25th of 26 Children, The Spelling of Ciopinno, and I Keep Forgetting I'm Not A Farmer

"God is closer to us than water is to a fish."

Saint Catherine of Siena

 

Today Roman Catholics observe the feast day and memorial of Catherine of Siena, a Third Order Dominican and Doctor of the Church. I chose her as my confirmation Saint in 2005 and have found increasing affection for her mother, who is said to have struggled with a  sharp tongue and impatient temperament (Ahem --- 26 pregnancies!)

 

Anthony and I were married in a parish named for her, and her Dialogue was one of the first books by a Saint that I read after converting. This morning, following a resolution to cut 'screen time' usage in our home, I hastily checked email and made a few notes on the calendar. Although I'm tired of being wired and plan to sever the cord for the summer, I have all the convenience and tools of modern life to replicate in a more rugged way (on paper) before disconnecting entirely. And my cute husband wanted to watch yesterday's episode of Game of Thrones. So, as the saga goes --- I needed to answer two Facebook messages about upcoming social gatherings, before logging out. Real quick like.

Then I noticed that Mindy had a nifty graphic with a bold quote by Catherine of Siena on her Facebook profile, and I thought perhaps a quick tribute was in order. So I trolled around the usual sites for that dose of sighing verve that only the Internet can offer to a bathrobe-clad lady who needs one more cup of coffee. "Yes! All for Jesus! We should have Italian for dinner, in her honor, yah? Truth, obedience, love personified! She was so brave. So, so brave. And her mother? What a soul. Hey. I wonder how Michelle is doing..."

After two phone calls regarding meals for a local pregnant friend, dusting off the toddlers' breakfast crumbs and sending them after a bucket of blocks, I returned with my calendar to finalize a few dinner invites over next month. And then I couldn't remember what goes in ciopinno, and became immersed in Italy's regional food etymology before remembering that Catherine of Siena was a Third Order Dominican. My husband appeared and refreshed my coffee mug just as I wandered into a few sites about their way of life, then visited my own Benedictine Oblate heart strings online for a bit, and found myself halfway to the phone to dial up a rural Texan monastery when I remembered it was time to switch the laundry loads.

Fly Lady. And her snippy tenet about "Don't allow yourself to get sidetracked by the computer." Ah, vice.

We've had so many recent conversations, some with friends, about the modern place of technology and the danger of replacing leisure and rejuvenation with solitude and oblivion.  Useless ingestion of news and gossip.

As the saying goes, "When looking for faults, use a mirror, not a microscope." I've benefitted greatly from hearing peoples' stories about their own overly-connected, hyper-informed habits. It's all terribly amusing. My husband recently acquiesced (he's going to be so annoyed that I used that word. Oh wait, he doesn't read the Internet, nevermind!) on a major scheduling thing which results in him //not// working 16 hour days. Pretty rad.  So our priority-shifting-talk , which has heretofore been largely safe and existential, is really coming to pass. And this, before the mania of Alaskan summer with 20 hours of daylight! It's a great time to plan.

My proclamations are in no way a sweeping condemnation of the webs. Lots of kids do it with impunity. This is just a thing.  It's just my box; as Auntie Leila describes artfully and practically, "Obviously you still have to de-clutter the box. The trap would be to put your clutter in the box and then add more clutter on the tables. The box is not a remedy for Original Sin. I know. Bummer."

When I emerged from the office to give my plain coffee that pinch of sugar which makes it "Brooklyn Black", my husband shrugged off my culinary queries with a hug: "I've got dinner goin' in the crock pot, honey --- chicken cacciatore"

Which obviously made me think of Madonna. (Louise Veronica Ciccone.) Who always makes me think of Detroit. And then Joe Koss.

Saints Catherine, Dominic, Benedict --- Ora pro nobis!

