Well, I’ve gone and ruined my son’s life, or at least his entire preschool career. Apparently, yesterday all the preschoolers were to wear red to school and guess who’s mommy dressed him from head to toe in blue without a lick of red on him. It didn’t really seem to bother Jack much until I began to apologize profusely for my negligence. Jack must have realized that he now possessed a powerful weapon against his poor, old, guilt-ridden mother and he decided to wield it without hesitation. His first attack came just after lunch. In a sullen, shaky voice he asked, “Mom, can I have a little extra dessert since you forgot to dress me in red today?” Not long after this he asked to watch a movie, “because you forgot to dress me in red.” Soon this excuse explained every undesirable aspect of his life. If he was grumpy, tired, bored, or frustrated it was all because I forgot to dress him in red. But the straw that broke the camel’s back came when I walked into the living room and found him sitting on his little sister’s head. Before heading to time-out he stopped and said, “Okay, Mom, but do you want to know why I was sitting on Catie’s head? It’s because you forgot to dress me in red today.” This naturally set the stage for a nice, long talk about accepting apologies and offering mercy…and also about emotional blackmail (though I think I lost him on this one).
As I settled into bed last night and began thinking about the day I felt myself become very irritated at Jack’s attempts at manipulation and then suddenly fearful that he might become one of those dreadful people who have convinced themselves they are nothing but a victim of society and have absolutely nothing to do in life but wallow in their misery (yes, I know it’s a little irrational). But just before I fell asleep I was reminded of something I wrote in a journal a few years ago. I searched high and low this morning for the journal so that I could post the entry here in hopes that it might mean something to someone…
“In my own life I have become increasingly aware of the fact that, though many factors may have initially contributed to its formation, my overly critical and negative spirit is inextricably linked to my deep frustration that I am not the person I have always dreamed I would be. Life did not unfold the way I planned, and I have not responded to its challenges the way I had hoped I would. I may not be responsible for all the suffering and pain I have endured, but I am responsible for my reactions to it. Even more humbling than this is the realization that the attitudes and actions that vex me the most in other people only do so because they are the very attitudes and actions I find in myself so deplorable. I am irritated by the arrogant and self-postulating only because I am full of pride and feel threatened when attention has been diverted away from me. I abhor passive-aggressiveness because I am deeply ashamed of my own manipulative tendencies. I feel judged by the crowd because I am an impassive and judgmental person. But rather than allowing the sting to my pride to beckon me to humility and repentance, I have remained enslaved to my pride and contented myself with blaming the world, and at times even God, for my disappointments and frustrations.
Why have we chosen to continue under the debilitating and exhausting burdens of anger, spite and despair when we have been assured a yoke that is much easier to bear (Mt. 11:28-30)? I suspect that for most of us there lay beneath our hard, protective surface a willingness to admit that the world is not entirely to blame for our misery. We deeply regret our past decisions and actions and yet we still find it much too difficult to drink from the cup of shame and humility in the presence of Christ though He offers us healing and forgiveness. We may even crave repentance and the acceptance of responsibility for the part we have played in our state of brokenness, but we cower in the darkness, desperately avoiding the light for fear that by stepping into it we might reveal what we have suspected all along—we are worthless creatures who can never become more than we already are. But along with accepting our sinfulness and the responsibility of our failures, we must learn to love and accept ourselves as God’s dearly beloved children.”
Every now and then I like to pull down my copy of The Habit of Being which is a collection of letters by Flannery O’Connor. Tonight I read a letter that will certainly become a part of my favorite O’Connor quotes. I’m certain that some of you may disagree with it, but I’m posting it anyway. Feel free to respond if you so desire.
“The Church’s stand on birth control is the most absolutely spirtual of all her stands and with all of us being materialists at heart, there is little wonder that it causes unease. I wish various fathers would quit trying to defend it by saying that the world can support 40 billion. I will rejoice in the day when they say: This is right, whether we all rot on top of each other or not, dear children, as we certainly may. Either practice restraint or be prepared for crowding…” (338)
But this will never take the place of my absolute favorite of her letters. It is one that I make a point to read every time I open the book.
“I was once, five or six years ago, taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy and her husband, Mr. Broadwater…She departed the Church at age 15 and is a Big Intellectual…toward morning the conversation turned to the Eucharit, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the “most portable” of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, “Well, if it’s a symbol, to hell with it.” That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable.” (125).
