In the House of the Pope

To my avid readers (a presumptuous adjective, but for which I ought not be faulted, I think), I apologize for the lengthy pause between my last post and this, for I had hoped to make once-a-week a standard. Unfortunately, it has taken me until today, because of many hoops of a bureaucratic nature too mundane and too numerous to recall here, to be able to access the internet wirelessly from my own laptop through the university's network. For the last two weeks, therefore, I have contented myself with snippets of the Internet bought a few cents at a time in an Internet Cafe across from the Hauptbahnhof (main train station), and that was no place for me to write to this blog (else it would have been a rather more expensive affair than it already was).

The major story I wish to relate today happened a week ago, but I think will be well worth the delay. Our story begins, however, not in Münster but in Boston, where the dear Prof. Michael Resler, head of Boston College's German Department, and the dearer still secretary of that department, Agnes Farkas, have long kept detailed records of anyone living in Germany at any time with any connection to Boston College (I think Agnes is far more to be thanked for this, but it is Prof. Resler who actually sent the email). Accordingly, Prof. Resler was able to put in touch three Boston College alumni spanning several generations who all, it just so happens, now live in Münster: myself; Jennifer Burkart, a former Boston College Fulbrighter to Germany from the 1990's , now living in the Münster area with her German husband, Jörg; and Dr. Bill Hoye, BC Class of 1965, a recently retired member of the Theology faculty at the Universität-Münster, living with his German wife, Holle Frank. (From left to right: me, Jennifer, and Dr. Hoye).

As she had maintained contact with Prof. Resler (who even a decade ago was rather enthusiastic about sending Eagles to Germany on the State Department's dime), he sent Dr. Hoyes's and my contact information to Jennifer, and after her introductions, Dr. Hoye and his wife graciously invited the lot of us to their house for dinner last Thursday evening.

So, round about 7:15 (after a bit of panic earlier that Jennifer's email might have said that they would pick me up at 17:15 (5:15pm) as opposed to 7:15pm in the American style), Jennifer and Jörg pulled up in the rain to the bus stop outside our dorms where I was waiting, and we were off to Bill and Holle's house near the university's botanic gardens.

After introductions were made, we were ushered into their living room, where discussion in a mixture of English and German, accompanied with some nice port and excellent olives, was joined. Dr. Hoye, it turned out, had traveled to Europe after finishing at B.C. to pursue various graduate studies in theology, his focus being on medieval scholastic thought. After meeting and marrying Holle, they settled down in Münster, where he taught for many years. Though recently retired, he is nevertheless teaching a course this semester (for the fun of it) on St. Thomas Aquinas. Jennifer, on the other hand, met Jörg during her Fulbright year in Trier, and they later settled down in Münster, where she has just started a new job teaching Business English in the Economics Department of the Katholische Hochschule (Catholic College) here in Münster.

We were now invited to the dining room, where the delightful conversation continued over an excellent salad of shrimp, tomatoes, and bell peppers (you will discover that my praise for Holle's cooking will abound), and then a main course of roast beef, roasted potatoes, and a tasty recipe of creamed spinach (sorry Mom, I didn't happen to ask her secret). Jörg, it seems, works as a computer programmer, while Dr. Hoye's wife, Holle, has had a long and successful career as an artist. She is an amazing photographer, and has recently taken up video art, which she has successfully combined with her recent discovery of the phenomenon of YouTube.

The discussion turned to family, and both Jennifer and Dr. Hoye offered interesting anecdotes of life an ocean apart from the rest of their family. Bill and Holle are looking to travel to the United States for several months after the New Year so that he can work on his next book (in English) on eschatology. They would like to be in Massachusetts, as it would be near to much of his family, but have been having bad luck so far finding a place--they had hoped to rent a house on the cape.

The fortuitous intersection of our three lives took another interesting tangent when I asked Jennifer about her Fulbright work. It turns out that she, too, had written a Scholar of the College project her senior year at B.C., in the field of art history. Her focus was on the miniatures in a manuscript of the Carolingian renaissance, the time around the 9th-century reign of Charlemagne. It was the topic of the art of the Carolingian renaissance that had led her, then, to do a Fulbright year in Trier. Unfortunately, she did not enjoy her topic nearly as much as I do mine, and has left the world of medieval art history far behind her.

