Wondering if Gennaro's blood liquefied

No, I haven't even done the usual Google search to check. I'm confident that the blood of Januarius liquefied on schedule.

This may seem totally disjointed, but bear with me - it will come together in the course of the post, I'm sure. :) Particularly in my younger days, I greatly enjoyed the writings of C. S. Lewis. He and I have little in common, but I found it fascinating, since I'm a lifelong believer (...even if I sometimes wonder 'are You really there?,' I still believe I just received his Body and Blood), that one who went from atheist to avid Christian was also a highly complex character. (That is a characteristic we indeed do share.) "Jack" Lewis was such an odd combination - one who could fall into Narnia, be inclined to rationalism next, struggle to reduce suffering to an intellectual abstraction then write his most tortured (and bluntly honest) work when he finally, fully allowed himself to love another and lose her. There is much struggle with light and dark in all of his works. For example, it makes me shudder to think that Jack believed that natural disasters could be the work of the demons (seems a bit dualistic to me), but I believe that, for one who is concurrently so romantic and so rational, those who deal with Narnia never forget the White Witch, as it were.

I, too, am quite an odd combination, though the Franciscan jester in me balances out the Dominican-bred Thomist and the surprisingly Benedictine 'banality of orthopraxy' type I've become in my later years. (The orthopraxy is my salvation in the end - I'm still the artist, highly intense, very romantic under the cynicism.) Naturally, I also have the weird 'trinity' of identities in being a passionate, cynical, anarchical, superstitious, renaissance Mediterranean, tempered with English style and flavoured strongly with the 'light and dark' such as C. S. Lewis possessed, which was much a characteristic of the Irish nuns responsible for my early religious education.

My admiration for John Henry Newman is no secret, and I've been asked, now and then, why he never was canonised. I cannot say for certain, of course, though I do wish his version of 'liberal Catholicism' (and, for those unfamiliar with what that meant in 19th century England, please look up references before assuming I mean any lack of orthodoxy!) were more generally known and accepted. He, too, was an odd mix - brilliant in his Catholic theology (well, when he got past the convertitis stage) - never quite able to grow totally free of the dark side of his evangelical youth. I think part of my affection for Newman, as well, is on a plane more human than sublime. His scholarly abilities were the sort I wish that I possessed, but, like myself, he was inclined to have poor judgement and to act rashly because he trusted the integrity of all around him (and Manning and Wiseman were not exactly models.)

But I am surprised that even John Paul II, who all but began a Canonisation of the Month Club, never raised Newman to the altars. Perhaps it is because Newman (who, not being a martyr, would need miracles to his credit for beatification) was English. In his own Ultramontane time, when English bishops who loved the pomp and pageantry, even sentimentality, of Italy, had no real grasp of that Italians were not at all into king, country, or Church in the way they wished to promote, miracles were happening all over the place. Apparitions, some miserable, others wonderful, were at a high point in France, and stigmata was not just a memory of Francis of Assisi. Italy didn't just have tales of liquefying blood, but of saints who flew through the air or bi located, souls from purgatory (to which there was an entrance in Sicily) left hand prints in a Roman building, hosts bled when treated sacrilegiously. England is more low key, of course. France might have a beheaded king and much anti clericalism - Italy changed governments every six weeks and had lots of anti clericals, not to mention many devout souls who were far more into Saint Anthony (or a favourite local saint - it helps to be connected) than church attendance or sacraments. France and Italy were Catholic for too long not to have a healthy way of laughing at one's self built in. (Both had hosted popes, real and false - and that keeps away any adulation beyond what is due.) England had to be low key, lest the Calvinist element swallow the Catholic whole.

Most people who loved, and still love, John Henry Newman (probably the only 19th century English theologian worthy of the name) are not likely to pray for miracles. I myself much prefer Newman's intellectual, low key approach overall. Of course, I have another complication. I'm so intense that seeking miracles (were that anything to which I'm inclined) would be likely to divert me rather than to be helpful.

Yet I shall confess that I envy the sort of trusting, open, childlike faith my mother (and many others) demonstrated. I have a great affection for rather odd devotions, such as my mother's to the Infant of Prague (I still have her statue of him, and actually say the prayers now and then.) I wish I could 'become as a little child' (and I say that with esteem) and turn to God with such simple intercessory prayers, which assume a loving Father (and many heavenly friends) who is happy to hear a child's needs.

Intercession (other than as set forth in the prayer book) is difficult for me. I'm always a little afraid of, perhaps, getting whacked for wanting more than what is on my plate. :) My mother could bring her heavenly friends any need. I find myself getting a bit nervous when I do so. "Yes, Lord, I am asking you for help - but that doesn't mean I don't know that people in Haiti, or stricken with Hurricane Ike, or in Darfur or Afghanistan are not far worse off - and, no, I don't think I'm better than they are - yes, I'm grateful for what you've given me..."

Perhaps, when God is such a showman in Italy at times, it is because people needed the dramatic - or even that, with their being open to odd manifestations, working in that way was a special gift. I'm cautious about liquefying blood, bleeding Hosts, houses from Palestine which angels transport to Loretto for safe keeping, and the lot. I love the devotion that goes into veneration of relics of, for example, Mary's veil or the true Cross - even if I wouldn't have to swear to their actually being these. (I myself hugged my reliquary and relic of the True Cross to me all evening, one night last week when I was fearful.) I carry an Agnus Dei in my tote bag. I sometimes sprinkle my flat with holy water, and I once remembered my Aunt Mary's action of placing pictures of the Madonna in the window during a bad storm... and did the same.

"No, Lord, I didn't meant to be magical... I don't think I'm special... I know there are people dying in the streets of Bangladesh... but is there some way you can help me, since my bathroom ceiling fell in, and the woman above me, who could win a Best of Bitches trophy in a dog show, was in no way cooperative about getting access for the plumber... yes, I know this is nothing like the devastation in some areas, but there is a recession, and I need nourishing food... the ceiling must be fixed before it gets cold, and the cat got so frightened ever since it fell in the very room where she has her litter pan that she shrieks at the sound of water and uses my kitchen for a latrine..."

Notice the conflict. :) The Irish nuns, who more or less had us kids thinking the stake and the block may still be round the corner (in fact, I think some of them wished it were, since martyrdom was the only sure way to heaven), were superb teachers, but left me with the old goblin of a God who wanted sacrifice and suffering, and guilt trips about everything we had. I want to act with the simplicity of my Italian family, but I'm so passionate about theology, and getting more apophatic by the minute, that I am more likely to find Cranmer's approach (in liturgy, not strategy!!) to be better sustenance.

Rome was not exactly a land of promise for Newman, and I doubt C. S. Lewis thought about the Mediterranean much. Yet I somehow feel both of them would understand. :)