When Evangelize Sounds More Like Scandalize

It's been observed that having a judicious temperament includes knowing when to simply be quiet. What's the opposite of judicious, then? That's the one I have. The temperament of a defendant, or maybe a plaintiff, but I wish to be no one's Judge. And thank God for His wisdom on that. We could take a moment of silence to observe it, even.

Blogging has served a thrilling mix of the accessible and the impossible for me, since jumping in with both feet two years ago, after an annual Christmas letter mailing just left me overflowing with more to say. A convert to Catholicism, I find endless study, joy and conversion in the tenets of our faith. Reading certain blogs has urged me along the journey. It's also been helpful to express these beliefs by writing them down, in the sense that I could refer to authoritative teachings and teachers while paddling alongside them in my own way. It's been cool.

None of this is to say that writing publicly in my limited scope has helped me to become a stronger Christian. It hasn't. With the exception of highlighting my own scholastic and spiritual weaknesses --- a focus I'm thankful for --- this has been mostly an exercise in networking. Still valid, still gratifying and productive. But not growth, for me. There are graceful women who can avoid being unfairly combative while elucidating Truth, and I commend them.

"I write to make sense of my life," is a sentiment I heard twenty years ago and loved immediately. It now sounds slightly vain and limited, but as far as it goes is still true for me. My faith makes sense to me now, and writing about it has been a small but vital part of that.

I am newly sensitive to the formulaic cheapening of our faith for cynical gain, after an exchange heralded by a popular Catholic blogger, in which "traditional" Catholics were prompted to decry the secret anti-Semitism amongst the people they worship with. Hardly a light charge. Stuttering denials and outrage ensued. Crazy anti-Semitic (the word crazy being descriptive, not a qualifier, for there's no other kind) things were typed to the blog author in response. However, all sane voices claiming to run in traditionally-minded circles but never hear such filth were ignored. A pattern emerged: either tacitly cheer the hip blogger and mock the square kids in skirts, or prepare to be shunned. Una Voce, people.

Sometimes I read the posts offered here and see a predictable pattern: "Orthodoxy (from the Greek, 'straight, upright', no?) rules! Believe me and St. Augustine --- and if you don't, allow me to shock you with a sordid, self-referential anecdote." Formulas are tiresome, and if there's one thing I learned from the smirking condescension lobbed my way this afternoon, it's that guilt by association has a formula all its own. When an accuser is intent on proving their point over discovering even a hint of new data, no defense is possible. I trust God alone to direct my soul, and have no doubt that the gift of reason will serve me in discerning the company I keep at mass or anywhere else. I don't need edicts from the internet or a Facebook pep rally about bravery to do so.

And so it follows that I now assess my associations. Let God find me in a Latin mass all day long before He sees me bowing down to self-appointed spiritual directors posing as bloggers, so hungry for plain old meanness and detraction. We must be careful that leaps to rashness and amusement at the expense of charity don't become idols in themselves. I'm comfortable saying 'we' because I mean 'me'. I must be careful of this.

Lox Populi, in its name, is a claim that the voice of the people is not, after all, the voice of God. (Plus my daffy nod to the superiority of Alaskan seafood.) I wonder if that's an irrelevant claim to stake online, where being loud and pithy too often passes for virtue and truth. Mob rule has no charity. It seeks evidence to fulfill a foregone conclusion, and ignores any contrary testimony. There's no judicious temperament required, only a grudge and a megaphone.

If I began writing in this space with at least the clarity of knowing I have much more to learn than I do to teach, that clarity remains. And I want to write about motherhood now, with many of the same intentions (mostly justifying the suspicious amount of reading I like to do). My motivation is growth as a writer --- with opinions and observations about modern culture through the prism of Catholicism coming naturally. Joyfully swimming upstream towards the shared aim of sainthood, and challenging myself to excellence, these all still matter very much to me.

This blog will stay active, but I envision a season of learning and sharing more on the personal topic of vocation: if you'll join me, please find newer posts at The Reasonably Redneck Childhood.

Eminent Domain

How vividly I recall the moment I realized that the 'most paranoid' people I know are, in fact, right about everything.

