever would 'let the dead bury their own dead', but I would rather be faithful to previous obligations before making new ones on such short notice. However, this whole event has intrigued me, to say the least; if I should prayerfully consider marriage or the priesthood as a vocation in the service of God (and I should), all the more I should prayerfully investigate a vocation that I have found initially appealing and within which I have been given a testimony of sorts.


-r

Free-time, Watchmen Morality, and Catholic Converts

A:
In a conversation with a friend this past Sunday, it occurred to me how much I'm going to enjoy being post-Treveccan. There are so many essays/articles I want to cook up, so many aspects of history and theology upon which I want to reflect, and I'll have time this summer (and this fall!) to write and read and think about them. It's difficult to explain how odd my situation is, and I haven't even been aware of it as a 'situation' until this last Sunday. Most of my friends go home after work and read, or do laundry, or work on their house, or write essays/articles that they find interesting. This whole concept is unimaginable to me, since I've spent my entire adult life at the university and typically working a job to at least strive to pay the university bills. Laundry is something that somehow miraculously gets done between schoolwork and work. The notion of coming home from work at 3:30 and having nothing 'due' is incomprehensible. And the notion of working as an academic, working in a field that I enjoy studying and teaching, is an idea too good to be true (. . . you mean to say that *most* people don't work two full-time jobs??)


B:
Quick clarification: Watchmen is good as far as the story, faithfulness to the book, etc. That's all I was trying to say. I did not necessarily mean it is a 'good' movie, because it isn't. I wouldn't recommend anyone see Watchmen at the movie theatre, and I'm almost ready to say that there is very little good to be had in it altogether. Basically, read the book; the book has the real meat and element of beauty that adequately engages the frank inadequacies, human fumblings, and hard questions of [post-]modern characters in a [post-]modern world (it primarily engages this reality through its deconstructing the superhero mythos). The graphic novel is dark and, well, graphic, but the movie is just about the closest thing to a visceral orgy that you can have (literally and figuratively). Whereas in the book Rorschach chains up a criminal to a stove and then sets the building on fire - dark and horrifying, but nothing is shown of the criminal's death - the movie zooms in upon Rorschach planting a meat-cleaver in the criminal's head over and over. And there are two fairly graphic sex scenes, three (I think) in total. Connect this to a general 'condensation' of the powerful message of the book and the already intrinsically dark, violent, and disturbing themes of the material in question, and my advice would be: read the book.


C:
Again yesterday, upon discovering my 'denominational affiliation,' someone at work asked me (with surprising alarm) why so many students at Trevecca - especially (he noted) history students, and theology students, and music students at Trevecca - become Catholic. Well, there are probably a number of reasons and responses; as Chesterton notes, the Church is a city with a thousand gates, and no single person enters Her from exactly the same angle. Some of the reasons may be considered 'good reasons,' while others may be impugned by those who witness the decision. However, one of the most obvious and general answers - especially as it pertains to history, theology, and music students - has seemed quite self-explanatory to me: if a person who is serious about the testimony of the Christian faith s/he has been handed actually studies the history of Christianity, or studies the Holy Scriptures, or studies the development of music in the history of oft-scoffed-at 'Christendom,' it is not surprising if s/he may in fact see how spontaneously-generated and insubstantial protestantism and its derivatives are.

At least when conceivably 'ignorant', for example, the protestant can look at the state of affairs and conclude that the Church really is merely the 'Roman Catholic denomination' alongside many other denominations; after all, all these groups presently coexist. However, it is exceedingly difficult to justify standing outside the Church and simultaneously calling oneself a Christian once one actually realises (historically and scripturally) that one's own historical inheritance of the faith is an incomplete and alternate rendition of that-which-always-came-before; it is difficult (as a Nazarene pastor) to off-handedly snub theology that is scripturally, doctrinally, and logically solid . . . and that 'somehow' has a Life to it that manages to solve many of the needless theological dilemmas the Nazarene denomination seems unable to address within itself. And when you are finally given the faith to believe that the Sacraments - particularly the Eucharist - are the definition for the quite historically verifiable terms 'sacrament' and 'sacramental,' it becomes clear that the protestant pieces are at best 'CatholicLite' and at worst something unrelated to the Catholic Church altogether. At this point there is no thought of grafting 'Roman Catholicism' into protestant faith; the suggestion becomes laughable. It becomes clear then, at least in the very definition, that all roads (and measures and definitions we have been handed) lead toward Rome.


