Monthly Archives: July 2005

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Bopping Around St. Blog’s Again

UPDATE: I ran across this true story by Pete Vere this morning. Yes, God has a sense of humor. And He likes canon lawyers who like pro wrestling. :)

Testosterhome chronicles the adventures of a lady with lots of boychildren. Found via Amy, of course. Anyway, this lady has a very nice posting pine straw, Suburbans, and refusing to forgive. Good stuff.

Fangirl screams issued from my mouth upon reading that Cecilia Bartoli is coming to DC! Tickets only 45 dollars! Oh, if only I could justify the price of traveling to DC, going to the Kennedy Center, etc…. Sigh. The rest of Quodlibeta is interesting, too. Oh, and he linked to this handy guide to ancient heresies, which proves as he pointed out that there is nothing new under the sun. Found via the Curt Jester.

The Inn at the End of the World is always worth visiting, as it combines a love of Chesterton and bagpipes. (You know, G.K. Chesterton was sort of a bunch of warpipes in himself, wasn’t he? Loud, proud, humble, silly, containing lots of good tunes and gut…er, guts….) Anyway, this week there’s a special feature on the Dachau martyr Blessed Titus Brandsma. He also links to Jerry Pournelle and a rebel yell. Gotta love him.

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Good Book!

I didn’t want to go to bed without recommending Graven Images: The Averillan Chronicles Book II by Barbara Reichmuth Geisler.

This is a darn good book.

Set during the wars of Stephen and Matilda Empress, Graven Images continues the story of the Abbey of Shaftesbury and its Benedictine nuns. (Since I haven’t read the first book, I can assure you that this story stands on its own.) A young woman named Savette is found dead, and suspicion falls upon the town’s Jewish goldsmith, Master Levitas. Meanwhile, the gifted craftsman Master Hugo finds himself with not only the abbey’s commissioned reredos, but a starved orphan named Ralf and a protective wolfhound named Tindal on his hands. Abbess Emma has worries over her town, her nuns, and a secret debt amassed by her predecessor. Then there is our titular heroine, Dame Averill, a woman with pride in her gift of healing but very little healing for herself. I could go on. Suffice it to say, there’s a townful of interesting characters you’ll get to know.

I suppose this is supposed to be a mystery novel. Well, there is a mystery, and it is solved satisfyingly. But to be honest, the pleasure of this book is in the characters, the setting, and the portrayal of medieval religion and religious life. I am so used to complaining and nitpicking about medieval settings that it’s a great relief to find an author who simply lets medieval people be medieval. When I add that the author includes a good deal of wisdom about God and prayer, you can see why I was so impressed. The only flaw is that there’s a bit of a slow start, and occasionally not as much flow as there could be. But all in all, this is great. I liked Cadfael well enough, but this is actually more to my taste.

And did I mention how well-made the book itself is? Or how beautiful the cover photo of a medieval Gospel book cover is? A really jaw-dropping ivory carving of the Baptism of the Lord, complete with vigorously hovering angels, on a cover set with jewels and intricate gold work. You could stare at it for hours. Practically worth the price in itself.

I can’t wait to read the first volume, Other Gods: The Averillan Chronicles. From the hints in Book II, it sounds like it will be very interesting indeed.

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Bopping Around St. Blog’s

Since I have nothing to say at the moment, why don’t I bop around a few blogs in the St. Blog’s family and see what they have to say?

Catholic Australian Credibility posts about Maria Korp, ‘the Australian Terry Schiavo’, here and upward. Apparently it’s now a death penalty offense to be a murder victim and not actually, you know, die. Ironically, the guy who tried to kill her now wants her kept alive to save himself from murder charges. Not that that’s any reason to starve and dehydrate the poor lady to death — rather, it’s added condemnation of the system and her court-appointed ‘guardian’. Via The Dawn Patrol.

Totally randomly, I bopped over to Knit and Pray, a blog by one of those crafty ladies. It seems to be heavy on pictures of babies and kids (good!), UPPERCASE (not so good!), and posted prayers. These aren’t usually my thing, but this Litany of Reparation to Our Lord in the Eucharist is pretty interesting, if only for the line “For the unworthy conversations carried on in Thy holy temples”. Not something we usually think about as a problem these days, is it?

