How's that again?

My readers, I am sure, shall indulge me once again as I present my periodic silliness in what seem to be disassociated thoughts. This is illustrative of a tendency one often finds in people who not only spend too much time in prayer (consequently thinking, for example, that everyone is pining for ascetic theology - where the man in the next pew may be there because he's a minor politician and having parishioners see him at church may mean votes) but have studied too much theology (and assume 'motivation' for certain church matters which are so weird that we cannot see what would be glaringly obvious to anyone with an IQ above that of Lucy from the British Museum.)

Just to use one example, I recently read a book selection (from a book I'd not recommend, so it does not get a link) penned by a laicised Roman Catholic priest. (He clearly ignores that, as anyone in the Orthodox Church, Church of England, or Eastern rites would know, that having to sexually please a wife is not a guarantee of priestly sanctity.) Now, as far as I'm concerned, if he wanted to argue against mandatory celibacy for RC clergy, there is plenty of historical material with which to back this up, and he's welcome to do this till the cows come home. (Male cows are noted, I must add, for dispensing what seems to be this highly intelligent and learned man's current speciality.) But his premise, that he was released from active ministry to marry because he and others who did the same have a higher, 'new' theology of marriage, making them more advanced that priests who did not, is unlikely to impress anyone - and seemed pointed at self congratulations which would raise the eyebrows of most.

In the same book, the author comments about the decline in the use of sacramental confession. He sees this as positive, not only because the inferior beings who remained in active ministry therefore cannot indulge a need to control the laity, but because it shows a higher awareness of theology on the part of the flock than the pastor. Supposedly, those who no longer use sacramental confession have grasped, where the inferior clergy have not, that Vatican II teaches that the primary source of forgiveness is the Eucharist.

I could write a ream on the value I find in sacramental confession - and a library on Vatican II - but I'm not so inclined at the moment. My point is one quite different. This priest, during his time of active ministry, was an academic - and, like myself, probably often had times when he could not breathe in the breezes of good sense because too much dust from library stacks were crowding his lungs already. Yet I have a few advantages - one, that my family were the most pragmatic of people; two, that I spent much time in parish work and actually listened to the people around me.

To continue with his example - he's even more in outer space than I am if he thinks a decline in confession means a sophisticated theology of forgiveness through the Eucharist. (Another post I'll save for another day, but one dear to the heart of the medievalist, is how seeing Mass solely in relation to forgiveness caused some of the more regrettable excesses of the Reformation.) First off, as one who spends much time in churches on either side of the pond, I have observed that, in parishes which have the means to offer confession regularly / daily, such as Brompton Oratory, Westminster Cathedral, or Saint Francis in New York City, there is no lack of penitents on any day of the week. Many people clearly still find this sacrament to be very valuable, and one should at least admit the possibility that its availability affects the queues.

I've often heard the devout, quite rightly, be deterred from making their confessions because they've been discouraged (or even laughed at) in the past. I hope this has improved, but I can well remember when 'devotional confession,' which had been encouraged as a source of sacramental grace a year earlier, suddenly was discouraged. I also remember well when even one who made confession only once or twice a year was likely to be told 'nothing you are telling me is a sin.' (I think they must have only been hearing murder cases that year...) On a merely practical level, others complained that they needed to make appointments in churches where confession was not regularly available (that's awkward, especially in places where staff are trained to keep people from bothering clergy, or when one is embarrassed to approach a virtual stranger). Others wanted anonymity.

I'm not about to analyse any of these situations in any depth. My point is that anyone who is convinced that a 'theology of forgiveness' rooted in the Eucharist prevents confession is likely to be basing reasoning on a point which hardly enters most people's minds. (Of course, in the RC Church, anyone with a grave sin that is not confessed isn't supposed to partake of the Eucharist anyway... but people who know that probably listened in first communion class.)

On another note, I'm remembering when two friends of mine, in their 20s at the time, attended a meeting of a group forming in their parish. The group was intended for unmarried people in their 20s and 30s, and my friends, like everyone else who was interested, were hoping to meet new friends and possible spouses. For reasons that even my odd mind cannot fathom, the first meeting was introduced by a religious Sister, who spoke about how the Church had long neglected the 'single life as vocation.' It clearly had not entered her mind that the last reason anyone was in attendance was from having 'decided on a single life.' (Does anyone? It doesn't occur to those such as this speaker that, even if one regrets the choice one made, those who married or entered convents did make a choice. This should not be assumed of those who happen to be unmarried.)

I'm getting too prolix today - and prefer to save that for when I have more depth to the post. :) I'll just leave my readers with knowing that, just today, I received an email from Amazon.com, informing me that those who bought books on Walter Hilton (see my web site if you aren't acquainted with him) had also been interested in the early days of US television. (Must have been an odd key word search, because this is the oddest connection since I saw the works of Julian or Norwich classed as "New Age," or when "The Satisfied Life," a book on medieval mystics and concepts of atonement, was in the human sexuality section.)

Talents and denarii

I'm sure I'll be forgiven for the dreadful pun. One of the discouraging parts of wishing to maintain a blog that has any potential for being of value is that, when one looks back over the past two years' entries, it seems the best to be said is already written, and too much already has been repetitive. So bear with me as I ravel some thoughts which struck me recently.

I'm studying two areas related to the Hebrew Scriptures, plus philosophy of religion, at the moment. Though I've had the good fortune to have a background in many areas of religious history, I need at times to have my memory jogged. I found Karen Armstrong's "The History of God" to be quite useful. I would not recommend it as anyone's sole source for references in the area - Karen, here as usual, displays some excellent scholarship and insight, while presenting ideas the greatest scripture scholars and theologians debate as if there were one, agreed conclusion. Yet I especially did enjoy this book, because it stresses the transcendence of God, and the limitations of our visions. It also explored aspects of mysticism (striking similar in many aspects) in various religious and philosophical traditions.

Occasionally, visitors to my web site (who often are surprised there is such a thing as Christian mysticism... no wonder Amazon classes Julian of Norwich's books as "New Age") are interested in mystic experience in their own lives. I am a doctor of humanities, however much I have specialised in theology, and, though I'll not deny my gifts for teaching, I am not qualified in spiritual direction, so I cannot provide the sort of guidance they desire. (Actually, in many cases I doubt they'd embrace genuine spiritual direction. Some writers seem to think that mystic experience is some sort of a 'high' - and that one can, perhaps, reach the seventh mansion of Teresa on a Concorde flight if they read the Cloud of Unknowing this Saturday.) I'm sure it's a disappointment when I admit, first, that I myself am not a mystic (for all my acquaintance with mystic theology), and that those who are such cannot have become so as a matter of achievement. Karen's book had a quote I found very apt - all of us have the longing for intimacy with our Creator in some fashion, but, as Karen mentioned, the mystics have a particular gift, much as one might have a gift for writing poetry.

(I shall pause for a moment to sigh, since most of my family would have considered a gift for poetry as a total waste, much preferring to urge one to civil service exams... but that is another topic for another day.)

Most of us who are committed to a life of prayer pursue, in one of my favourite new phrases, the banality of orthopraxy. For one it might be an orientation towards service, for another (as it is for myself) liturgical prayer and intellectual pursuits, whatever. One is not superior to the other - but this world, overall, would be boring indeed if there were only technicians and bankers and no poets or musicians.

I doubt I can express this well, but I shall make an effort. Those who do have the gift of mysticism (and who, in some cases, are not those with heroic sanctity) always needed the framework of daily worship, the scriptures, wise direction, and other practises that are far from exotic and exciting. Many saw God as essentially unknowable. Those who experienced 'consolations,' such as Teresa of Avila, were cautious about these expressions, and mainly considered them to be more distracting than helpful. Visions, for example, can illustrate a powerful drive to intimacy with the transcendent God, but always have a flavour of the individual's vision.

Francis of Assisi, a poet and man of passion if not the most emotionally stable of creatures, may have been excessive (by any standard) in his pondering Jesus' suffering and wishing he could have comforted him, or in dwelling on how our sins caused the crucifixion. Yet he'd reached a point of such love and self forgetfulness that the stigmata (surely a reflection of his inward pain) indeed was an icon of his intimacy with Christ. Catherine of Siena, whose mystical marriage involved seeing a wedding ring formed from Jesus' foreskin from the circumcision, and who gives many signs of having anorexia, also had reached a point of holiness where even her own oddness had the passion for intimacy which the great saints illustrate.

I love Francesco and Caterina, of course, but I'm ravelling a thread in another direction. They were unusual people, and some of the manifestations of their personalities and weaknesses (which will be part of any person's experience, but the more for mystics because their passion for God is so intense) might be judged pathological today. (Thank God they lived in the days before psychiatrists, or they might have been 'cured' by doubting their own integrity.) Very few people who are, for example, constantly dealing with emotional outbursts, fear, insomnia, and self hatred, as did Francis (those interested in this area may wish to consult some of Fr Benedict Groeschel's observations), could 'open the book' of looking for mystic experience, heightened meditations and the like. There is too much danger of having our inward sinfulness and weakness manifest itself - I do not doubt the evil in this world, but I believe that the overwhelming number of demons are projections of our own violence, jealousy, and so forth. It is too dangerous to pursue the desire for exalted emotion (when one is not at the point of self forgetfulness which Francis, John of the Cross, or Caterina would have reached), or our very weakness can disguise itself as special inspiration.

I had one other thought - perhaps a loose association, but one I shall include as a minor rant. Jesus is sanctifying the cosmos as a whole - we are a Church (and this applies whether we know it or not, because I'm of the mind that Adam and Eve were part of 'the Church.') It is not a contest for who is more important than another - those 'may we sit at your left and right' discussions are quite tiresome. However, if there is a 'poet' among us, if we have a desire to be special, and a jealousy towards the mystic, it can lead to spiritual avarice rather than growth.