“What does “entering Lent” mean? It means we enter a season of special commitment in the spiritual battle to oppose the evil present in the world, in each one of us, and around us. It means looking evil in the face and being ready to fight its effects and especially its causes, even its primary cause which is Satan. It means not off-loading the problem of evil on to others, on to society, or on to God but rather recognizing one’s own responsibility and assuming it with awareness. In this regard Jesus’ invitation to each one of us Christians to take up our “cross” and follow him with humility and trust (see Mt 16:24) is particularly pressing. Although the “cross” may be heavy it is not synonymous with misfortune, with disgrace, to be avoided on all accounts; rather it is an opportunity to follow Jesus and thereby to acquire strength in the fight against sin and evil. Thus, entering Lent means renewing the personal and community decision to face evil together with Christ. The way of the cross is in fact the only way that leads to the victory of love over hatred, of sharing over selfishness, of peace over violence. Seen in this light, Lent is truly an opportunity for a strong ascetic and spiritual commitment based on Christ’s grace.”
Pope Bendict XVI
This morning my husband called to tell me that he had heard an advertisement for an adult puppet show. Now, it is beyond me as to why a grown adult would want to see a puppet show for any reason other than taking his or her son, daughter, niece, or nephew to an afternoon show, and it made me think of this passage from Agatha Christie’s Nemesis. The character who is speaking is a headmistress at an all-girls school, and though she is speaking of the girls at her own school I think what she says holds true for many of today’s young men and women a like.
“It happens very often. Espcially in the last ten or twenty years. Girls are said to mature earlier. That is physically true, though in a deeper sense of the word, they mature late. They remain childish longer-childish in the clothes they wear, childish with their floating hair. Even their mini skirts represent a worship of childishness. Their baby doll nightdresses, their gym slips and shorts-all children’s fashions. They wish not to become adult-not to have to accept our kind of responsibility. And yet like all children, they want to be throught grown-up and free to do what they think are grown-up things. And that leads sometimes to tragedy and sometimes to the aftermath of tragedy.”
I often wonder if this is what happens when a person is robbed of their childhood. Are they subconsciously mourning innoncence lost at too early an age?
Have I ever mentioned that my father is a United Methodist minister? He and my mother both grew up potlucking, summer-revivaling Methodists as did the majority of our relatives. Indeed, it was through their faithful and loving witness, and the witness of countless others, that I learned of Christ’s love at a very young age, and I will be eternally grateful to the Methodists for this priceless gift.
Having grown up so deeply within the trenches of Methodism I naturally developed a great love for the old hymns. In fact, when I find myself incapable of prayer I pull out my Methodist hymnal and sing or read through the hymns and always find great comfort in their poetry. Though my favorite hymnist is, of course, Charles Wesley, my favorite hymn of all time (and the one that has brought me through so many tough times) was written by John Rippon (a Baptist minister from England).
How Firm a Foundation
- How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said—
To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled?
- “Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God, and will still give thee aid;
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by My gracious, omnipotent hand.
- “When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy trouble to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
- “When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not harm thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.
- “The soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose,
I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.”
Based solely on her scream, one might understandably assume that my middle child was related to Steven Tyler (the lead singer of Aerosmith, for those of you who are not classic rock fans). And as far as I can tell she uses this high-pitched, make-you-want-to-pull-your-hair-out shrill quite indiscriminately. Sometimes she screams because she has been injured, and sometimes to get our attention or because she’s excited. But sometimes she screams for no apparent reason other than to watch us go bug-eyed, rigid and fall out of our chairs.
Recently, I have been reminded of something one of the priests at the Cathedral said on a Sunday morning when no nursery services were offered. Children were screaming, laughing, crawling over the pews, and swinging from the rafters and in response he said, “We are so blessed to have all these beautiful children in Mass with us today. Though they may be a little distracting, they are only acting their age. Be patient with them, just as we are patient with you.” It’s really hard to be impatient with a two-year old when I consider all the ways in which my friends and family are patient with some of my non-age appropriate behaviors.
So often I feel as though I am carelessly stumbling through parenthood allowing one teachable moment after another to slip by. The most recent example I can offer is a conversation between my son, Jack, and I that happened a week ago. I was cleaning up my bedroom one rainy afternoon when Jack ran in and declared with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, “The end of the world is coming soon, Mom!”