The others were prompted to inquire as to my own project, and I gave my spiel, now well-honed from having to repeat it so many times. One aspect that I had neglected, though, was that I had mentioned in my project proposal an interest in the traditionally strained relationship between the Germans and the Papacy as a wider historical trend, with the interesting note that a German pope as we have now puts the tensions of the past into a new light. As I hadn't yet had the opportunity to ask many Germans about their feelings about Pope Benedict, f.k.a. Joseph Ratzinger, I put the question to Holle, whose reaction to the announcement of Ratzinger's election stands in stark contrast to many of the Jesuits at Boston College: she felt several minutes of pure, ecstatic joy, which was only later mitigated by here concerns (shared by many Germans) about his less-than-liberal tendencies. She pointed out, however, that he seems to have brought the German mindset of environmentalism with him, as the Vatican has recently started to support several "green" projects in various parts of Eastern Europe (where the environmental damage wrought by the Soviet Union was formidable).

Our conversation about the Pope also led to what was perhaps my favorite tale of the evening. Holle recalled attending several lectures given by then Prof. Ratzinger during his time as a member of the theological faculty here in Münster (1962-5, I believe it was). She could not let us leave, however, without noting another feature of the Pope's stay in this city. At some point during his tenure here, his apartment underwent several months of renovations, and the landlord graciously offered a spare room in his own house to the future Pontiff for the duration of the work. That house was later bought by none other than Bille Hoye and Holle Frank, who took it upon herself to do the research, comb the records, and establish that indeed, Joseph Ratzinger lived in the room just above our heads as we sat at the dinner table, for a period of several months in the 1960's.

The conversation could have gone on and on as first we indulged in some ice cream cake and then in some fine Lindt chocolates, but alas, the evening had to come to an end, as the Burkarts both had to go to work the next day. After the now-customary exchange of email addresses, and the taking of the photo you see above, we bid our farewells, and laid plans also for another get-together round Thanksgiving time.

My recollections today could go one, but I must bring this post to an end as I've still some preparing to do. You see, I am traveling to Munich tomorrow to join a gathering of some of the Boston College German Fulbrighters at the last weekend of the Oktoberfest. I promise pictures and stories (though I shall have to be judicious in which ones I share here :-) on my return.

The Dalai Lama Came Today

Here I am, in Germany. Finally. I have decided to revive my use of this blog (to which I have seldom posted of late) as a general means of communicating my experiences to you, my faithful reader, as I make my way through the next 10 months as a Fulbright student at the Westfälische Wilhelms Universität in Münster. Here will be collected anecdotes of various kinds, updates on this or that, and my thoughts (as you should have been able to expect) on the goings on--here, in the world at large, and at home (for I continue to receive The Heights via email every Monday and Thursday: so you should also expect a diatribe from time to time on the decline and fall (since I am no longer there) of Boston College, or conversely its rise to ever greater things from the generation to come).

I arrived on Monday morning, jetlagged (a condition that seems to persist even to today), and found my way with 2 massive bags (though not that massive, since they were, in fact, lighter than the bags that I packed when I left for Boston a year ago to start my senior year) from the airport in Frankfurt to the Hauptbahnhof (main train station), thence to Göttingen, a city in central Germany where the Fulbright Commission put us up in a Best Western (yes, the same) for two days of invaluable orientation. On the train, I specifically noted that I should relate two observations, both of which are connected to the fact that the train car I was in (standing the whole way, as there were no unreserved seats left) was more than half filled with a school group of what I believe in America are termed "tweens", girls so chatty and wrapped up in their own nascent adolescent concerns that if a world were to exist oustide of their sphere of being, it certainly would be of little importance:
1. The group was accompanied by 2 teachers, one man and one woman. The man, though the physical resemblance would end at "glasses and a beard", nevertheless bore a striking mental resemblance to my father, for when he once was walking up and down the aisle checking on his students, a smile graced his face as I have seen any number of times on the visage of my own father as he gazes upon his students--enveloped perhaps in their own little world, but little spheres of budding curiosity and learning and life all the same.
2. The particular group of 4 girls who sat directly in front of where I stood those two hours did, at one point in the journey, have an argument concerning the proper pronunciation of the word "Lufthansa". Three of them seem rather bemused that one insisted on pronouncing it "Luf-thansa", for the proper German pronunciation syllabifies the word according to its component words, "Luft" and "Hansa" (so "Luft-hansa"). This poor girl, however, had fallen prey of the same tendency that governs the American pronunciation of the term, namely, to maximize the onset of the middle syllable, thus moving the "t" sound from the first syllable into the second. All of which did pass through my mind, at which point I realized that the lingustics class that I took last year from Prof. Michael Connolly had completely ruined me for life, as I know he well intended.