One must totally disassociate one's perspective from the deplorable perspective of 18th through 21st century capitalism, which can infect the spiritual viewpoint. I loathe such clichés as 'you get out of life exactly what you put into it,' or 'practise makes perfect,' or anything of that sort. It is wrong, because it takes one aspect of achievement (though spiritual growth is a grace, not an achievement) - for example, that one greatly talented at the piano indeed needs years of training, practise, and the like to become a great artiste - and 'flips it around,' as if one without the talent who does not achieve such mastery just didn't work hard enough. (Never mind that I despise the 'get out of life what you put into it' crap because it's a wonderful excuse for the wealthy or powerful to despise the poor.)

We cannot decide to 'become mystics.' We are a whole - a Church - and those who carried Julian her food or carried away her waste were no less a part of this than was the mystic in the cell. It is not a 'course,' as if one who studies enough or engages in enough self hypnosis will be inspired by the Holy Spirit. (I suppose all of us have some inspiration now and then, but God protect us from thinking we can put in an order for take away at whim.)

The new self

Fear not, little flock - you'll find no nonsense here about any concepts of 'a whole new you' or anything of that sort. (I am not selling anything.) I suppose that, whenever I put 'pen' to blog, deep down I'd love to have the insight of Benedict XVI, combined with the wit of Chesterton. Instead, I more often have the problem of having too many ideas instead of too few, and find it easier to sort them out when I not only write but, at least in theory, am sharing them with others. It also is a valuable exercise in unwinding for me - especially necessary on days such as this one, when I not only had a very irritating conversation trying to convince animal control to remove the corpse of a cat from the building premises but sat next to a man on the bus (who really should try Hyde Park Corner...) who supposedly had read somewhere that anyone who protested the war could have everything they own seized. (I've been a dove all of my life - nothing unusual for a Franciscan - and was then haunted by old goblins, fearing that my modest little basement flat would disappear and I'd have to sleep in the street, covered in lice, like Francesco.)

I occasionally write brief meditations for an e-mail list, related to readings for a particular Sunday. Since I've been mildly unwell, and therefore not out and about very much these past few days, I had offered to 'do' the next available Sunday. (You will find the link to the readings if you click the title of this post.) Now, for me to write a 3,000 word essay is very difficult - but to write a 300 word meditation is an effort on a par with walking across the Channel on a tightrope (and with no net.) My first impression, from the readings as a whole, was that idolatry is as regular as the sunrise, and that I am not sure that Hosea, who after all only had to deal with Israel's bowing to Ba'al, wasn't in a position preferable to that of dealing with the self-absorbed, egotistical fool in Luke's parable (who says "I" about five times in one sentence.) At least those bowing to their neighbour's gods might be misled in good faith, where the latter character is worshipping himself.

I love the epistle to the Colossians, and it will come as no surprise that my only regret, in choosing that text, is that I would rather prefer to have floated away on a meditation on the incomparable 'cosmic Christ' hymn of chapter one, rather than the exhortations of chapter 3. After about 543 diversions - covering everything from Genesis to Gnosticism - I finally centred on a verse regarding "the new self - which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator." (Note to the pedantic: yes, I am aware that scholars disagree about whether Paul wrote this epistle. Whether he did or not, the epistle is clearly of the "Pauline school," and I therefore shall use "Paul" rather than "the author of the epistle to the Colossians." I find messages about 'who wrote the New Testament,' just as I do with those about who really wrote Shakespeare's plays, to be as stale as a week-old scone.)

Christianity, for many centuries, so often focusses on the afterlife, or on salvation as either the key to heaven or the antidote to hell, that it is easy to forget that Paul was thoroughly Jewish. The kingdom of heaven had arrived for Paul - and, while this concept certainly was not one which most Pharisees would have applied to Jesus of Nazareth, we do need to remember that Judaism had no real concept of the afterlife, with even the idea of a general resurrection being a fairly recent development in Paul's time. God already is Lord of history - we are already the Body of Christ, at God's right hand. For Paul, the Church already shared in the glory of Jesus, though the fullness of that glory was hidden. His exhortations to moral behaviour are not based on reward or punishment in a future life, but are a call to walk in the dignity of those already sharing in heavenly glory. (The Colossians probably were already tired of waiting for the glory for which they hoped, and finding orthopraxy to be banal. If there is any surer testimony to divine grace than that, then as now, people waited for a tomorrow that never seemed to arrive, and based their lives on having heard that a Galilean carpenter rose from the dead, I cannot think of one at the moment.)

It must have been no easy task for a Jewish man (by then a 'heretic' in the eyes of most of his own) to be presenting very new ideas to a Greek community. (Yes, most of the hearers may well have been peasants, but they must have had some inkling of the various 'party lines,' having come of the noble heritage of Alexander's empire.) :) In Greek philosophy, creation is inherently negative - this world is a trial, or even an accident. Only the soul endures - and the concept of 'soul' is basically 'intellect' if Plato is to be believed. By contrast, in Judaism God is a Creator, and not only in the sense of setting a world in motion but in being constantly involved in its history.

Centuries before the time of Jesus, though there was no concept of such a Messiah as He, Israel recognised that we are created in God's image. There are no nature gods such as neighbours of the Hebrews would have imagined. In our humanity, we are the visible 'icons' of the transcendent God. Of course, Jesus' being the divine Person is unique, but, for all of humanity, our true self is that which mirrors the divine qualities.

From the first books of Genesis, speech is constantly the tool of creation and revelation. Notice how "God said let there be..." shows the awesome power of will and communication, and how the words of the prophets and patriarchs (not to mention those such as Paul, who witnessed to the resurrection) relate to accomplishment of, and knowledge of, the divine plan. Our gift of making choices, and of communicating, is one to be cherished.

What of the 'wrath' of God, to which Paul refers? The Hebrew scriptures which Paul would have known were extensively compiled and edited during and after the time of Israel's Babylonian captivity. References to judgement and wrath did not refer to destruction or hatred, which are totally alien to the Creator's nature. Violence is always of human origin (whether in conquerors or when the Son of God was nailed to a cross.) Hebrew writings about wrath were intended to illustrate that God, in a manner beyond our comprehension, always remains involved in, and in control of, his creation and our human history (however poorly Israel seemed to be faring at the moment.) Human wickedness and lust for power cannot thwart omnipotence. Our own wrath mocks the divine power - leading to violence and destructive, not creative, results.

Idolatry is effectively a worship of our false self - the part of us which distorts and abuses the gift of our faculties, where we were created to mirror the divine image in which we were created. Our own abusive language and wrath are perversions of the gift of communication, and of our faculties for reason and choices. Sexual immorality abuses our share in creative power. Greed destroys the joy and gratitude we should be taking in the goods of this world (and sometimes grows into spiritual avarice, where we become blind to love for God and neighbour because we are so concerned with what goods of the heavenly realm we would like to be known to possess.)

We have a unique gift, among all of creation, to share in truly loving relationships - such as existed eternally amongst the Persons of the Trinity. Love cannot be coerced or rooted in fear, but must be a choice. Perhaps this is the reason that divine glory always is hidden. The fullness of it is beyond us, of course, but, were it revealed in the sort of fashion that (for example) calls down twenty legions of angels, it could inspire terror, or magical confusion. This would be incompatible with human freedom.

Now... can you see just how boggled this mind is? :) I'm just hoping that, of these seemingly loose associations, I can compile some sort of a coherent whole. But I can see how Paul (and 'apostles' till the judgement day) would see the importance of cautioning us against the sinful traits mentioned in Colossians. It is not just 'the benefit of society' and the like which is a concern. We are created in the image of God - and our true self will mirror, not distort, creative power, love, and truth.

Shall we finally have sex now?

Caught your attention, did I not? I naturally meant 'the topic of sex,' and what prompted this post was recent nonsense about "The Silver Ring Thing," to which you'll find a link in the heading for this post. (Be assured this is not an endorsement, merely a source for information.) Recently, there was much media coverage regarding a girl (whose father is very involved in the Silver Ring programme), who had quite a controversy with her school about whether this ring, which she saw as a symbol of religious commitment, should be permitted, considering that wearing jewellery is not permitted with the school uniform.

Those who are gluttons for punishment, or who want to laugh aloud while shaking their heads, may search the Internet for Silver Ring 'merchandise' - such as shirts proclaiming "I'm Waiting!" or "Good Girl." I recall a BBC special regarding those involved with the Silver Ring business, and I found it all rather ludicrous. Most of the young people who were interviewed are engaging in oral sex (since when is that not having sex - to anyone but an adulterous lawyer?) and so forth - it appears the girls make pledges based on the authority of their fathers, saving their hymens as gifts to their husbands (I suppose because many men get a thrill from deflowering virgins.) Of course, being a private person and thinking that such things as dignity are not passé, I am wondering why a girl who believes sex belongs only in marriage needs to make that known to anyone except a man with whom she is involved.

The very business of "I'm Waiting!" seems rather prurient to me - as if a girl has to advertise to the world that all the men who must be panting after her have no hopes of a bonk that evening. "Good Girl!" is posturing - I daresay even virgins and chaste married women have a sin of some sort here and there, and such a slogan not only implicitly proclaims oneself as superior to those whose sins are of a different nature than one's own favourites but shows a common but completely erroneous idea that the only sins that matter are those connected with sex.

The Silver Ring site makes it plain that parents "are the leading influence in their children's sexual decision-making," and that their seminars have no graphic information about sex because "this is basically the parent's role." Is there anyone out there who can manage to come to full maturity, not only about sex but in any other area, if they cannot get past wanting to imitate or please parents? (I suppose Francis of Assisi and the teenaged Clare, who rejected their parents' values and embraced a new form of religious life, should be considered sinners for their disobedience and originality.) I'll return to the 'parent's role' in a moment.