“Is it, really?” I asked. “Who’ve you been talking to? Any celestial beings?”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing. So, why are you so excited about the end of the world?” The possibilities raced through my mind. Was he excited about peace on earth? The end of all suffering and pain? Or maybe it was seeing Christ in all His glory. I could hardly contain my pride over the fact that my son, at such a tender age, had already begun to yearn for the Kingdom of God. But just as I began to pat myself on the back for a job well done he shouted,
“Eating Leviathan!”
“Wait, what?”
“Eating Leviathan! When Christ comes back He’s going to kill Leviathan and everyone who’s been good gets to eat his flesh.” Jack closed his eyes and began licking his lips, apparently imagining the bountiful feast (and I’m thinking that I must become more familiar with his Sunday School curriculum).
Instead of taking this opportunity to talk about the Second Coming of Christ, the necessity of following Christ up until the very end despite persecution and suffering, or even the difference between our life here on Earth and the Kingdom of God I disregarded this teachable moment and asked, “What makes you think you’re gonna want to eat Leviathan? You don’t even like to eat vegetables.”
“Because I bet he’s nice and crunchy.” He licked his lips one more time for good measure and then scurried off to slay a dragon with his best light saber. Oh, if it were not for the grace of God we’d surely be doomed.
For the record, Jack later told me that he learned about Leviathan from a book on mythical beasts that he has and not from his Sunday School teachers. However, I’m still thinking that I should become a little more familiar with his Sunday School curriculum!
As a follow-up to Thursday’s post, “Where have all the true artists gone?” I thought it would be good to provide a few links to what I think is art worth appreciation. You know, give credit where credit is due! I have only just begun to research modern religious art, and therefore can offer just a few suggestions. Feel free to add to this list if you are able! I’ll try to add more as time goes by.
Jacob Lawrence (and also check out this painting of Lawrence’s)
John August Swanson
Ioan Pope
I was planning on posting a nice follow-up to yesterday’s “Where have all the true artists gone?”, but I’ve been feeling awful today. My head has hurt, my body ached and I have felt as though I was swimming through molasses since 8 o’clock this morning. I was certain that I was coming down with something, perhaps a cold, the flu or maybe something worse. So after lunch, I tucked all the kids into bed for a nap and headed to bed myself. I slept for a good hour or so, but awoke with all the same debilitating symptoms. Thirsty, I pealed myself from the bed, and headed downstairs for a glass of water. That’s when I saw it, sitting there next to the coffee pot mocking my miserable existence…a large, orange bag of decaffeinated coffee. Ugh! Some would say this is why one should never take up drinking caffeine. I say, this is why one should never give it up! At least I know that I can make tomorrow a much brighter day!
If you’ve never read C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce it’s high time you bought yourself a copy, hunkered down and began reading it! I’ve read it at least 5 times, and every time I do something new stands out to me and calls me back to repentance, compassion or forgiveness. One of my favorite encounters in the book is between two former artists. One has become a Solid Person (you will understand this more once you read the book!) and has come to lead the other (who is still a Ghost) on his voyage into Heaven. The Ghost is desperate to find some painting supplies so that he can capture the beauty of what he sees despite the Solid Person’s explanation as to why the artist’s supplies are no good in Heaven:
“When you painted on earth—at least in your earlier days—it was because you caught glimpses of Heaven in the earthly landscape. The success of your painting was that it enabled others to see the glimpses too. But here you are having the thing itself. It is from here that the messages came.” (83)
If this is the purpose of art, then I must ask, “Where have all the true artists gone?” There was a time when the Church led the way in the Arts. People were so hungry for a taste of Heaven that they relished every morsel that was handed to them by the likes of Pisano, Giotto, Ghiberti, Donatello and Masaccio (just to name a few). I daresay even the non-religious artists of the time had a better understanding of the purpose of art, but this is no longer the case.
The problem is that people are still hungry for a taste of Heaven and yet we are fed by the hands of such artists as Andre Serrano, Chris Ofili, Peter Langenbach, and Renee Cox (you can look up her “Yo Mamma’s Last Supper” on your own…I’m not posting it here!) whose “art” is offensive, grotesque, unimaginative and quite frankly juvenile (by the way, much of their work has been paid for by your tax dollars). I am reminded of Lady Cordelia in Brideshead Revisited when she asks Charles Ryder, “Modern Art is all bosh, isn’t it?” I’d have to respond just he, “great bosh”.