I've been looking for this quote for five years

Alleluia! Do you know how you read something once but can't find it again on command, feeling almost physical anguish as you vividly recall the placement on its original page, knowing a second glance may slip through your mental fingers forever? For those who have moments with the written word that rival (surpass) human interactions, I'm hoping my hysterics will not be wasted. Too much hype? I don't think so!

This I adore, this I strive to answer with full assent, and this opens my heart. Precisely this is my sense of Pope Francis' clarion call, his urgency and clarity of mission. He knows who we are, and his own holiness feels intertwined with -- at the service of, even -- our messiness.

Tolkien said in his collected letters:
“I can recommend this as an exercise: make your Communion in circumstances that affront your taste. Choose a snuffling or gabbling priest or a proud and vulgar friar; and a church full of the usual bourgeois crowd, ill-behaved children — from those who yell to those products of Catholic schools who the moment the tabernacle is opened sit back and yawn — open necked and dirty youths, women in trousers and often with hair both unkempt and uncovered. Go to Communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same as a Mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people. (It could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand — after which our Lord propounded the feeding that was to come.”)

A Life Without Sin

When I met my husband, he posed this question very early: "What is Satan's greatest lie?" (To certain girls, it doesn't get much more romantic than that. I know. I was eighteen. You hush.)  That the answer --- "Satan's greatest lie is that he doesn't exist" --- came from Anthony, not French poetry or even a Kevin Spacey movie, was the beginning of my fascination with and attraction to him. My husband seems like a bombastic personality to many people, but how quickly he deflects my swooning over these moments now. ("Honey, I probably got it from a movie. I was just trying to sound deep.")

We were married one year later. We lived together for the entirety of our engagement. The doors of Christ were thrown widely open for us, sinners seeking an anchor without much knowing we were drowning. We've needed a life raft more than once in our travels together, including being civilly divorced and remarried, and relapsing on a host of favorite vices, all the while clinging to the virtue of Love itself and our unquenchable thirst. That 'God-shaped hole' I first heard about as a teenager, and visited in adulthood by finding the heartfelt vocabulary of Saint Augustine, has never left us. We are grateful.

And yes, we immediately began having sex when we met ---- that's how people express an interest in getting to know each other, in the world we came from. I don't make these admissions out of pride or even shame --- just an attempt to be clear about my moral formation. I also mean to draw a larger conclusion about the arrogance of chronic sin, and how it blinds us to our own brokenness. This is well-illustrated by a Western priest's report on the number of people standing in line for confession vs. those in line for communion on Sunday, comparing the ratio now to that of forty years ago. Hint: one is shrinking while the other is growing. I described this to my husband and he replied sardonically, "See, it's working, Father! People are living lives without sin." Our sadness isn't smugness.


If you didn't know grandstanding has found new heights
via cartoon imagery, you should check out social media!

No Guts, No Glory
In the wearying discussions about same-sex 'marriage', both online and offline, the conclusion is clear. Either align yourself publicly with the crushing tide of nihilism, or prepare to opt out of cultured society. The prevailing argument ("Don't H8! ForniK8!") has revealed a dirth of contemporary authority so vast, I find myself shocked.

I don't hold a shred of ill will towards people who have gay sex, but I'm also not that impressed by it. Christians know the ground to be level at the foot of the Cross. Letting sexual sin be defined as sexual sin is enough for us --- please work it out privately. For reaching this unglamorous conclusion, we're termed "nothing but hateful, ignorant bigots". Ignoring the effects of overturning the expressed will of voters, or the implications of further eroding states' rights, these simplistic dismissals are met by applause in the name of tolerance. Short-sighted, heartless and frankly moronic comparisons to interracial marriage are made.