What saddens me, not only in this but in much of the attitude towards sex today, is that it never seems to focus on the virtue of chastity. Here I am not speaking in a narrow sense, but of using one's sexuality in a loving, appropriate, responsible manner - whatever one's state of life. The Silver Ring site seems to think these 'pledges' will revolt against a sinful society (if they read the Old Testament, for example, they'd realise that sins of any sort are not reserved to the 21st century - but I suppose their kids cannot read the OT because it contains varied references to sex) and prevent STDs - but the emphasis is largely on negative, natural consequences for behaviour.

It occurs to me that the Christian stress on chastity (here I refer to fidelity in marriage and refraining from sex outside of this commitment) is highly positive, and based on marriage as both a covenant and reflecting God's own covenant with his creation. (Yes, I stress commitment in marriage. Love is not enough if there is no firm covenant.) There is respect for sex as a share in divine, creative power - and I do not restrict this to the few times in any life when procreation takes place. If parents can be the 'main teachers,' I see this not in preaching and snooping, but in presenting an example of commitment and responsibility.

I was a teenager at the height of the 'sexual revolution' (in which I did not participate.) My teachers then were not prudish or ignorant, but had to more or less pretend they thought every person in the class was a virgin who was worrying over whether snogging was a mortal sin. They knew otherwise, of course, but the extreme reserve, and questions shrugged off with 'ask your parents' (even if the question was indirect, as with science or literature), is because a small but vocal number of parents would be in an uproar if their 'role' was usurped. I recall very vividly that two sets of parents (of school mates of mine) who were the most insistent on how all sex education must be the parents' role had children who were quite prolific fornicators.

I have the highest respect for marriage, and consider it to be a sacrament - but the few references that were allowed (and many popular books at the time, when the holiest of couples were urging Paul VI to reconsider on contraception) glorified the state to such an extent that it was unreal. I cannot remember the title now, but one book written by fervent Catholics who wished contraception to be permitted made constant references to sex, but without allowing the slightest mention of physical desire! Apparently all sexual activity came from an intense need to express love and mirror the Trinity...

I was and am rather a naive creature, but even I, most fortunately, knew better than to think that any man who might care to have sex with me just had to be prompted by an overwhelming desire to 'enfold me with his love.' I cannot think of too many ideas which could make the most innocent of women more vulnerable!

With all the emphasis on fear of paedophilia today, there are common attitudes which would make it seem that a child of three and a teenaged man or woman both are sexless little darlings who won't think about sex unless some wicked adult mentions the topic. (I am inclined to doubt that teenagers are thinking of too much else. It also occurs to me that this was intended by the Creator, or that the human race would have died out the first time Eve had labour pains.)

I remember a devout acquaintance (who married at the age of 19, has been married perhaps thirty years, and is the mother of six) who was outraged that her teenaged children had had exposure, at school, to a book which made some references to foreplay and intercourse. My personal view is that anyone who is trying to live chastely (in this context, those who plan to marry but not have sex beforehand) had damn well better know these details! More than once, I have known teenagers who said that they had not intended to 'go the whole way,' but did not realise how quickly it all can happen (especially with the intensity of sex drive and speed of arousal of the young adult.)

Too often, those encouraging abstinence from sex make little, if any, reference to chastity as a virtue. (I'd love to hear one of the Bible thumpers prepare a sermon about Paul's exhortations against 'porneia' in his epistles... noting correctly that, in each case, Paul presented these in an overall context of avoiding idolatry. It wasn't a teary-eyed means for evos to say, "I was his first!") That improper use of our faculties and drives (of all sorts, not only the sexual) hampers the spiritual life - the love of God and neighbour - is rarely mentioned. The virtue of chastity is a wonderful concept, with both intimacy with God and a healthy respect for our inclinations and their appropriate use as considerations - an idea that one is 'saving' her hymen for her husband both makes her sound like the man's property and implies that, once that part of the anatomy is gone, future behaviour does not matter.

I'll save my writing about chastity as practised in consecrated life for another thread - I daresay evangelicals who are involved with such projects as Silver Rings would condemn permanent chastity (not knowing anything of its ancient Christian origins and value) because so much of their emphasis is on marriage and family that one would think anyone not married was violating God's will.

A few thoughts about charm

Recently, on an internet forum on which I participate, someone began a thread to discuss 'charm.' I suppose, OED aside, that one of the reasons this is a difficult trait to identify is that it is difficult to define. (It also is a quality which I sadly do not possess. Oh, I indeed am kind, caring, compassionate and the like - and have the scars to prove this. I'm basically a gentle soul. However, various years of having to struggle, on various levels, for my own survival, and my intolerance for anything I find fake or illustrative of ego games, means that I do tend, if politely, to tell people to fuck off now and then.)

Of course, there are wonderful people in this world who would never be described as charming - and Lord knows some of the saints would make me, at my worst, seem about as gutsy as one of the Disney dwarfs. (I can think of a few people whom I esteem highly, and whose faith and its practise are an inspiration to me, of whom I know to stay clear if they approach acting 'charming.') But there is a charm that is born of true courtesy and charity - the genuine article reminds me much of holiness. I believe I'll share an illustration or two here.

Though it's about thirty years since we worked together, I'll always remember a friar with whom I was closely associated in a small, Franciscan parish. Alphonse wasn't charming in the sense of being outgoing, clever, witty, or intelligent, which I'd say are traits one might often associate with the term. He was a very simple man, rather shy, and possessed of absolute sincerity. Sometimes, I had to suppress a giggle - as when we had a discussion group about distractions at prayer, and he admitted (with no twinkle in the eye, but rather a tone of regret) that, whenever he tried to meditate, he kept picturing himself as a tennis champion, with everyone cheering for him at Wimbledon.

Looking back, and this after working with him regularly for several years, I'd say Alphonse had two special gifts - the sort of things which those affecting false charm try to copy for their own benefit. First, I've never known anyone who was so totally, genuinely interested in others. Whether he was listening to a child of three talk about scraping her knee, or a know-it-all parish snob who was indulging in self absorption, or someone with a personal problem, or someone whose main joy in life was her new fridge, or someone who had a direct line to the Holy Spirit and wanted to replace the Sunday readings with "prophecies" (this was the charismatic hey-day, and Catholics were often those most inclined to charis-mania), he not only was sincerely interested but could respond with esteem and compassion.

The interest was not an act. It wasn't the pretended "interest" which makes some burden others with questions, hoping to make them feel important and therefore be persuaded to offer volunteer service. He didn't listen to another's pain and later complain at being bothered. He never used other people's comments (I don't mean just the confidential - but, for example, a trying mini tirade the snob offered at a parish gathering) to win points with others for knowing things, or to mock the speaker later.

Second, Alphonse had an uncanny ability to see the good in others. (My cynical side makes me add that it's most fortunate that he was not among the friars who worked with hardened criminals - he'd have believed Jack the Ripper was seeking holiness, a trap into which I, too, would be likely to fall.) One wouldn't necessarily see it at the time, but one could get over rough spots and actually grow in kindness, virtue, and the like because of the strength of seeing the goodness Alphonse saw in oneself.

I haven't thought of Alphonse much in years, but this thread stimulated the memory. Though he did not have the poetic ways, wit, and passion of Francesco, somehow Alphonse's natural courtesy, simplicity, and delight in making the gospel known (he was in awe of this, not posturing) made me think that he was an illustration of the sort of charm which made Francis of Assisi have such an extraordinary influence.

Now, brace yourself if you're still there... since I am Elizabeth, not Alphonse, I naturally have a word to say about the false charm which I despise.

False charm is based on deceit and manipulation, and comes in many varieties. It just struck me that those who have read "Gone with the Wind" may remember how brilliantly Margaret Mitchell captured this in her depiction of Scarlett O'Hara. Scarlett is in awe of her mother, Ellen, who is generally recognised as kind, selfless, and otherwise a great lady. (Qualities she despises in Melanie.) Scarlett hasn't the slightest interest in actually having any of the traits people admired in Ellen - but she'd love to have the reputation for having these, since it would work to her advantage.

One version of false charm is the 'I'm such a prize, you're lucky if you know or associate with me.' It's the kind of 'charm' that used to be written about in books and magazines aimed at telling women how to catch men. (Or, at any rate, be 'popular,' because one could go with a man one despised, pretending interest, just because he was a means to meet other men.) It was false flattery - pretended obligations to give the impression of being such a catch that one's social calendar was filled years in advance. I would imagine that most men could see through this a mile away, but it must work with a small percentage - who have a sad time ahead if they marry such a woman, because she has no respect for them. She's after something - whether money, prestige, or someone to dominate - but he's never known her because of the 'princess doll' act.

The other 'charm,' which I think I like even less, is of the Dale Carnegie variety. (Years ago, for some project I cannot recall, I had to read that dreadful How to Win Friends and Influence people. I've also had the displeasure of meeting sales executives whose Dale Carnegie training was so obvious it was pathetic. They tack the other person's name on the end of every sentence, and always look for something to compliment... often transparent blarney or, worse, a statement that is insulting. They'll assume, for example, that a female telecom manager is a switchboard operator, and compliment her on being able to dial a number well.) It has nothing whatever to do with genuine concern for others, much less about wanting real friends. No, it's what to say or do that (it is hoped) will fool and flatter people enough to manipulate them into doing something to one's own advantage.

Worst of all is the sweet tongued put downs. It boils down to "I think I am superior to everyone else in every way. They all must admire me, and be eager for my advice. I therefore will manage to put them down with language that allows me to pretend they are overly sensitive or 'taking things personally' if they object."

