Pondering *That* Council.

One thing most Catholics agree upon--for various values of the term "agree"--is that the Church was in need of some kind of reform prior to the most recent ecumenical council.

The disintegration of the church in the wake of that council--observance, organizations, publishers, etc.--illustrates that the strength of the edifice was more apparent than real. The centralization of the church had become such an exercise in micromanagement that parish art was given the kibosh--directly from Rome itself. Read it all--it is a remarkable bit of history, and not an edifying one. No less than Jacques Maritain shows up--to defend the decree against the Stations.

"You had nothing better to do?" applies in spades to HQ's behavior here. And elsewhere, as I think most people could agree--at least on a few points.

Then the agreement ends, of course, as arguments over baby and bathwater cycle on endlessly. 

But here's the thing: the same church that policed parish Stations of the Cross also set the agenda for reforming itself at the 21st ecumenical council. 

My question is straightforward:

Was it capable of doing so honestly?

How could that process of discerning the proper path for self-reform not be contaminated by the same arrogance, centralizing, we-know-better clericalism that led it to the brittle, parlous-behind-the-facade state it was in 1962?

And don't give me that "but the Holy Spirit!" bit of apologetic magical thinking.

The Holy Spirit protects councils from damnable error. It does not positively-inspire them, turning the attendees into faultless stenographers of God's will. Put another way, He keeps the church from a fatal loss of blood, but not from shooting itself in the first place.

The litter of failed-but-Holy-Spirit-protected-and-valid councils is pointed evidence to the contrary.

From my perspective, at VatII it just looks like one group of confident centralizers stole a march on another. And Group One never questioned its own premises, either. 

And here we are, with a still-micromanaging Rome licensing a handful of parish priests to say the same mass that was celebrated at Vatican II. 

"Meet the new boss..."

Or, if you'd prefer: the Church learned nothing and forgot nothing.

Irony: the Almighty's favorite kind of humor.

 

Random notes for a darkening sky.

That we live in a time of obvious spiritual, social and political decay does not change our moral obligations to others or to ourselves. Each of us is still obligated to order our lives according to the light given us and the duties of our station.

Personal authenticity and integrity are never conferred by institutions. Least of all in times of universal deceit and corruption.

 

 

Surely this has happened to you...

You find yourself reading someone whose judgment you used to respect very highly and then it hits you:

"How dumb was I?"

It may even be happening to you right this second....

Lord knows I've worn out my welcome with some over time.

But it hit me reading someone from my neck of the woods just a few minutes ago. I was going to do a post responding to the piece. But I realized that the writer was making the kind of arguments--and in the same style--that I used to eat up with a shovel.

And the arguments were either deliberately disingenuous or were the product of the inability to do a thoughtful analysis. Frankly, the former is not only uncharitable, it is unlikely. 

The reality is, the writer is a bulldog spiritual partisan who operates from presuppositions that are impervious to contrary evidence. And that renders the analysis persuasive only to the already-persuaded from the get-go. The more I think it over, it has ever been thus. 

And my reactions to it, then and now, say more about me than it does about the writer. 

Then there's the possibility: maybe I was right then and wrong now? I truly don't think so, but time may tell.

And on that quasi-Montaigne-ish bit of pacing-about-the-room analysis, I will draw this post to a close.

Ferguson, Missouri.

I don't actually have any thoughts--yet--about the underlying incident between Michael Brown and Darren Wilson. I need to see more evidence before I can say one way or another. I have a sneaking suspicion there may be no innocents here at all. The leak wars are not increasing my confidence.

But I do know the following:

1. I hate looters. If you try to destroy a shopkeeper's livelihood, you are near-enough to literally tearing the food out of his (or, yes, her) family's mouths. If he sends you to the particular judgment during your extralegal shopping spree, the prosecutor best not ask me to be on the shopkeeper's jury.

2. I hate militarized police forces. Sure, this is true:

But it's also true that that big dog is an indiscriminate biter, and will eventually get around to sinking its teeth into you, too, Suburbia. "The bureaucracy is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding bureaucracy." 

A/k/a "mission creep."

This isn't law and order. This is just force masquerading as law.

3. I hate narratives. A 6'4", 292 pound 18 year old is a man. He can serve in the military, bind himself under a contract, vote, get married, drive a commercial vehicle--everything but grab a beer (which makes the current drinking age a bit stupid on that account). With those measurements, he'd be a prime candidate for a college offensive line. He is not a "teenager." 

4. Fellow ofays, we do need something of a reality check--perfectly law-abiding black men take shit that no comparable honky would experience [read the whole article: McWhorter spares no one.] Related: police/minority community interactions are extremely complicated, even when there's no ill will. Note the author of that last piece, but turn off your irony meter first.

5. Speaking of narratives: it would be nice if people gave a shit about someone dying without first checking the color of the perpetrator and the victim to see if it serves some news agenda.

Yes, I know--while I'm dreaming, ask for a new car.