Dialogue either stops or turns lukewarm when a person announces they have a gay relative. I remember when my affection for the gay people in our life was enough to satisfy my hope that I was making the right decision by saying nothing on this subject. I considered hearing no resistance as evidence that I was on the winning 'side'. Is there a notion that our individual lives and peers are sufficient for the wisdom we need? Must I seek a deposit of faith and wisdom from anywhere broader than my family reunion or the university? What a plebeian bore I am, then. I'm watching a parade of souls begging to be redeemed by United States Supreme Court Justices. When we refuse to conform our hearts to the authority of Christ, isn't it curious that we'll force conformity on the people around us? We long so deeply for approval, all the while yelling about rebelling against the patriarchy.

I know some really nice drug dealers --- hardworking men who donate to charities and support their families. Should that remove any objections I have to the trade? Moreover, does it free me from the responsibility to think? God's greatest earthly gift is our sense of reason --- we must employ it fearlessly if we believe the state of our souls depends on accepting His ultimate gift of salvation.

So why can't I just 'shut up'?
My duty to my Creator includes sharing what He has done for me. God's truth sets us free from a host of suicidal tendencies, most of which fall under the umbrella of selfishness dressed up as license. (My rights!) My friends have written more personally. In the short time I've been maintaining this glorified Pinterest page I call a blog, I've felt called to write on topics outside of polite conversation, mostly because those are the topics I think about and find most relevant.

It's not about me, or some climactic reveal when it comes to my views. Nobody cares or is surprised, on the whole. I'm sad to be called a bigot, but eager to form my witness in a way that welcomes private dialogue with my "Questioning" friends. (Let's use the word for questioning politically correct trends, not methods of getting off sexually. Only one of these requires secrecy in our society.)

My alternative is silence, or a sort of counterfeit truce. Notice this truce requires silence only from those who uphold a heterosexual ideal for marriage. I'd rather have honest and respectful conversations than pretend. 

The Catholic Church is the sole purveyor of a consistent pro-life ethic, and her teachings on abortion, the death penalty, euthanasia, birth control, and sexuality don't deviate a whit. Yet our silence, confusion and disobedience has contributed massively to the desecration of marriage. Possessing the truth isn't enough, we have to share in an honest and love-affirming way. We can ask those whose faith we admire to help us in discussing this freely. If it's all so noble, why the insistence on euphemisms?

We rightly want to be affiliated with noble causes, and when a Facebook friend tosses out a vague cliché about injustice or civil rights, the temptation to join in can be strong. This is where silence is better than a forgery. Not everyone is an activist. Ask questions in real time and in real life of people whose spirituality you admire. Listen for authentic love. Be careful of who you consult. Nothing sends me running in the opposite direction faster than attempts at faux sisterhood, and life is filled with sources of bad theology dispensed by people with Good Hair. I'll take my moral waxing from someone who wouldn't think of waxing anywhere else, if you don't mind. I'm not making attention to fashion trends a litmus test which must be failed in order to have intellectual credibility, but --- oh wait, yes I am. Great thinkers necessarily seem to opt out of the parade of vanity. People who neglect hygiene in order to socialize (or not) are often fantastic. The day my eyebrows are finally just growing in concentric circles, you'll know I've reached scholastic nirvana.

The bare truth is, marriage was redefined fifty years ago with the introduction of no-fault divorce and artificial contraception. This is detail. Gird your loins: if sex is merely the joining of two people (without the possibility of creating a third), then so is marriage. The unexamined life Socrates warned against has won. Ironically, it can't stop preening in front of the mirror.

If Ever You've Lived On An Island

My friend Tonya's parents had this poem framed near their dining table, as I recall. Next to sliding glass doors that practically touched the beach ...

If ever you’ve lived on an island
 if ever you’ve lived by the sea;
 You’ll never return to the mainland
 once your spirit has been set free.

If ever you’ve smelled the ocean
 or tasted the salt in the air;
 You’ll know you’ve discovered a hatch
 that is uncommon, precious and rare.

If you’ve ever seen the whales play
 or watched the eagles in flight;
 You’ll remember, again, why you live here
 and why it feels so right.