When one encounters genuine charm, the effect on the soul (as it were) is similar to that of savouring Godiva chocolate or honey on the tongue. False charm makes one wince - rather like swallowing twenty saccharin tablets. Sadly, the false can masquerade as the genuine article. For example, the 'charmer' who is only looking for his own advantage can convince others they are valued, or even loved, and it is painful to learn that this was nothing but an act.

There are days when one must count one's small assets (...Franciscans are used to that on many counts.) :) No, I shall never be charming - but at least I am genuine. I delight in the rare person I meet who has true charm, and thank God that these blessings exist.

King Freud

That title is not quite accurate, but rather a dismal memory struck me today. Before I moved house, two years ago, I had a substantial collection of books, mainly aimed at the clergy and religious communities, which had to do with supposed spirituality and counselling. Sadly, having them no longer at hand, I cannot quote chapter and verse. Yet it continually amazes me, considering that Freud worked on the premise that there was no God (and that his seeing us as motivated by sex and a desire for murder was not tempered with Augustine's allowance for us being in God's image and transformed by grace), that his words were accepted as a fifth gospel in many such books.

This entry is not about Freud - the title was a whim. But I do want to say a word about how 'pop psychology' today, or even techniques which can be useful in the limited application of 12 step programmes, can blind us to reality. If one's mindset is focussed on the latest pop psychology (and how people do love to think they have all the answers), one can 'hear' the stereotypes - blotting out the genuine thoughts, situations, and feelings of the speaker in the process.

Some years ago, I attended a seminar, covering several months, in pastoral care. One exercise, clearly intended to improve listening abilities, had quite another effect. We went through pretending to be people with specific problems, with the other party 'listening' and making comments. The idea was to repeat some element of what the speaker had said, to show one was attentive. It had quite another effect! Since listening was presented as 'pick up on key words, and don't let the other person finish a paragraph before you jump in,' half the time the 'talking back' had little relation to the entire picture. Worse, the fixed ideas one might have could make one 'finish another's sentences,' jumping in to recommend 'solutions' such as joining a charismatic prayer group (when the speaker was referring to his house burning down), going to Weight Watchers (when the one the other judged to be too fat was speaking of a job difficulty), 'making a change' (when the speaker referred to a niece's suicide attempt.)

Of course, though this was an era predating 'self help aisles,' there were many early 'self esteem' infections. This is not a vote against healthy self esteem, of course - our creation and deification are treasures not to be taken lightly. But 'self esteem' in this sense meant that one was sinless, perfection waiting to be discovered, and more. I well remember a godawful but very popular book which insisted that the 'useless emotions' to be discarded were 'guilt and worry.' No one stopped to think that those completely free of both are sociopaths.

Several very dear friends of mine were alcoholics or drug addicts, and found strength in twelve step programmes. I'll go so far as to say that, for some, these programmes were life savers. Nonetheless, certain slogans which addicts find very helpful should not be transferred into universal perspectives.

As one example, my alcoholic friends would have been first to admit (post-AA) that they had tendencies to blame others for every misfortune - and indeed to blame others for their own drinking most of all. For one who is unable to accept responsibility for his own actions, and to deny the effects of his addiction, such ideas as "If there's a problem here, I caused it" can be valuable. Alcoholics of my acquaintance often had blackouts, where they genuinely did not remember a problem arising from a binge, or were incapable of any concept of cause and effect.

This is fine in their case, but highly dangerous for those who are not addicts. There are many things in our lives for which we do not have control - and blaming oneself for everything can be devastating. (I'm the sort who would blame herself if the Arabs attacked the Israelis.)

Not long ago, I was shocked to hear that an old acquaintance of mine, from whom I had not heard in ages, had thought I spoke ill of her to a mutual friend. The latter, whom I'd known longer and probably did not want me to have contact with her because I knew too much of her past, had totally made up a story about what I supposedly said. It wasn't a confidence betrayed, or even words quoted out of context - I'd never said any such thing, and indeed had never known she said this. I was very sorry that C's lies had hurt another and turned her against me -but how could I be responsible for something of which I'd known nothing?

That may seem a silly example, but such cases are universal. We've all had times when, after the fact, we found out that someone took our name in vain, as it were. But I'm only using this small case to show how it is not true that, invariably, 'if there's a problem here, I caused it.'

True listening is a rare gift. We need not to 'finish other's sentences' - or we'll be convinced that is what they said, though it is not!

In one of her autobiographical books, Karen Armstrong provides a fine example of how 'professionals' can be just as deaf as the rest of us. Karen has temporal lobe epilepsy, and the symptoms for this often begin in the early adult years - in Karen's case, during her time in a convent (ages 17-24.) When Karen left her community, and troublesome symptoms continued and increased, she consulted various psychiatrists. I'm sure that all seven of them had at least a vague notion of the symptoms for temporal lobe - had Karen never been a nun, perhaps the first line of diagnosis they'd have pursued would have been neurological. But Karen was boxed at once, because her convent life was outside the norm. She went undiagnosed, with a treatable condition, for years, while shrinks tried to probe what childhood trauma would make her do anything as deviant as enter the religious life. Karen was not even permitted to speak of the convent days, though she wished to do so, because that was supposedly a means to avoid discussing her childhood.

Let us recall that it was by divine design that we have two ears and only one mouth.

Brief words about John Macquarrie

Anglican theologian John Macquarrie, who is referenced in the link in the title of this post, died on the 28th of May. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

I always found Macquarrie to have a blend that is rare in a theologian. His books combined strong knowledge of liturgy and sacrament with an unusual dose of common sense in pastoral application.

For all of my passion for the liturgy, liturgical scholars, focussing so on 'sign and symbol,' too often lost sight of that their supposition about what such symbols would actually mean in practise (based on their knowledge of history and so forth) could be far off the mark. John Macquarrie could seem to be stating the obvious in some cases, but actually he had the openness (I'm tempted to say courage, because going against the grain can make one seem less than in the know) to point out the gap there can be between theory and practise in worship.

For example, in the western Catholic churches (by contrast with the eastern Orthodox), that baptism, confirmation, and first reception of the Eucharist were separated rites was an historical accident. (I'll explain the history at another time, not to be diverted from my point now.) In recent decades, liturgical scholars, with a perfectly sound basis, were looking to make the 'sacraments of initiation' a whole. John Macquarrie was one of few who pointed out that, though the earlier Christian traditions in worship would have been different, and though Confirmation's being a separate rite, administered long after baptism for most of us, was 'accidental,' the value that Confirmation has come to have as a 'rite of passage' and affirmation of adult faith should not be overlooked.

He also was very open about how liturgists place such strong emphasis on baptism that they can fail to see that other Christians (including other priests and theologians) might not find this to be a useful perspectice. Indeed, baptism is crucially important, and participation in the Eucharist, for example, a privilege of baptism. Yet, speaking as one who saw an attitude of 'the only vocation is baptism' wipe out the richness of Roman Catholic consecrated life, I think Macquarrie (who of course was not speaking of that particular context) was spot on.

I therefore wanted to offer this small tribute to a man of great knowledge, insight, and candour, whose works I have enjoyed and found immensely enriching.

This once, I shall quote Bertrand Russell :)

It assuredly is obvious that Bertrand Russell and I would have huge philosophical differences - though I do think that, had I been around in his day, I might rather have enjoyed having a pint with this rogue, and we at least could have had some common ground in politics and pacifism. How can I not admire one who did not back down despite being, as legend has it, the most hated man in London at the time? (Not, of course, that I'd ever wish to be hated by anyone, anywhere - but it's often a lonely world for me, because conformity, sadly, is valued much more than creativity. I would never compromise a principle, and loathe conformity - I have no respect for authority, but fear it too much to rebel.)

I was reading a Russell essay in which he asserted that "Belief in life after death comes from emotion, not reason." I believe there is an afterlife, of course, though I'd be hardput to define this - I'm wondering if Russell is anywhere now. But I identified a good deal with some of his irritable musing.

Russell sees part of the 'emotion' that inspires belief in an afterlife as coming from an exalted opinion of humanity. High opinions of mankind occur only in the abstract. "Of men in the concrete, most of us think the vast majority very bad." Russell has a point that abominations and ethical doctrines by which they are prompted hardly are evidence of an intelligent creator. However, I doubt that most of us think the majority of people are wicked. (I spent many years assuming that most people were striving to show virtue, love, and compassion... and I have the scars to prove this, because I naturally was taken for a fool.) Still, those abominations justified by supposed ethics or doctrine irritate me no less than my atheist friend here.

I have no desire to be an atheist - though I occasionally have admitted to an atheist friend that it must be restful at times. Being a theist can be very trying. :) I suppose that, if one believes in just a Ground of Being or something, or is a deist and sees a creator as setting the world in motion and then leaving it alone, at least the eternal problem of evil can be set aside. Those with classic Jewish or Christian views (including myself, of course) have quite a dilemma. We believe in a Creator God, who remains involved with this creation. I believe it was David Hume who commented that, if God wills evil, it is incompatible with his beneficence, but, if it happens against his will, what happened to that concept of omnipotence?

(Yes, I know all about Augustine and the 'absence of good.' I even know what he meant in context, and all about the dualism he was refuting and omnipotence he was responding. However, if anyone in a pastoral situation shrugs off the others' pain with 'but there is no evil - it is the absence of good,' I shall see to it that he gets forty years in purgatory - and don't think I'm not connected.)

Here is Bertrand Russell again: "The world in which we live can be understood as a result of muddle and accident; but if it is the outcome of deliberate purpose, the purpose must have been that of a fiend."

Well, I may disagree with that concept - because I believe there is some divine purpose, though I cannot define that any more than I can the resurrection or incarnation. (Such things make perfect sense only at prayer - reciting the Doxology and believing every word is a far cry from explaining the Trinity.) Yet I have often felt the same way as Russell did, albeit in a different context. I loathe how many Christians use the term "God's will", invariably to mean pain, punishment, suffering and evils.