-r

Brief Watchmen Review and 'Mediaevalism'

A.

Form and substance are not divorced; 'it isn't as important how you say it so long as you say it' only rings with the tiniest bit of the truth, and just about anyone with sense knows the full truth. I'm particularly aware of this in light of the historical Church - the grace of God conveyed in the Eucharist is never, ever divorced from the particular form it takes.

The same is true, in an extended sense, for movie renditions of books. In the past, I have been one of those persons (and hear these persons often) who complain about movies that aren't 'just like' the book upon which they are based. Of course they aren't, and they won't be; the sheer fact that one thing is a movie and the other thing a book implies two different ars with different ways of communicating. Now, there is such thing as using the movie medium to murder a good book, because there is a sacramental connexion between the book and the movie that embodies a 'pointing back toward' the book - and no lover of the written word desires to ever see this sort of tragic murder take place. However, the very media - film and print - embody messages very different, in their very form.

With all this said, Watchmen was an okay film. It was decently done, and it did reference the book satisfactorily. With this rendition of Watchmen (that is, a rendition of the book), I think Snyder did as good a job as anyone cramming in the book's vast 'essence' into a three-hour movie. As would be expected, sadly, there were a few foul-plays: characters were saying flat, corny things out of character; some of the condensed plot elements didn't make complete sense; and the end of the movie dragged. All in all, though, it's a captivating tale in film, and it may serve as a sort of 'sign' that drives a good many persons into the novel itself.


B.

Because I reminded myself of the poem in the last entry . . .


'Mediaevalism' by G.K. Chesterton

If men should rise and return to the noise and time of the tourney,

The name and fame of the tabard, the tangle of gules and gold.
Would these things stand and suffice for the bourne of a backward journey,
A light on our days returning, as it was in the days of old?
Nay, there is none rides back to pick up a glove or a feather,
Though the gauntlet rang with honour or the plume was more than a crown:
And hushed is the holy trumpet that called the nations together
And under the Horns of Hattin the hope of the world went down.

Ah, not in remembrance stored, but out of oblivion starting,
Because you have sought new homes and all that you sought is so,
Because you had trodden the fire and barred the door in departing,
Returns in your chosen exile the glory of long ago.
Not then when you barred the door, not then when you trod the embers,
But now, at your new road's end, you have seen the face of a fate,
That not as a child looks back, and not as a fool remembers,
All that men took too lightly and all that they love too late.

It is you that have made no rubric for saints, no raiment for lovers.
Your caps that cry for a feather, your roofs that sigh for a spire:
Is it a dream from the dead if your own decay discovers
Alive in your rotting graveyard the worm of the world's desire?
Therefore the old trees tower, that the green trees grow and are stunted:
Therefore these dead men mock you, that you the living are dead:
Since ever you battered the saints and the tools of your crafts were blunted,
Or shattered the glass in its glory and loaded yourselves with the lead.

When the usurer hunts the squire as the squire has hunted the peasant,
As sheep that are eaten of worms where men were eaten of sheep:
Now is the judgment of earth, and the weighing of past and present.
Who scorn to weep over ruins, behold your ruin and weep.
Have ye not known, ye fools, that have made the present a prison.
That thirst can remember water and hunger remember bread?
We went not gathering ghosts; but the shriek of your shame is arisen
Out of your own black Babel too loud; and it woke the dead.