If you’ve ever seen the sun set
 as the ferry passed the shore;
 You’ve seen the beauty of the island
 that will be with you forever more.

If you’ve heard the seagulls
 the waves, a foghorn, the winds;
 Then you’ve heard the song of the island
 and the peaceful message it sends.

Indeed, if you live on an island
 if you’re lucky to live by the sea;
 You’ll never return to the mainland
 as your spirit has been set free.

-J. Earnhart © ’92

Shoe Leather Evangelization, as God Intends

The shoes always made me slightly uncomfortable. Yes, I'm talking about the red papal shoes, a bit of flair on which I tried not to pin too much symbolism. "He's the Pope, he can wear whatever he likes," was my ultimate response. A flash of color, a spark of life, these are no bad things, right? Isn't it true, though, that in our world of blips and sound bites, it was enough for those who find comfort in rejecting the Catholic faith to see the symbol of custom Italian shoes as a harbinger of excess and disconnect, a dismissal of our wounded world?

Perhaps the only thing that makes some among us more uncomfortable than the appearance of excess, is the appearance of material wanting. We read that Cardinal Bergoglio's friends bought him some new shoes just as he departed Buenos Aires for Rome, since the pair he was wearing were pretty shabby.

Spiritual truths are, by their nature, simple. I've always found conviction and inspiration in the question, "What if we spent at least as much time working on our 'insides' and we did on our 'outsides'? Francis' Argentine life seems to overflow with this possibility. Even the charming description of his sister's reaction shows us we are not witnessing a fluke of Catholic religious life. He's doing it right. It's been reported that as a priest he spent most of his time offering masses and hearing confession. He's spent over four decades among our wounded world, gaze fixed, heart entwined, hard at work and prayer. We must now pray for every priest, bishop and Cardinal who lives similarly. And ask God to show us how to do it too.

We can check 'yes' in the box for both camps' requests, from radical stewardship to unwavering fidelity to Magisterial teachings. These camps of Catholics need not be disparate. And here's the crux, if you will: it's not so much that our new Holy Father has fulfilled each of our criteria. He does --  yet he adds more. God is adding more to the dimensions of our hearts and lives, by having less and doing more. For one camp this means a braver, more visible evangelization. As then Cardinal, Pope Francis spoke of our church needing "to spill onto the streets, for Jesus is the King of the Streets." For still others it will mean an equally brave interior quest which results in assenting (or not) to the teachings of the Catholic faith in order to call themselves Catholic (or not).

Pope Francis has said 'yes' to God, humbly giving himself to our world, in this age and beyond.
Just like Mary.

Who was/is Pope Emeritus Benedict? Deeply dignified, a man of resplendent faith, insistent on sharing the transformative power of God's love.

Francis appears to be this and delicately, more --- by showing us less. Less of himself, more of God.
Just like Jesus.

It seems each person who clamored, even casually, for the Church or the papacy to change is getting their way. What's more, we're being newly invited on The Way.

Catholic Men For Life

Why Should Men Care? (from CMFL's brochure)

Imagine this ...
As you step out of church you see a young couple arguing furiously on the other side of the street. The woman is holding a carseat. The argument escalates and the man turns as if to walk away. Angry and scared, with a hopeless look on her face the woman steps into the middle of the street and leaves the carseat there. You see a truck coming. What do you do? Maybe you think, "This is not my business," or "They can't take care of that child properly so it is probably better this way." You hesitate, not knowing exactly what to do, but then you hear a crash, and the baby is gone.

The woman is wracked with grief, and the man stands there overwhelmed with the irresponsibility of his actions. You might not have been able to stop what happened, but you will forever have the feeling that you lacked the courage or conviction to try to stop it. You failed as a man.

Does this imaginary scene disturb you? It should. And, an almost identical scenario is played out every day at every abortion facility in America.

The courage to act and the wisdom to become effectively involved must begin with prayer and sacrifice. Catholic Men for Life has a plan and we need you.

Please visit their website by following this link.