Much as I have had the privilege of reading the best of theology, I also was all too exposed to the miserable concept of God that, having been absorbed in early childhood, was sufficient to conjure up goblins who still haunt me now and then. It was easy to get the impression that, though one may enjoy eternal happiness once one was dead (I'm still trying to figure out why 'eternity' only began once one was buried...), this vale of tears was a battleground between God and Satan, and the latter tended to win until some final conflict.

This world is largely terrible - please don't think I'm in some dream world. But God was handing out suffering left and right - whether to punish the wicked or try those who aspired after virtue. There was no concept of deification - only the escape of suffering in the next life. I'm thinking of a few very intelligent, learned priests I knew who nonetheless were delighted if a new undertaking led to someone's becoming ill, dropping dead unexpectedly, losing life savings - whatever. After all, if it was a good work, awful things had to happen. If it were not good, Satan would not try to stop it.

No, I haven't been drinking. Ask anyone who is fifty or older and has a good memory - or read James Joyce if you have the time. And please don't think I'm restricting this to Catholicism! I met some evangelicals who had a far drearier picture - as if they had the only way to Christ, most Christians were 'in error,' Satan was so busy deceiving Christians that most were unaware they were headed for hell... one had the impression that Satan was more in charge than God was.

Would anyone care to hear what I think about holy wars? No, I did not think you would... but the less reticent Bertrand Russell would comment, and I would agree, that 'moral sense' does not prove the existence of God or afterlife. Knowledge of right and wrong varies. "Are Christ or Nietzsche right – is the Christian or Hitler immortal?"

I think that concepts of "God's will" should be reserved for philosophical arguments, such as Augustine and Thomas Aquinas were preparing when they used the 'evil is the absence of good' (clever arguments, by the way, in the Aristotelian fashion.) Yes, I believe God is active in creation - and that there well may be more miracles than any of us realise. But the term "God's will" is too often used without compassion, or, worse, to depict a God of suffering (acceptable, in my book, only when one is speaking of the Incarnate God on the cross - and even that came about naturally, because of human violence.)

Here is an interesting book on the problem of evil (from a Christian perspective) -



And, all right, here is Bertrand Russell -

All these I have observed from my youth...

Much as I sometimes enjoy participating on a theology forum (even if half the contributors seem more self absorbed than otherwise), I sigh whenever anyone makes reference to the incident of Jesus and the Rich Young Man. Discussions on that passage always lead to the usual "let me feel guilt rather than gratitude" diversions, ending with "we are just too comfortable..."

I had another thought, and one which may be far more realistic if less dramatic. It is not that I think the rich don't have that eye of the needle about which to be concerned, because all too much wealth was acquired through the suffering of others, injustice, even crime. (I do not see sanctity as necessarily all that easy for the poor, either, for some reason... maybe it's obvious.) Yet I doubt that Jesus was suggesting that everyone had to sell all he had and give it to the poor to achieve salvation. I believe it was aimed at the particular, smug little bastard to whom he was speaking.

Notice how, when RYM asked what he had to do to inherit eternal life, and Jesus mentioned the commandments (Lord, how banal...) :) , the young man replied that he'd observed all of them for his entire life. Now, that indeed would be quite an accomplishment - and it is a statement which, coming from anyone other than Jesus himself (who, being perfect in all virtues including humility, would find no need to mention), is an excellent example of when self absorption masquerades as self esteem. What did he expect Jesus to do? (Notice how, unlike most approaching Jesus, he was not asking for forgiveness or healing.) Declare the future of Judaism saved, open a bottle of champagne, and give him Swedish massage?

Jesus did have a very broad, Semitic sense of humour now and then - but I suppose he knew that this was one case where the RYM would not have caught the irony in "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." Why bother? What repentance would be necessary for someone who'd managed to observe the commandments since his youth - and who had no reticence about advertising the fact?

Felix culpa!

Just this once, I'm not going to go on about just how very much I love the felix culpa passage from the Catholic liturgies. I want to share a very odd, somewhat amusing thought, which came to me on Sunday. I was attending quite an interesting class regarding Leon Kass and "Wisdom in Genesis." Kass' approach, in this context, is to both provide a new English translation of Genesis, and to explore its text from a literary perspective - looking away, for the moment, from the commentaries and doctrine.

Naturally, I have read and heard Genesis on countless occasions, and indeed am making a very thorough study of this book (as part of my studies) this term. When I was hearing of some of the Kass treatment, I had an odd thought. In the first creation account in Genesis, Adam is rather like a small child - silent, and totally innocent - where, in the second, he and Eve have the knowledge of good and evil. I'm sure all Christians have learnt to dwell on 'the fall' (and redemption through the cross, millennia later) since childhood. Yet it struck me that humanity would not have had much of a life had we remained as Adam was in the first account - we may as well have spent our lives in carry cots! Yes, felix culpa! :) (Forgive me - I am aware that Judaism does not have a concept of the 'fall' in the way that Christians do.) Knowledge of good and evil (for both are part of this life) is what is involved in maturity, discretion, the use of reason and will that allows us to respond to God, and to love one another.

Augustine, who perhaps was the most prolific theologian (in history, but especially about the fall), always was pining for Eden, and the use of reason and will, the intuitive inclination to embrace the divine, which we would have had without falling from grace. But what capacity would there be for wisdom, love, discretion, and so forth without mature knowledge?

Some time soon, I just may expand my site to include not only the mediaeval but other reflections - and, when I do so, I'm fairly certain there will be some essays on the Pentateuch, because this Christian is shouting "Eureka!" at many points in her study of the Jewish commentaries on Torah. For today, I wanted to share a few of the notes I scribbled as I was engrossed in Ellen von Wolde's "Stories of the Beginning."

Ellen van Wolde underlines what is fundamental in the Hebrew scriptures: The key is not how humans deal with God, but how God deals with humanity. The speaking and acting God, not the human perspective, is central in Genesis.

• Humans alone are made (not after their own kind, but) "in our image." The human point of reference, therefore, is God, not themselves. We are "as" in God’s image – but God has no image. The passages offer no concrete information about God.


• Hebrew Tselemen – Image: This term is never used for a concrete, visual representation, but for Sign. (As the ark is the symbol for Yahweh’s footstool on earth.)


• Genesis 1 – the transcendence of God is evident. The only continuity between God and creation is God’s Word and the emerging creation: these point to God.


• Human is created to be God’s image in a world where the transcendent creator cannot be present.


• Unlike beliefs of the neighbouring religions of the ancient Near East – God is not present in nature, or a nature god. Nor are humans created to serve gods, but to make God present in creation.

How about just a little more?

Genesis 2-3 is "a garden story with a distinctive framework. Its centre is the relationship of humans and the earth. It is beneficial for the earth, not for man, to be expelled from the garden."

• Tree of the knowledge of good and evil: Yada (knowledge) is based on experience. Good and bad are not ethical designations, but two poles of a totality of such knowledge.


• "Knowledge of good and bad (of everything) indicates a general capacity for discernment." The term is used in that sense in II Samuel 19:36, Deuteronomy 1:39, and in writings from Qumran.


• Adam and Eve "know that they are naked," that is, come to years of discretion.


• Ancient Near Eastern belief was that a snake (shedding its skin) symbolises a life that constantly renews itself.


• As a creation story in the Hebrew tradition – Nakedness and clothing are climactic, showing the beginning of culture.

Quite wonderful, is it not? Between reading this excellent work, and then James Alison's works on 'original sin through Easter eyes,' I think I'll be forgiven for just one tiny bit of covetousness - I should like to have just three or four insights of this quality before I'm laid to rest.

Ah, those wicked Teletubbies!

Those of you who wish a more intelligent overview of how I feel about nonsensical efforts to 'protect our children' may find enlightenment in a previous post entitled Decency, Thy Name is Legion." My mind is too boggled by today's headlines, about a protest in Poland that Teletubbies are 'promoting a homosexual lifestyle,' for me to be at my creative peak.

I am pleased to say that my exposure to Teletubbies has been quite limited. I daresay that those who watch this programming, which is aimed at those who are not old enough to talk, are not pondering the intricacies of sexual orientation at the moment. Indeed, they are at about the stage of development, as far as matters sensual are concerned, where they will cry when they are hungry without yet being able to identify that it is hunger that is making them cry.

My inclination is that those who are heading this campaign in Poland are at about the intellectual level of those who are of an age to watch Teletubbies. (If my readers will forgive an irresistible, dreadful pun to follow...) I think, first off, they need instruction in the construction of logical arguments, and the recognition of how predicates are definite. (For example, God is Love does not mean Love is God.) With satellite television and the Internet presenting so many images daily, perhaps our Polish friends mistakenly thought "One who carries a handbag must be a queen."

Though this is not directly related to the controversial programming, I had a thought prompted by an e-mail I received last week. (When one has one's own domain, one often receives massive amounts of spam, but also serious enquiries about one's essays. This e-mail was from someone who must have noticed my interest in Christianity but not in, for example, Chaucer and the courtly love tradition.) The writer assumed I'd like to join some campaign to protest against the lack of 'clean entertainment.'

I shall never be accused of any lack of propriety, and have no taste for the pornographic. However, my love for the arts, literature, theatre, opera, poetry, etc., makes me well aware that the surest indication that an 'artistic' work will be abysmal is the tag that it is 'for the whole family.' I'm not the first to say that good art reflects truth. If one has to make all characters 'role models,' with role models apparently being asexual adults who would cringe at the sight of a glass of wine and whose artistic expression is limited to playing hymns on the piano with one finger, and has to avoid the weakness and complexity of human nature, there is no truth, much less art.