We return, then, to the Orientation. I'm sure that all would agree that by the far the best part of the entire orientation experience (apart from the lengthy, oft stupefying yet invaluable information sessions that answered such important questions as "How do we get paid?") was getting to meet the other Fulbrighters and query them on their respective projects - indeed, for that endeavour I wish we'd had another day, for I didn't get to talk to everybody. Of particular interest to me was that the Fulbright Commission seems to have been on a medieval women kick this year, for in addition to my project on the 13th century reception of the apocalyptic works of the 12th century abbess and visionary, St. Hildegard von Bingen (of whom you will hear quite enough in the course of this year), two women have also been given grants to study female medieval authors. The one, who is working on her doctoral dissertation at Northwestern (and who is very well acquainted with several of the profs with whom I hope to start working next year at the University of Notre Dame), will be in Munich investigating apocalyptic writing of the 14th and 15th centuries - a few centuries after my time, but a project to which Hildegard is fundamental. The other, finishing her masters work at Tufts, is working (also in Munich) on several chronicles written by German nuns of the 13th and 14th century - again, past my time but yet very much bound up with the after-history of Hildegard. I had been looking for an excuse to return to Munich anyway (I loved the city when I lived there for 2 months almost 2 years ago), so now I have it - I imagine we all shall visit several times before the year is up to collate and talk shop.

Alas, Wednesday morning the fun had to come to an end, and I had to make an uncomfortably early exist from Göttingen (the train left at 7:45) in order to get to Münster in time to get the paperwork for my dorm room in order (the offices of the Studentenwerk--their equivalent to an Office of Residential Life--are only open Tuesday through Thursday, 9am-12pm; such is the way of most every German office that one should need to visit). A few taxi rides later (I accidentally went to the wrong building on my first try), I had succeeded in securing a room for the next year. It's a single room with a bed, desk, shelves, closet, refrigerator, and sink, and their are common bathrooms and a common kitchen on each floor. Perhaps not the greatest of accomodations, but at only €190 a month, I'll take it.

After settling into my room, I've spent the last few days wandering around the city, my philosophy being that the best way to learn your way around is to get a map, get yourself intentionally lost, and then find your way home. A misunderstanding concerning the bus routes meant that I had to walk most of the way home on Wesdnesday night, but all in all, I'm really starting to get a good feel for the place--and my dorm is only about 3.5 kilometers outside the city center.

I would call it a city on the small side of medium--larger certainly than was Eichstätt, but not nearly so large as was Munich. It has a beautiful inner city jampacked with an assortment of now-to-be-expected medieval, baroque, and 19th century buildings, their ground floors now filled, as with any modern city, mostly with high-end fashion and other boutiques far out of the reach of my pocketbook; it's own share of impressively outfitted churches (enough to fulfill my pentient for "church-hopping") with the standard array of architectural styles and enough Masses per day to accomodate most any schedule; and a delightful greenbelt that runs the permeter (the remains of the mote and ramparts that surrounded it in less collegial times), through which I have not yet had the pleasure to stroll but to which I eagerly look forward.

Finally, I made my way today into the heart of the university (as with most German universities, its campus is indistinguishable in most places from the city), which is to be found on the grounds of the great baroque Schloß, or palace, that was built there when a nobleman still ruled these parts--a wonderful walk now through many acres of manicured gardens. Now that impressive building houses various offices of the university, including, in a side building off to the north, the International Office, where I stopped this morning to clear up a few things, most especially the fact that, according to the Letter of Admission from the university, I was registered as a woman. Not a problem, said the very kind Frau Bobke, who then called up Herr Friedmann (off their version of an Office of Student Services) and, after a telephone conversation that happened too fast for me to follow, she whisked me to his office (in the great palace itself--the interior unfortunately no longer matching the baroque majesty of the exterior), where he not only was able to change my gender in their computer system but also was able to complete all the other paperwork to get me officially matriculated, a process that, had I not inquired, would have taken until the 10th of October to complete. Along with the matriculation number that I now possess come several delightful benefits: a semester pass for the bus system; a catalogue of courses (so that I can finally figure out what I'm going to take); and a username and password (which should come in the mail next week) for the university's computer centers--a relief from having to pay for access at an internet cafe.