If Flannery Had a Blog…. has good stuff all the time. Why didn’t anybody ever make us read her for school? Why don’t parishes have her in their libraries? But nooooo. Bah. Must read her soon. If I can ever find her books in the library instead of checked out.

I definitely need to give a shoutout to The History Buff, who’s yet another of the Catholic science fiction fan collective. (We need to start a club.) She’s a lot more trad-oriented than I am, but of course there’s nothing wrong with that.

For Lack of a Better Term pointed me to Wasting Time with God, a Flash animation site dedicated to little webcartoon movies about St. Simeon Stylites, re-imagined as praying on top of a tower block in a city instead of a pillar in the desert! The latest movie is dedicated to the London subway bombings. Make sure to play with the arrows; they move too!

I may bop around more later. This was fun!

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Not Knowing What to Say

I honestly don’t know what to say about this weekend, so I shall blather.

I could say, “I could have gone to Pulpcon and spent time smelling the yellowing paper, and I could have gone to Basefilk and sung with my friends. But instead I went to a workshop exploring whether I wanted to make a career change into a more human-oriented industry.”

I could say I spent time with a bunch of native Ohioans, all of whose last names sounded very familiar to a native Daytonian, and who knew many of the same places and people as my parents.

I could say something about spending time with a bunch of intelligent and self-possessed women who’d seen a lot of the world and human nature, and who’d done a lot of different kinds of work.

But all of those descriptions, though true, are misleading. This weekend, I went on a discernment retreat with the Sisters of the Precious Blood, whose motherhouse is over on the other side of Dayton.

It’s an interesting order. I didn’t know much of anything about them, because they don’t happen to work at any of the parishes where I’ve lived. They don’t wear habits, but they’re also remarkably free of the stereotypical characteristics of habitless nuns. (They don’t wear polyester. They don’t have really scary politics. They aren’t mad at the world. They aren’t ashamed to mention Jesus. I wouldn’t have gone if I thought they were like that, but I was pleased they weren’t.) They did and do a lot of good work: mostly schooling and nursing, but now they are moving into lighter work. (Maybe because the members are older?)

Their foundress was Mother Brunner, a little old Swiss farmwidow who went on pilgrimage to Rome and decided that St. Gaspar de Bufalo really had something. She went back to live with her son the priest (one of her priest sons — she had tons of nun daughters, too) who was running a boy’s school in a castle, and persuaded a couple of the castle maids to join her in after-work adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Before long, there were enough maids interested to maintain Perpetual Adoration in shifts. And then she kicked the bucket at the advanced age of 72, but not before wishing she could continue helping in the hereafter. Her son and the women the maids recruited ended up in Ohio as the Missionary Priests of the Precious Blood and the Sisters of the Precious Blood, helping the German settlers out in the wilds and farms, and recruiting like crazy. The congregations were one (the head Missionary Priest running the community and the head sister controlling the treasury) until the Vatican decided late in Victorian times that this wasn’t so great. They still have good close relations, thanks to their sharing of heritage, spirituality, and property borders. ;)

The first night of the retreat, in fact, some of the sisters were having some of the priests and brothers over for dinner, along with five seminarians doing their year of “Special Formation” (IIRC). I was there as one of three Inquirers (the 4th couldn’t make it) and two Pre-Candidates (the 3rd couldn’t make it).

Now, I’ve been around. I’ve met lots of kinds of people. No place I’ve ever worked or lived has ever not been diverse. But these folks were special. I’ve met people who love God and prayer, and I’ve met people who have a purpose in life, but I’ve never met any great mass of people who were quite so joyful, or who made me feel quite so much at home, and that includes fandom. This is not a slam at fandom, either. But there was always a large part of my soul that most of the folks in fandom could never even begin to touch, and which always felt very cold and hungry in the midst of my friends. And that’s exactly where these folks live. Fandom is a place for the mind and heart, yes, and for the sense of wonder at what is and what might be. But religious life is for the soul. It’s for people who don’t want to follow God through normal life, but as normal life.

This is not to say that folks in religious life can’t be God-scorning jerks, or that people can’t have deep prayer lives without joining up; but it helps. Oh, it obviously helps. And I looked at them and saw something I’d seen in the mirror without knowing what it meant. They were people just like me, people who could understand the things I couldn’t even articulate to others. This was what I was made for. It was like being a spoon who’d occasionally seen a knife or fork, but never realized there were whole cutlery drawers out there.