Just this weekend, I did a bit of unwinding and reread Susan Howatch's "Absolute Truths." (I love her Church of England series - in fact, it's better theology than one can find on shelves so designated, let alone most novels.) Charles, the character who is the main focus in this volume, is a dedicated bishop and theologian, whose faith and values are undeniable, but he falls into such messes as do most of us when we are faced with conflict, bereavement, and fear. Though there is nothing remotely pornographic in this book (and in fact no explicit description of sex at all), there is one incident of Charles' having sex with a woman he does not know well - an incident more tragic than 'shocking,' because it shows the depths of despair and sorrow he is feeling from his wife's recent death. As with the other books in the Church of England series, the theme is redemption - and there is no turning the head to the sort of awareness that one is in a muddle which leads one to embrace the need for a Redeemer.

So, one could not even write a strong story of redemption and dedication to Christ, of forgiveness and healing, in this model. (For the record, most sins in this world are not related to sex - but those concerned 'for the whole family' turn from any sign of adults being other than perfect. I suppose they are so terrified that their children will come under bad influences that they want to maintain the fiction that they themselves are perfect.)

The Teletubbies nonsense is hardly unique. There are enough Internet sites which would make one think Walt Disney was the prime corrupter of youth; that the Proctor and Gamble logo of the man in the moon was demonic; etc., etc., that I can see bizarre undercurrents of fear. Now, fear in itself can be quite valuable - members of a fire brigade would be goners the first day on the job did they not have a natural fear of fire. But distorted fear makes one see goblins that do not exist, and then burn with fury towards those who supposedly created them.

When 'green' does not refer to the environment

In recent years, I have had the good fortune to become acquainted with the writings of James Alison, whom I consider to be one of the most outstanding living theologians. I'm without the energy, at the moment, to discuss his work on 'original sin through Easter eyes' or his development of the mimetic theories of Rene Girard. Yet, in a nutshell, two ideas which James sets forth I find rather unbearably true (and this because it is difficult for us to admit that the commandments' ending with an exhortation against covetousness is a structure leading to the biggest of spiritual problems, not an afterthought after all the juicy sins were taken.) He sets forth how much of human desire (in this context, not the enjoyment of the goods of creation, but envy,frustration, and rage) is built on coveting what others have which we see as lacking in our own lives. He also presents a superb image of how Jesus eliminated the old, pagan religions, based on scapegoats and placating, by becoming a scapegoat himself.

I can see, in my own life, where much jealousy is based not on the 'whole picture' of what another seems to possess, but on the pain of seeing a lack in one's own life. Perhaps the married envy the supposed freedom of the unmarried, or the single the companionship of marriage - and this though the former cherish their spouses and the latter are glad to be without the responsibilities.

My readers know of my love for 1960s rock music, and how I sometimes find it a convenient manner in which to express emotion. (Yes, I normally preferred the opera - but there are days when the Beatles seemed to capture my own era far better.) I'm probably the last person on the planet who remembers an obscure Simon and Garfunkel song, "Richard Cory." It goes on about Richard's wealth, power, style, and so forth - and ends with the surprise that he 'put a bullet through his head.' Well, I suppose we all know, from the tabloids if nowhere else, that wealth and power are not guarantees of happiness or even sanity. Yet, when my own poverty was paining me most, I would sing out with the refrain, "I work in his factory. And I curse the life I'm living, and I curse my poverty, and I wish that I could be Richard Cory."

(Franciscans are not supposed to admit that they ever curse their poverty, but you heard it hear first.)

Oddly enough, when I did come to know some people who were relatively wealthy, there were many aspects of their lives which I did not desire in the least. As material goods go, I'm basically contented with a certain frugal comfort (who else do you know who used her small inheritance to buy a wheel of Stilton?) Nor do I have the slightest desire for the endless working hours of some wealthy people - who hardly get to enjoy what they do have. And I like 'social' contact to mean 'friends' - not obligations or networking. The envy was far more subtle. I had the good fortune to have an education, and pine for the days when I was an operatic singer, a gifted writer and researcher, one who could go on in four modern languages, etc., etc.. What made me jealous was that, coming from a working class family, I ended up forced by necessity into jobs which I not only hated but were such a strain as to harm my health. (I shall note that there undoubtedly are women out there who would envy anyone who had been a department head.) I was bitter that I did not have the freedom to pursue the areas that I loved - that being chained to that desk all those years not only kept me from using my genuine gifts but left me so emotionally spent that I was too worn out to pursue them in the evenings.

I envied the rich their choices. Yet I wonder if too many of them really have the options - or use them if they do. I was only looking to have enough to 'get by,' and to use my talents in a limited fashion, fulfilling and enriching to those I knew but no road to fame or fortune. Perhaps a wealthy woman whose gifts were for the arts and humanities might have been forced into a business career, just as I was, because it has a higher price tag. In fact, it may have been worse, because she may have felt a need to never be contented but always seek further wealth and prestige.

Please excuse me if I sound self absorbed. I'm using an example from my own life merely because it is that life which I know best. :)

Envy does poison us. We may be unaware of this, but, when jealousy has us in its grasp, we can see our interaction with others as if it were a competition. Many of these 'contests' are really stupid, as we would realise if we stopped to glance at the essence. Yet they are highly painful. When others envy anything they believe we have, they will need to find some form of attack. Our own envy leaves us blind to our own treasures.

The spiritual life is neither a matter of achievement nor a contest of any sort! Am I alone in seeing it as if it were at times? (Rhetorical question, of course. Anyone who has ever lived in a convent saw the 'contests' for who was the holiest, most abstemious, most likely to wear knickers that had big holes in them to prove the commitment to poverty, first to be up to say good morning to Jesus when others languished in bed till only an hour before dawn...)

I personally think that, where recognising a sin, honestly faced and leading to repentance, can be helpful even if we feel humiliated, the jealousy we do not see is destructive. (Before this seems self righteous, it is a problem with which I've always had to deal.) I know, in my own life, that much of the jealousy comes from my own pain and frustration. I can live with my past sins - because I am in awe of the Good Shepherd who led me from them, and drew me to repentance when I did not even see the importance of this as yet. (Come now - did you really think that those who have no major problems with chastity never had to face a need for major conversion? The sins I had to face were harder to recognise and far less fun.) What is hard for me to face, in middle age, is that I, who had promise in my young adult years, would have no hope of being remembered for anything other than being... well, she worked in an office, didn't she?

Here, we Christians are called to a Eucharistic life - a 'sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.' Envy, frustration, and the like not only cause problems with our relationships with others. They keep us from the altar of sacrifice (not, as James Alison well states, the old pagan placating and violence - but that Eucharistic emphasis I just mentioned).

Back in those Myers Briggs days...

Note to my readers: The link to the Myers Briggs information, which I provided in the heading, is not an endorsement. I merely added the link in case anyone was not familiar with the concept.

When I was seeking entrance to the convent, during the 1970s, and attending endless 'workshops' and the like then and during my convent time, in certain circles one would think the Myers Briggs tests provided insight of a level normally achieved only at Mount Sinai or in a confrontation with the Risen Christ. Younger readers should be aware that, though all of us were as 'relevant' as it gets in those days, it was an era which preceded the current culture of the self help aisle. Educated people (and nuns were in that category) all had some exposure to Freud and Jung (I have no fondness for psychology, but overall it is an area with which some familiarity was necessary). Though I personally think Jung was a Gnostic, the books I have from the 1950s, when priests and religious somehow thought the miserable, atheistic Freud was something of a god, make Jung's insights seem close to refreshing. At least a cross, room, or tale of martyrdom on Saint Catherine's wheel could be seen as something other than a symbol for sexual organs.

As I've said in the past, one problem today with speaking of that era is that many common ideas, to which one was exposed in talks with religious, articles in little known magazines, books written by resigned priests, and 'enlightened' presentations at gatherings where major superiors preached on the religious life as obsolete (and somehow opposed to the 'universal call to holiness,' an idea which caused controversies from the earliest Christian centuries but was widely believed to have been hatched afresh c. 1971), can only be either memories or anecdotal. The documents, such as existed, were not 'official' and are long gone. "Official documents" never treated of much of what was on people's minds. I doubt anyone would find links to such missives as were common then - they'd seem so dated as to be quaint.

One major change, not only in religious life but especially affecting those in such communicites, actually had a very positive element. I may laugh at the unwise extremes to which my generation went in being 'open,' but it was an improvement over 'polite conversation' and excessive formality such as we witnessed in childhood, where people could talk all afternoon and say nothing about themselves. Religious were taught a certain reserve, and this had a valuable element, but it could be taken to extremes. The silence, refraining from speaking of oneself even in the most 'normal' situations (for example, one could not comment on a book because it meant one had read it), 'custody of the senses' (fine in church, but outside easily confused for everything from shyness to arrogance to flirting), and the rule that one never complained (even if one's appendix burst in the classroom) even to one's Sisters, made for great artificiality. I know this was not universal, but can say that, in the community in which I lived, though were were not terribly strict about silence it meant little, because we could not say anything that had any substance or revealed anything about oneself.

All of a sudden, the trend was to share one's personal feelings, failings, unhappiness, and so forth indiscriminately, supposedly to build a bridge rather than a wall between oneself and others. Going from silence to such a stance was a problem, the more because those who previously were not to speak of themselves at all had no way to have learnt moderation and prudence. (...of course, at this age I can see that moderation and prudence are hardly surplus commodities... just login to any Internet group for examples.) As well, religious congregations tended to be focussed entirely on the needs and 'ways' of the community. Individual traits, ideas, even talents (unless the community had dire need of that last), were unimportant. In fact, it was not unusual (and certainly was true in the noviceship I witnessed) for candidates to be stripped of any sense of personal worth and self confidence. (One could not even wash lettuce leaves without being told one did it all wrong.) I saw a strong tendency to seek to reduce adult candidates to the level of small children, as if this would cause 'trust' (ahem!) and dependence and therefore foster obedience.