-r

For Whom the Bell Tolls: A Fun, Themed Entry

'Tis always fun and sometimes helpful to play within a theme, with its many intersecting embodiments. To-day's theme is: death (or dying). -This is not a sort of 'mood' indicator (i.e. Rick is feeling: sad), but rather a funny little note about two items within a common theme. And the theme just happens to be 'death', incidentally. 1. I'm about to leave the land of the living, metaphorically speaking. I have already departed in many ways. Dr. Green sent back my comp propositions on Monday, and between that and usual classwork, these next two months are going to be . . . contemplative. Most of my friends do not yet realise the severity of this situation despite my goofy attempts at a warning, and hopefully the reality will land softly enough when it strikes. 2. Around the time of the presidential election, my mind became a maelstrom of many intersecting realities. For one thing, we all stood witness to the indignant 'religious Right' screaming about Obama's abortion stances - even from the same people who, a few decades ago, were (and are) quite apparently oblivious to His Holiness Pope Paul VI's encyclical warning against the 'open door' danger of incorporating artificial birth control into societal practise; it is eternally frustrating for me to note the blatant historical short-sightedness of most persons calling themselves 'Christian' in our culture. Also, at the same time, my church's schola (chant choir) was busy practising chants for the All Saints Day and All Souls Day Masses, which included a Requiem setting. I began thinking about a poem idea: a Requiem Mass (a Mass for the repose of the dead) said on behalf of the currrent generation, whom we often call 'the living.' Words from Chesterton's poem 'Mediaevalism' rang in my mind like the proverbial tolling bell: '. . .Therefore these dead men mock you, that you the living are dead: / Since ever you battered the saints and the tools of your crafts were blunted, / Or shattered the glass in its glory and loaded yourselves with the lead . . .' The resulting poem (not finished, not anywhere near completion, and not likely to be taken up anytime soon) is a private gift to three of my friends, and so will never be published or bugled in any sense of entirety; however, it only seems fitting to share a bit of it since I have in fact mentioned the poem. This bit is from the first movement, which is a resurrected ol' curmudgeon's journey through the hell/shadowlands of present-day Nashville; these lines in particular deal with the deceptively subtle horrors I explored and witnessed in the 'emergent' church movement shortly before my final 'departure' into the oft-scoffed-at harbour known as the Catholic Faith. What struck (and strikes) me most about the myriads of novel protestant movements is the frenetic energy that seems, in theory, to outdo any other 'rendition' of Christianity; yet upon closer inspection I personally found that the disorderly neon signs screaming 'ALIVE!' betrayed the self-consciously superficial and . . . dare I say it? . . . old nature of these movements, while the elderly Church organically and quietly raged on (and even now rages on) as the breaker of Bread. '. . .Now (ever now) a gong resounded at the head of the hip sanitarium, And an incense-bearing Pastor Joe brought out cheese-crackers and flavor aid to put on the altar Which, as I now had expected, looked like AGNOSTO THEO ("to the unknown principle") in gilded gold runes, And a cheer arose– An era passed, yet, and Pastor Jo(e) lost the form, and the children-turned-jackasses ate the crackers and watched him fizzle And knocked the front wall out and moved back the altar and built a new nave– And then (only then) my eyes traced beyond the veneer of the room, turning slow gaze To take in the view of this room that stretched beyond all comprehension backwards with Marks like rings in a tree–each new paradigm and epiphany, Remnants of endless old front walls knocked out, Old altar stains retelling each ninety cubits back. There (only there) I understood the nature of this futility– Traditions traditions Frozen into themselves in A pile of old walls, filters, and altar fragments, Ancient relics rescued from themselves without themselves. Words fail me: a hole at hand, in the floor, draining– “Welcome: a temple,” quipped Pastor Joe, drifting ethereal. “Wait–what? what ‘temple’? which? where?” I coughed to his ear. –Now no one answers.' -r

Watchmen Widget

In Light of the Near-miss (and the Direct Hits) of the Economic 'Stimulus' Bill

The entirety of this encyclical can be found here, and if I were able to paste it here and still remain somewhat concise and on-task, I would. Please note the date of issuance and the relevance of it even now (relevance being the buzz-word for many current theological 'dialogues').

From Humanae Vitae (Of Human Life), issued 25 July 1968 by His Holiness Pope Paul VI [emphasis mine]:


'. . .[17]Responsible men can become more deeply convinced of the truth of the doctrine laid down by the Church . . . if they reflect on the consequences of methods and plans for artificial birth control. Let them first consider how easily this course of action could open wide the way for marital infidelity and a general lowering of moral standards. Not much experience is needed to be fully aware of human weakness and to understand that human beings—and especially the young, who are so exposed to temptation—need incentives to keep the moral law, and it is an evil thing to make it easy for them to break that law. Another effect that gives cause for alarm is that a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and, disregarding her physical and emotional equilibrium, reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection.