And that brings me to the title of this post: it would seem (or so the signs said, and the heavy press and police presence would confirm) that the Dalai Lama is visiting this very university today. As a commentary on the experience thus far or to come, perhaps it should serve as a reminder of two things: (1) fascinating and unexpected things await me, and (2) as exciting as this week has been for me, there are far more important things going on in the world. A dichotomy to make a medievalist proud, both uplifting and humbling, both energizing and subduing.

So there it all stands: less than week down, and many chores already complete. Time now, I think, to go the bookstore, find something suitable to wile away the weekend, and settle down on a nice bench in a park somewhere.

Der arme Heinrich

As many of you know, I have been laboring this year on my Senior Thesis, a translation and commentary of the 12th-century German poem, Der arme Heinrich, by Hartmann von Aue. I have completed this task, and if you would like to read the finished work, you can download the file in PDF here (right click and select "Save Link As").

Happy reading, and I would love to hear feedback from any of you.

Deus Caritas Est

A Treatise on Love

“Above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendoured thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!” Trite lyrics to cliché love songs, strung together by the character Christian in the 2001 musical film Moulin Rouge! The word “love,” in modern American society, at least, is ubiquitous. Not only can I love my wife (if I had one), my mother, and my friends, but I can also love your outfit and shoes, that song they just played on the radio, this bumper sticker, the new and trendy restaurant downtown, “The OC,” Google, and pizza. What is love? When I tell my wife, “I love you,” do I mean the same thing as when I say, “I love pizza?” Is, as Mary Beth Bonacci calls it, “pizza-love” the same as “wife-love?”

The problem, from a purely semantic point of view, is that the English vocabulary is deficient: pizza-love is most certainly different from wife-love, yet in English they are both “love.” So, I must reach back to a more ancient language to begin to make sense of “love.” The ancient Greeks had several different words for “love:” first, there was ἔρως, the desirous love that Plato and Aristotle would place among the animalistic passions, used primarily of the sexual passion, but broadened in time to include the object of desire and the god of love. Second, there was στέργηθρον, the love which is the bond between a parent and his child. Then there was φιλία, perhaps the most versatile of the ancient Greek words for love; its basic meaning is the affection between friends, or simply, friendship; however, this bond became so universal that for the pre-Socratic philosophers, it came to mean the natural force which unites discordant elements and movements. In addition, there was εὔνοια, benevolence, goodwill, and favour; Aristotle, however, makes it a point to distinguish between φιλία and εὔνοια, such that the former is the bond with close acquaintances, while the latter is the more universal characteristic of goodwill.

So we return to our problem of the English word “love.” When I would say that I love my wife, I mean, at least in the immediate, ἔρως; when I say that I love my mother, I mean στέργηθρον; when I say that I love my friend, I mean φιλία; and when I say that I love all mankind, I mean εὔνοια. It would seem, however, that I really ought not to speak of pizza-love; that is, I ought not to speak of love of material things as “love,” or rather, I ought to distinguish, perhaps, between “love” and “Love.” When I speak of “Love,” I speak of a human connection. I cannot have a human connection with pizza, or with bumper stickers or shoes or Google; I can only have a human connection with other humans, and I can only speak of Love in regards to them and to that connection.

There is, however, one other Greek word that we need to examine: ἀγάπη. This noun was seldom used by the ancient Greeks, though its root verb, ἀγαπάω, a word ranging in meaning from “show affection,” to “be fond of,” to “be content with,” (and when demonstrating desire, never in a sexual sense), was often used. However, with the advent of Christianity and Koine Greek, the noun comes to play a very important role, for it signifies the Love between God and man, and, by extension, the Love between man and man as brothers in Christ. Furthermore, it became the name of the “Love-feast,” that is, the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. It is this word that St. Paul uses when he speaks of Love in the 13^th chapter of his 1^st Epistle to the Corinthians:

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and yet have not Love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and yet have not Love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not Love, it profiteth me nothing. Love is patient, Love is kind; Love envieth not; Love vaunteth not itself, is not proud; Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith, Hope, Love, these three; but the greatest of these is Love.

Love is, therefore, not just a connection between men, but a connection also between man and God. In fact, the first connection is between man and God, and thence springs the connection between man and man. What is the nature of this connection? How did it come to be, and how is it sustained? For these answers, we must look back to the beginning, in which God created the Heavens and the Earth. In the beginning, God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

And so man was made in the image and likeness of God: therein was the connection, and thereby was it established. Therein lies also the inherent dignity of all mankind. Every man, because he is made in the image and likeness of God, is more beautiful, more hounourable and dignified, more noble and good, than anything else in all of creation; furthermore, there is nothing that any man can do to take away that inherent dignity.