This long prelude leads me to the Myers Briggs trend. Such tests were common in religious communities and inter-community gatherings. I well remember one gathering I attended where everyone wore a name tag, with one's MBTI profile (mine is INFP, BTW) under one's name.

I shall admit that I found review of the profiling interesting in one sense. Though each of us is very different from one another, I had not realised that a huge percentage of people prefer ways that I find oppressive and stifling. For example, far more people are of a personality type which likes rigid, imposed structure. The 'introverts' such as myself, whose source of energy is ideas, are forever misunderstood by the 'extroverts' (source of energy in social interaction), who think we could be as wonderful as they are if we only put our minds to it.

Before proceeding, I'll add that one major problem with MBTI was that the terms used in the profiling have a totally different meaning than they do in the vernacular. Introverts are not shy - judgers are not judgemental.

It had always irritated me when I saw intelligent people convinced that they could accomplish nothing unless they had to be constantly accountable to some authority (or, more so, a group.) I saw this as either a capitalist gimmick (manufactured need to place money in the authority's pocket) or a way of controlling. When I saw how many people, especially those in fields such as education, actually needed that 'group motivation,' it at least led to some understanding.

But the 'down side' was that classifications such as this could lead to people's being 'boxed.' As well, even if INFPs are only 1% of the population, we do exist - the majority does not rule. It is not that the majority being of other classifications means we need to be fixed.

Personality testing and the like did grow much out of hand, but it is somewhat understandable. When one was taught that one's personality had to be wiped out for one to be open to Christ, it could give a weird impression that who were are as individuals is not valuable in the divine scheme.

Enough for today... but, overall and not only in relation to MBTI, I would caution others to never assume that statistics prove anything in human relations. That 85% of people thought this or that does not mean that the other 15% are less valuable or need to be changed.

A fantastic fool exits this world

I was just visiting a theology forum on which I participate, and a discussion was in progress about the death of Jerry Falwell. It will come as no shock to my readers that Falwell was not anyone whose career or 'doctrine' I would find enlightening, though what I have seen of his 'teachings' is a plethora of intolerance, rash judgment, superiority, and, frankly, nonsense. What I find incredible is that he apparently touched something in the hearts of others who, rather than being appalled, saw Falwell as some sort of moral leader.

Why, you may ask, would I even dignify this man with an entry on this blog? It is merely because, with his being in the news this week, I am recalling a statement he made, in late 2001, which would have filled me with ire... if it came from one with more intelligence and logic. Falwell's reasoning was, at best, on a par with Neanderthal man, or perhaps Lucy. But he suited his bizarre logic to the 'spirit of the moment,' in the wake of Osama Bin Laden's attacks on New York and Washington DC.

As a prelude, I shall mention that much of what greeted the '9-11' attacks, insofar as religious comments are concerned, was not particularly logical in the first place. I must make it clear that I am in no way minimising the horror and devastation of the attacks, nor that they were a horrible tragedy. I was in New York on 11 September 2001, and shall never forget the sight. But, in the aftermath, I recall a New York television programme which consisted of interviews with prominent, intelligent clergy and other religious figures. I was puzzled by how some of them spoke of their faith being shaken, as if they could not comprehend how God could allow this to happen.

Allow this to happen? Sadly, mankind has a distressing record for cruelty, destruction, horrid acts of war, etc., etc., since the exit from Eden. I would imagine, for example, that the clergy who were interviewed have heard of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, just to mention two examples of thousands which come to mind if one has the slightest sense of history.

It would be unjust to compare these distinguished religious figures with the likes of Jerry Falwell, but that Falwell's nonsense could have any appeal at all, to anyone, undoubtedly came from others' wondering 'how could God let this happen?' I suppose that, when devastation is at one's own doorstep, the pressing immediacy of it all makes some wonder.

It is at that point that even the vaguest sense of Falwell's argument parts company with any logic of which I am aware. His premise seemed to be (1) North America had previously had a divine 'veil of protection,' which prevented previous attacks on its soil. (To my knowledge, both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans remain intact - that these protected the continent from, for example, bombing in the previous wars is most fortunate but hardly indication of a superior society of some kind.) (2) God had lifted this 'veil of protection' because of homosexuality and abortion.

Thinking one's own land superior (in God's sight) certainly has precedent in history - but it is all the more bizarre in Falwell's case, because, pompous and smug though such an idea is in any case, in the past it had a flavour of 'church and state acting as one,' where Falwell is in a land where sectarian protestant denominations number in the thousands, yet the 'separation of church and state' seems to be regarded as a fifth gospel, and undoubtedly one superior to the other four. There is, as well, certainly a history of homosexual acts and abortion as being considered particularly heinous sins (...the atomic bomb is a far newer invention) - though even the strongest adherents of "God rewards the good and punishes the wicked" would have seen this as applying only to those who committed or were directly involved in a particular sin, not everyone who happens to hold the same passport. Even if, for the sake of argument, since Falwell clearly thought this to be the case, one thought that homosexual acts and abortion were abominations, homosexuality and abortion are as old as the human race. Granted that abortion's being legal is a recent development, I would be hard put to think of where, throughout the western world at least, it is not legal today - or, God help us, even mandatory in some cases.

Falwell's thinking he'd named the worst of sins did not seem aimed at reaching out to others in Christian love, or of concern for their repentance. (Note that I am still 'ravelling the thread' of his thinking this was the most critical matter, and the sins such as to cry out to heaven for vengeance, so much so that God would see to it that Osama whacked two major US cities to punish those who 'allow' what has been part of humanity's practise since Paradise.) It was a calling to those who equally find themselves to be superior, to crush and hate those who do not share his 'morality.'

I do not believe in abortion, but Falwell's noble nation, where health care costs, a lack of benefits for those who are not wealthy, and so forth could indeed drive women to have abortions who would not do so were they less than desperate. I can understand, since genuine research into human sexuality is extremely recent, that, in times when it was believed that everyone was 'straight,' and that homosexual activity was an aberration forced on the young by devious elders, it could be seen as heinous. Today, when it is understood that homosexual orientation (a concept which is only a century old - and a situation thought to indicate mental illness until only 40 years ago) is a part of someone's psycho-sexual development, why would someone's seeking love and integration in such circumstances be considered wicked?

More and more, I can see where Francis of Assisi had the right idea. Even if one does see sinfulness (though Francis was far more concerned with his own weakness than that of others - would the day come that this were common!), one does better to preach the contrary virtue than to condemn those whom one finds to be lacking in the same. To begin such a war as Falwell would (...don't get me started on the war begun by his friend Dubya) is a ticket to superiority, pride, and hatred, where one can be blinded to one's own sins because at least they aren't those sins.

But the Falwell argument did not leave me aching to hear only Christian preaching... I also was wondering, in the face of such 'logic,' "Plato and Aristotle, where are you?"

Very quick note to my readers

Our team member Father Gregory's blog, though it always is interesting, is a rare treat at the moment. Those of you who love the planets, as I do, will undoubtedly be fascinated by the last few entries. The Humpty Dumpty article is brilliant as well. You may click the link in this entry title, or access Fr Gregory's profile from the side panel as usual.

Dilemmas for eternity

The jokes about how the scholastic theologians debated how many angels can dance on the head of a pin would seem to me to be quite dated (... about seven centuries dated), but indeed they do endure. Actually, I have yet to find that exact debate, though there were many debates about angels, including speculation about whether they defecate (needless to say, I am not interested in the conclusion, and cannot recall the consensus.) It's usually Thomas Aquinas who is cited, but the rare Franciscan who embraced scholasticism tended to be worse yet - John Duns Scotus could leave one reading the same passage twenty times and wondering where to find the point. One cannot list on exam papers, of course, that those such as Thomas and Duns Scotus (or such neo-Thomists as Karl Rahner, who was brilliant and totally confusing in his language as well) were so deeply 'into' prayer (therefore aware that it was all straw in the end) that they were contented with God's being essentially unknowable. I believe that those who have caught one of the deeper glimpses of divine glory would recognise the limitations of our vision and expression.

I've been studying Philosophy of Religion in depth. I believe that embarking on these fascinating and stormy seas (...longing for sight of a man who walked on water) is what reduced me to such confusion that I actually had my cat write the last blog entry. Very recently, I have been pursuing the chapter about Eternal Life. So far, I have three conclusions. (1) Scientific advances, and the natural outgrowth of having to refer to physics, relativity, atoms and the like tend to make the old questions about angels and whether mice sacramentally communicated if they nibbled at the Eucharist seem tame. (2) Nothing brings forth the ego (I just might mean that in the vernacular sense, but don't tell on me) more than debates about whether my identity could survive, whether I would be 'me' whilst disembodied, whether I am greedy if I want more than to live in only the divine memory, or whether one should care about surviving personally. (3) I'm beginning to think it would be more restful, and perhaps more coherent, to be a Buddhist (or a Hindu at least.)

Unlike the other members of my blog, both of whom are gifted in matters scientific, I have no talent for the least understanding in such areas. I have read the works of great scholars (theist, atheist, revisionist, Thomist, whatever) on the topic of eternal life these past weeks, and indeed am enjoying the arguments, the more when they refute one another. (Dare I admit that a rogue such as Bertrand Russell shares my occasional cynicism about humanity? Or that it never before occurred to me that Thomistic views of the afterlife do not include a concept of society, where one meets old friends and possibly is shocked at the sight of old enemies, because, being the man of prayer, Thomas would not have stopped to pout at any idea that the company of God would be insufficient?) I have pondered everything from whether the resurrection makes sense, whether it alone makes sense, whether it is absurd, or whether the Platonic vision (I don't recall Plato's believing in a Creator, or thinking the material world was all that wonderful...) refutes the Christian and Jewish emphasis on the material. I'm so unlikely to ponder the scientific that I nearly laughed at one argument which not only hinged on how identity is physical and must have atoms interacting with other atoms but, funnier to me, proposed the resurrection as absurd because where would we all fit?