'Finally, careful consideration should be given to the danger of this power passing into the hands of those public authorities who care little for the precepts of the moral law. Who will blame a government which in its attempt to resolve the problems affecting an entire country resorts to the same measures as are regarded as lawful by married people in the solution of a particular family difficulty? Who will prevent public authorities from favoring those contraceptive methods which they consider more effective? Should they regard this as necessary, they may even impose their use on everyone. It could well happen, therefore, that when people, either individually or in family or social life, experience the inherent difficulties of the divine law and are determined to avoid them, they may give into the hands of public authorities the power to intervene in the most personal and intimate responsibility of husband and wife.

'. . .[18] It is to be anticipated that perhaps not everyone will easily accept this particular teaching. There is too much clamorous outcry against the voice of the Church, and this is intensified by modern means of communication. But it comes as no surprise to the Church that she, no less than her divine Founder, is destined to be a "sign of contradiction." She does not, because of this, evade the duty imposed on her of proclaiming humbly but firmly the entire moral law, both natural and evangelical. Since the Church did not make either of these laws, she cannot be their arbiter—only their guardian and interpreter. It could never be right for her to declare lawful what is in fact unlawful, since that, by its very nature, is always opposed to the true good of man.

'. . .[23] And now We wish to speak to rulers of nations. To you most of all is committed the responsibility of safeguarding the common good. You can contribute so much to the preservation of morals. We beg of you, never allow the morals of your peoples to be undermined. The family is the primary unit in the state; do not tolerate any legislation which would introduce into the family those practices which are opposed to the natural law of God. For there are other ways by which a government can and should solve the population problem—that is to say by enacting laws which will assist families and by educating the people wisely so that the moral law and the freedom of the citizens are both safeguarded. . . .'


-r

. . .And in What I Have Failed to Do. . .

The heavens hardly declare the glory of any kind of any being anymore, Old hat by now and private domain of the respective scrapers Who yawn at them empty-faced; This city peers into itself prematurely, its orange eyes Darting down each street at night, up each waiting smokestack, Clawing to make a claim on every alley. --The bottom-line being This city stares at itself, and reddened clouds hang in the heavens Enlisted as perhaps the largest mirror. Henceforth aeroplanes and hurricanes are unrelated beings, And we instate for both a different throng of bone-throwers; Mr. Jones serves as engineer in some manner of avionics Who passes millions of crowded figures in his city's streets within Whom Dr. Smith stands as some manner of weatherman Who passes just the same as Mr. Jones. (As it relates, pray you aren't found pregnant in the Day--) And given a row of any given light-bulbs, the city quickly becomes Unreal, otherwise healthy persons piling into the graveyard hence Row after row beside each prematurely --All the glory of the world within a smokestack or a light-bulb! (As it pertains to you, pray, pray you aren't made pregnant in that day--) Dr. Smith flies away to the tune of peanuts on an aeroplane Whose issue instates the millionth hole in a passing cloud Who brooding retreats, limps over the darkening edges of the world Forging new and swirling alliances in the South Atlantic; And again God offers up the Milky Way as a certain laugh Lost behind reddened eyes as though on doorways, In beings lost in all the strangest kinds of lamentations. -r

Strangers

There was a girl behind the counter at the pizza joint who obviously wanted to be romantically wanted by someone, who made this abundantly clear to whatever stranger came along. She sent out neon flares in my direction. It was painful to realise that I couldn't fulfil this in her, because I neither really desired her nor desired to have that sort of relating toward her; but I did and do desire her happiness and fulfilment. And while there was this immediate desire of human intimacy (which is a reality to itself), her loneliness reflects a larger cultural reality of loneliness and even despair, and beyond this she participates in the human longing for the recognition of and reconciliation toward the presence of God. My being charitable and friendly did not seem to be 'enough' for her situation. What could I do? What can we do? We bear the burdens of each other.

-r