I didn’t expect that. The only reason I’d gone on the retreat in the first place was that I felt like God was being unusually heavy on the hints lately, and that after a good ten years of putting it off, I’d better go do something about this whole nun thing. It also had not escaped me that as a career woman I was not exactly ambitious, and that very few of my talents were going to any use. I was dreading the whole thing, really, especially since it was habitless nuns. Of course, I probably would have dreaded nuns with habits and neotrad credentials just as much. (Never let it be said that I’m particularly fond of change or challenges I don’t think up myself, or which require a degree of responsibility that I can’t hide from myself.)

So there I was, finding out one more time that — duh, God knows best.

I was impressed. I was even more impressed the next day when I heard their stories. If I could say when I die that I’d done half the good works they’ve done, I’d be pretty satisfied. That’s not to say things were perfect. There were were a few things that I didn’t like or thought were profoundly silly. I could definitely ask for decorations in the chapel that were as traditional as the ones in the motherhouse hallways. But on the whole, it was pretty darned good.

I have no idea what they thought of me. The whole weekend I was trying to be on my best behavior, but I kept finding all kinds of shards of emotions coming out. I really liked everyone and felt welcome, so mostly I was in happy chatterbox mode instead of being my normal introverted self (or Evil Bitter Chatterbox). But on the whole I think I came off as joyful instead of ‘drama queen’, and they appreciated me being in good voice.

Even more interestingly, God decided it was time to use the Cluebat of Enlightenment upon my head. For lo, not only did I go into serious mystic mode during Holy Hour the second day, after many years without anything major — including some really unprecedented-for-me stuff, and believe me, the sisters were feeding us well and giving us plenty of sleep, and with all the old sisters with breathing problems, they had a light hand with the thurible incense — but I even realized later on that I’d dreamed about details of this retreat about six months ago. Stupid unique details that were not just deja vu, either.

This is not to say that I’m taking any of this as a no-alternate-interpretation sign, or signing up tomorrow, or what have you. And I’m sure as heck not telling the sisters, because they don’t know me yet and I don’t want to freak them out, or my parents or brothers, because I don’t want to freak them out and because I’ve never felt any real call to fill them in on the whole mystic thing. But…it is unusually definite, as indications of heavenly mandate go.

But though I’m not going to talk down the gift from God of a religious experience, it was more a lagniappe than the reason to make a decision; I’d already figured this stuff out the day before. Don’t forget that God also creates and controls ordinary conditions and ordinary reasons to make decisions. Also, it may well turn out that God was just trying to get me to look at religious life, and that I’ll find myself being drawn toward some other order as I learn more.

I told my parents back in June that I did in fact feel that God was being unusually hinty, and that I was planning to look into becoming a Sister. So at least they had some warning. They’re not being obstructive; in fact, they’re being helpful; but they’re not totally overjoyed, either. My poor dad is very stressed by all this, understandably. (If anybody reading this doesn’t know, my dad was raised in a small denomination which later on merged with the United Methodists. He agreed to raise us kids Catholic, and he and Mom got married in the Catholic Church; and he’s almost always gone to Mass with us as well as his own church. But he’s still Methodist, and this is freaking him out.) Of course, since Dad and I have always been very close and alike, it’s probably the thought of losing me, more than his religion. I’m kinda afraid to ask. Meanwhile, Mom seems to have recovered somewhat from her earlier upset and is getting a bit enthusiastic about the whole thing. But I know that when and if I should take another step, Mom will be crying again. We aren’t much alike, but I can understand her there.

I don’t know how my brothers will react. No clue whatsoever.

But at this stage, I’m still just shopping around. Shopping around with HONKING BIG SIGNS hanging over my head, I admit, but we’ll see.

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Serendippling Kipling

Well, I was going to go find “McAndrew’s Hymn” by Kipling and quote the engineer stuff in that in honor of Jimmy Doohan’s passing, but in the process I found a Canadian engineering order instead! The mark of it is an Iron Ring, made of cold iron.

Kipling was asked to write up a ceremony for it. This was of course like catnip for him. Interestingly, he apparently decided to avoid the whole oath/affirmation thing by calling it an ‘obligation’.