I recognise, of course, that in laughing at such things, without being able to construct an argument or refutation of same here, I am revealing myself as a standard, dumb Franciscan. However, as usual when my intellectual side comes to the fore (actually, it always does), and I become a 'dualist' (in the sense only of sounding like a Franciscan perpeptually arguing with a Dominican), I am on verge of conceding that, as far as the philosophical arguments go, I still think Thomas' is the one that makes the most sense.

Now, I must find arguments which can back up my own view, which is more along the lines of the Cappadocians. I see eternity (however we exist, whatever spiritual bodies we have, whether we are disembodied in some dream world or tripping over one another at the general judgment) as meaning constant growth and awareness. I do not see it as static - but as white hot love that cannot be quenched. I see it (well, of course) as constantly increasing, intense knowledge of the divine, which will only lead us to realise, again and again, that the more we come to know, the more we realise we know nothing. (Of course, I also believe that, when the very much alive Jesus of Nazareth said, 'the kingdom is here,' he did not mean one must be dead to enter eternity... somehow or another, it already is here.)

There's no sarcasm in 'somehow or another.' I believe in the Incarnation, resurrection, ascension, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. I haven't the slightest notion of what any of it means. I'm about to outline an argument, for my eventual exam (at the university, not the general judgement), about our continued, personal existence - and I am hard put to even define what 'life' or 'soul' or 'God is. I find myself sympathising with 'revisionist' philosophers (theists, not Bertrand Russell), because, though they put it in a more subtle fashion, they don't see what is so wonderful about this earth and all of us that they assume it reflects a hankering for the divine - but, at least, they agree with me that an afterlife of reward or punishment is rather dismal.

Eureka! Deep down, the Christian (and other theist) philosophers know that nothing, about eternal life or any element of 'proofs' for God's existence, is possible, beyond conceding that a concept is philosophically coherent and feasible. The Fathers of the Eastern Church would wonder what the commotion was about in the first place, and just recommend the Jesus Prayer. The Buddhists would wonder, first, why we are asking such questions, and, second, why we are so concerned with maintaining our personal identity... I can deal with just about anything except Immanuel Kant and morality proving God's existence, or any theory which says that hankering for eternity means that we must have it round the corner.

Anyone interested in a paradox for the day on the grass roots level? I don't think 'experience' proves anything... yet my entire life centres on worship, and that in a tradition of such experiences as burning bushes and witness to a crucified man who rose from the dead. :)

Creativity reigns - Essay in memory of Leonora

My cat, Leonora, and her cyberspouse, Lemieux, both have gone to the Rainbow Bridge during the past few years. In her memory, and, it is hoped, for the delight of other cat lovers, I should like to reproduce an essay which Leonora composed when she was a regular contributor to the (now sadly defunct) CLAW: For Cats Who Reign site. So, here is Leonora's "Creativity Reigns."

It is common knowledge amongst us kitties that we are so incredibly adorable that the world is our oyster. What may not be generally known is that we literary types constantly spin tails (excuse me, tales) in our imaginative minds, and that this can lead to some odd situations. I shall relate a few from my own experience.

In adventure mode, I was climbing to the top of Mount Everest. Slowly I moved upward, the massive peak becoming ever more perilous to scale ... the many obstacles cleared with my avid paw... Upward, upward ... eager to plant the CLAW flag at the summit...Just then, the Christmas tree toppled to the ground, and I was fortunate to get away with only a few minor scrapes and a bad case of jitters.

When the fantasy plot beckoned, I became Morgan le Fey, lost in fairy enchantment. Yes, I must lead Arthur to the Grail! Ah, let me summon the Sight - I must look for direction in the lake ... so I peered into its swirling depths .

Had anyone flushed, I would have found myself exploring the topography of the sewer.

Another time, I was a fearless explorer, who a time machine had transported to the age of the dinosaurs. I entered a darkened cave (knocking over the set of Shakespeare which I wouldn't notice because Shakespeare was not to see the light of day for many millions of years after my journey.) I peered into the abundant foliage outside the cage, caught the reflection of the light on the ponds (which had something much like my treats on its surface), nobly looked upon the landscape for the first sight of apatosaurus and triceratops (I mix periods without qualm). Suddenly, I heard the thundering steps of the T-rex - and my ample body became as a streak of light flashing through the sky!

It was only my bratty "cousin", Mums's four-year-old niece, showing off her new Barbie shoes, but the general effect, on a slightly neurotic kitty, was devastating.

Creativity reigns - but no one remembers to tell that it gets one in much trouble now and then!

Leonora also composed this poem, written from the point of view of a d*g:

Jabbering, drooling, and snapping at naught,
Longing for approval when I do what I ought,
Inwardly, I indulge a secret wish ...
Though I slobber, and pant, and beg at my dish.
I long to be elegant, long for thoughts sublime,
Wish independence of thought could be mine.
I submit to the humans, indeed, I shall beg,
Indiscriminate in taste, I snuggle every leg.
Yet for all of ugly behaviour, at that,
Deep within my heart of hearts,
...I long to be a cat.

I think Francis of Assisi would have permitted one to imagine that one meets one's pets in the afterlife - so, RIP, my elegant feline couple, till we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge. I'd like to think that Leonora and Lemieux are pulling the goddess Freya's chariot right now.

Oh, don't join the choir!

Please be forewarned that this shall be my most irritable post in the history of blog-dom. But I'm at that time of life when one weeps for the potential one once had - and also at an age where I no longer hide being opinionated.

There are notable exceptions (for example, I doubt the music of any church on earth could top that of Westminster Cathedral), but, as a general rule, churches which are either Roman Catholic, advertise 'family services,' or are looking to be a spot where everyone can 'relate' have music that is utter crap. Just focussing on the RC Church, where I served for years, with memories of the 1970s and hopes that we'd have top quality music to rival even the Anglicans, the music tends to be pathetic. It shall continue to be pathetic until serious musicians are employed. (Yes, I said employed, and I said serious musicians. I am aware that the Church would prefer that everyone be an angel, therefore with no need for food, clothing, shelter and therefore a means of sustenance. I am equally aware that people whose skills in music are laughable can become the darlings of congregations, and can come to think of themselves as if they were Renata Tebaldi... though I doubt they know who Tebaldi was.) The unwritten rule that 'everyone must sing everything,' that facilitating this means including nothing beyond the range of someone who'd have trouble singing London Bridge is Falling Down, and that choirs, soloists, and instrumentalists exist only to provide support for congregational singing must be abolished.

Serious singers indeed will be encouraged to join the choir - though not to really sing once they get there. There are exceptions, of course - a first rate professional choir, or training in a choir school, can be beneficial. But I am speaking of the average church choir (and many choirs not associated with churches), where operatic singers can be reduced to crooning because the director wants the sound of 'one voice.' (From a distance, that's the effect anyway, but it's not worth mentioning this.)

Though I have not seen this often, it is so dangerous to one's voice that it is worthy of note. Here and there, I have met choir directors who have a particular 'choral sound' they want, and who encourage a technique which would totally ruin the voices of those who adapted this. I well remember one fool who wanted (as he said) a "heavy, covered sound." He told people to "hold their mouths rigid," to adapt bizarre pronunciations, and other instructions it would pain me to even remember. His choir sounded like an old, somewhat damaged record playing on a slow turntable.

I am a spinto / dramatic soprano, the sort who plays Leonora in La Forza del Destino or the title role in Aida. My timbre is dark, but my range sits high. I was doomed, as far as choirs are concerned, the day that Sister Liberanos, who placed people in choral sections based on their saying "Hello," thought I was an alto. Were that the end of it, it might not have been so bad - but church and school choirs, and even the choir of the university where I earned my degree in music, want "strong altos." (Useless to say I'm not an alto - and there was no understanding of how I had to practise doubly for the rest of the week following a rehearsal, to get my voice out of the cellar. I sounded as if I had two voices.) Of course, in choirs such as I have mentioned, most people in the alto section are not true contraltos - they are those with a limited range. A spinto will be stuck in that section... with damaging effects.

Useless to offer to vocalise! The director, having determined the supposed 'contralto quality,' will hit a middle C, ask one to vocalise an octave up, and allow one to go no further, writing down that this is the top of one's range. Never mind that I had a range of over three octaves and could sustain notes above a high C.

It works both ways, of course. A true mezzo-soprano may find herself the lead soprano, because the people in that section are not much good, either, and she's the only one who can hit a G.

I've known some fine musicians who nonetheless knew nothing of vocal technique. One, with whom I worked for some years, was an excellent conductor and organist, but it took me years of study to 'unlearn' the nonsense he taught me. How well I remember not only being stuck in an alto section but being instructed, "Put it in your chest!" When my voice finally started to have proper bel canto technique, he complained to others that I was losing those 'chest tones,' not even knowing that is a major fault in a voice.

Any reader who is a serious singer has this advice from me. Keep up your lessons and practise religiously - but try to do only solo or serious ensemble work. I'm sad, to this day, that the crooning I learnt in church choirs, and which was made all the worse because, in my convent of only 17 Sisters, I had to whisper not to be accused of 'singularisation,' ruined my voice. Not that I cannot still sing - the ghost of the opera singer self still is there. But my voice was severely damaged, and all the while I was hoping I was using the gift for the good of the Church.