Renewal or rupture?

Or, "Hey, a Catholic post!"

After we moved from our two-bedroom fridge box to the Burrow in 2010, we started attending the nearest parish. Eventually we registered at the new place in 2011, and have been happy parishoners since. One of our concerns early on was that the inner ring suburbs had taken it in the shorts during the last round of parish closings/consolidations, and we were afraid of that happening again. Father assured us that it wasn't likely to happen again, and offered as evidence the fact that the parish was getting a new altar. This year, it most certainly did.

Now, there are two critical facts to keep in mind (I know you really want to skip down to view the pictures, but bear with me): (1) the parish church was built in 1956, and cost was apparently no object. The stained glass was imported from Munich, or was commissioned from talented local artisan, Mary Giovann (I prefer her figural work, but she had the knack). Before he blew up at me and deemed me a nonperson, Jeffrey Smith indicated that he thought the BVM and SH mosaics (below) were from the craftsmen who were usually commissioned by the Vatican. Longer term parishoners have narrowed it down to either Italy or Poland. So, yeah. Note also the baldachin, which wasn't exactly a standard issue requirement back then. The parish was making a statement in 1956.

(2) Unfortunately, another statement was made in the (early?) 1970s, with a misguided renovation.  The decision was made to put in a wooden table and wooden ambo in the transept, on a raised platform. The said platform was covered with gold plush carpet. No, I don't know what they were thinking, either. Smoky basement scenes from "That 70s Show" leap to mind, but otherwise, it's inexplicable. In all fairness, however, I can't be mad at them, because it wasn't one of those wholesale "Lash Out At Tradition In An Iconoclastic Frenzy" hatchet jobs that have become justly infamous.

Here, as with the King's Men on Numenor, the renovators retained a certain holy fear, and they quailed from defiling Meneltarma--i.e., assaulting the high altar, baldachin, mosaics, statuary, altar rails and so forth.  Minimal hammering, thanks be to God.

The old renovated altar, after removal for installation of the new (sans the dread carpet--gah!) 

The question that should always be foremost with respect to Catholic art and architecture: 
"Is the best we can do?"

Behold the new (and restored, and original):

The new altar, on the new marble platform--complete with fascinated toddler. All of the stone was obtained from the same quarry as 1956.

The old ambo, which had been in storage until the KofC broke it out for a 

state officer installation ceremony--and everyone insisted it stay out.

The BVM altar mosaic. 

Suitably Byzantine for my tastes.

I know, you can read--but for the record, the Sacred Heart altar mosaic. 

The picture doesn't do the gold justice.

The high altar, tabernacle and baldachin.  

With the tabernacle still front and center.

A close-up of the tabernacle on the high altar.

The same, from the right.

Four of the altar relics, which were re-placed in the new altar by Bishop Byrnes. I'm sure you can figure out which Saints are which. We also have a piece of the True Cross, but that was NOT displayed for public view for obvious reasons. And permit me to detonate the tired argument that you could build a ship with all the relics of the True Cross bouncing about in Catholic churches: 

Not remotely so.

So, in response to all of this resplendent Catholic glory, Hilary said: "So, the altar in the nave and the Mass being said outside the sanctuary doesn't bother you?"

After chewing on it for a few weeks, I have to admit she has a point. Not that it's a bad renovation--far from it. It's about the best I've seen. I think it's beautiful, and the kids find something new to examine every time we're there.

Bottom line: it is still a change, isn't it? One that kinda-sorta ratifies the initial rupture-redo. The best rejoinder I've come up with is that had the original renovation been done this way, it would have shown more continuity--a change, yes, but one with a distinct effort to connect to the past, and which does not express embarrassment for the past, and doesn't convey "Eh--it'll do." And better late than never. 

That's good, but it isn't quite dispositive. I guess I keep coming back to my wife's friend, who never made the connection between the Mass and the Sacrifice of the Cross until she saw The Passion of the Christ. And then there's the constant need to tack against the winds of discontinuity.

Rome, we have a problem.

So, yeah, a lot to ponder. 

Here's why I liked the Front Porch article.

First, I greatly appreciate the comments from Joe Marier and Art Deco starting here, which clarify a lot and helped me think it over. Also, yes, the hyperbole helps the author not at all.

My thoughts, and they are ones that have gnawed at me and caused me to link to the essay in the first place, are related to two points:

(1) a great deal of the overall wealth is dependent on and driven by the necessity for two incomes, with all that entails (more here).

(2) The household debt explosion, which is right about at the annual GDP.

Those two factors have to be considered as well and undercut the wealth/income issues, correct?
The growth of wealth/income over the past forty years has been debt-driven in ways not seen since before the Great Depression, and puts all of it on a very shaky footing.

And the current fixes (across two administrations, it must be noted) are merely efforts to get the consumption spigot flowing again, exacerbating the underlying problems.

Unless, of course, I'm missing something.

Anyway, these are just preliminary thoughts, and I have no idea where this is going.