So if you ever see a Canadian engineer wearing an iron ring, you’ll know he or she went through the Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer and promised this:

The Obligation

I _____, in the presence of these my betters and my equals in my Calling, bind myself upon my Honour and Cold Iron, that, to the best of my knowledge and power, I will not henceforward suffer or pass, or be privy to the passing of, Bad Workmanship or Faulty Material in aught that concerns my works before mankind as an engineer, or in my dealings with my own Soul before my Maker.

My Time I will not refuse; my Thought I will not grudge; my Care I will not deny towards the honour, use, stability and perfection of any works to which I may be called to set my hand.

My Fair Wages for that work I will openly take. My Reputation in my Calling I will honourably guard; but I will in no way go about to compass or wrest judgement or gratification from any one with whom I may deal. And further, I will early and warily strive my uttermost against professional jealousy and the belittling of my working-colleagues in any field of their labour.

For my assured failures and derelictions I ask pardon beforehand of my betters and my equals in my Calling here assembled, praying that in the hour of my temptations, weakness and weariness, the memory of this my Obligation and of the company before whom it was entered into, may return to me to aid, comfort and restrain.

Upon Honour and Cold Iron, God helping me, these things I purpose to abide.

Excellent stuff, ne? You can learn more about these folks at ironring.ca> This page has a good picture of the ring but repeats an apparently prevalent urban legend that the rings are made from the metal of the collapsed Quebec Bridge.

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Meanwhile, in Real News

Hurricane Emily is looking pretty scary. I’m praying for folks down there, believe me.

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Harry Potter Roundup

Harry Potter came out this weekend. I enjoyed it, and I’m eager to read the next book. But of course many fans are disappointed because events did not go to their liking. This lessens the enjoyment for the rest of us.

But what really distressed me this weekend were the discussions by Catholics who think that if fantasy novels have witches and wizards in them, they must be evil. Or draw people toward evil. Or have a chance of drawing people toward evil, or at least toward neopaganism and the occult. Or maybe they wouldn’t draw anyone toward evil at all, but Christians should avoid them anyway just out of a general sense of fitness.

In other news, Jesus announced that since there are alcoholics in the world, he’d been dead wrong in choosing to change water into wine for his first miracle, even though there were only two people with drinking problems in attendance, they hadn’t had a relapse in years, and his mom had posted relatives to make sure they did what they’d promised and kept off the sauce.

After that, the subject broadened to “Dungeons and Dragons is evil and occultic”. I got sick of this one back in the eighties. It’s just not true.

Why do people hate imagination so much?

I realize this isn’t exactly oppression compared to all the other bad things going on in the world. But it just goes on and on, never stopping. I’m sick of it.

I’d better stay out of the comment boxes for a while.

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London Is Not Amused

Not much to say again today. I loved the picture of the English businessmen and ordinary guys asking the mounted policeman for a briefing. Look at their eyes — don’t they look like soldiers just looking to be pointed in the right direction? Not even grim — just ready for anything.

http://www.cagle.com has plenty of classy political cartoons today on the bombings, including an incredibly touching one from our friends in Jordan. I’m ashamed to say that our own Mike Peters was one of the cartoonists who tried to use murder to make loony political points. He’s not on the site, at least today.

Here’s my comment. It can’t improve on Tim Worstall’s description of the London state of mind, but here goes:

We will not give up.
We will not give in.
We will not give over;
We won’t let them win.
We’ll give all we’ve got
And we will not forget,
And six feet of England’s
Is all their bones’ll get.

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No Surrender to Terror

I just heard about the bus and Tube bombings in London, and I can’t begin to describe how I feel. Part of me is deathly worried for the Londoners I know, and praying hard. Another part is grimly wishing to wring a few terrorist necks. But part of me…part of me is very proud, because I read this:

I’m writing this sitting in my office in London working as normal.

As I look out the window I see no buses, very few cars but lots of people walking on the streets…Londoners walking left, right, up the street, down the street, going about their normal lunchtime business.

We have faced terror before – Nazi terror, Irish Republican terror – and have not been beaten. This will not beat us either.

The overwhelming feeling round our office is “Is this best they can do?”

You rule, Britannia.

Britannia rules the waves.

Britons never, never, never will be slaves.

UPDATE: Pretty much all the London filkers and fans are present and accounted for! Here’s hoping we lucked out….

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