Yet, man did not obey God, and he gave in to the temptation of the serpent, and so the connection was broken, though his inherent dignity as a Child of God, made in His image and likeness, was never diminished. Yet, God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ Our Lord, to suffer death upon the Cross for the redemption of the world, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. And so was the connection renewed, and it was done out of Love.

This week, we commemorate and celebrate the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ: this week, we commemorate and celebrate the renewal of that connection, and, as our friend Ryan Connors once reminded us, we must recall that it is Love that we celebrate this week. It is a celebration of God's immeasurable Love for us, a Love that humbled itself to wash the feet of its disciples; a Love that established a new commandment, that we should love as He loved us, and established a new covenant, that all who shall eat of the bread of His body and drink from the cup of His blood shall be saved; a Love that went to Calvary, that bore the lash and nail and cross, and died; and a Love that rose again from the dead, that was and is stronger than death itself. That is the Love of Him who loved us first and loves us all still today.

So we come to the final mystery of Love, the ultimate understanding of its essence: not only does God love us, not only does he show us Love and connect to us with Love, but he is Love. God is Love and Love is God, utterly and completely. So we sing on Maundy Thursday, Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est, for God is caritas, He is amor. This is the one, ultimate, eternal, and absolute Truth, whence springs all truth. He who accepts Love into his life, he who defines himself by Love and binds his will to act only in accordance with Love, has accepted Christ into his life and has bound his will to the Will of God, even if he has never heard a single word of the Gospel.

Furthermore, we must understand that, because we are made in the image and likeness of God, so too do we partake in being Love. The entities that we call our “spirits” and the realm that we call the “spiritual” are entirely enveloped in Love: they are made of Love, they are sustained by Love, and they emanate Love. Yet, this reality extends also to our frail humanity, for this, too, is divine. When Christ was made incarnate, he took on the full nature of man. Hence, He reveals both the great truth of God's Love for us and what it means to be human. Only when we look upon Him can we fully understand both who God is, i.e. what Love is, and who we are called to be. When William Blake looked into the face of God, he was frightened; when I look into it, I see only Love, shining upon us all.

Love is the defining element of all creation. It is the creative force, it is the sustaining force, it is the renewing force. Schiller was wrong: it is Liebe, not Freude, that is the wondrous spark divine, and where Love's gentle wing resides shall there be a brotherhood of men. Henry van Dyke was right when he was inspired to write his hymn to Beethoven’s theme: “Thou our Father, Christ our Brother, – All who live in Love are thine; Teach us how to love each other, Lift us to the joy divine…Father-Love is reigning o’er us, Brother-Love binds man to man.”

Love is the foundation of all existence, and yet the greatest mystery of all. We all know Love within the deepest recesses of our hearts, for the recesses themselves were fashioned from it. Yet the sublime heights and profound depths of its majesty infinitely surpass the farthest reaches of human understanding. Ἀγάπη is everything, and every other sense of “Love” – ἔρως, στέργηθρον, φιλία, εὔνοια – is subsumed in it and then from it reborn. Every man is bound to every other by the liberating fetters of Love, tasked by our common identity as Children of God to love each other as He loves us. Each of us then delves deeper into the folds of Love when we express each other type of Love first founded in ἀγάπη. We ratchet tighter the chains of ἔρως with our wives, of στέργηθρον with our parents and children, of φιλία with our friends, and as each tether of Love is drawn in, our freedom grows ever greater. Our human nature is utterly enslaved to the power of Love: first, we were made in the image and likeness of Love, and then Love took on our very flesh and blood, and sacrificed that flesh and blood in the most profound act of Love, that in binding our souls to His, Love might free us from the depths of despair and set us high up in the heavens, in this empyrean, the mystical delight of which enthralls my entire heart, soul, mind, and strength.

+ In Christ,

Nathaniel Martin Campbell

On the Maundy Thursday, Anno Domini MVII

[Note: this treatise was first conceived during Holy Week 2005, almost a full year before the publication of Pope Benedict XVI's encyclical Deus Caritas Est, which I commend to you all as a study of this topic that far exceeds anything I could produce.]

Who's Rich and Who's Poor?

Republicans usually are painted by their opponents as so pro-business and pro-capitalism that, in worshiping the almighty Dollar, they lord it over the poor, screwing them over time and again. Yet, according to figures recently released by CNNMoney.com, the five states in the Union with the highest annual per capita income are Connecticut ($55,536), New Jersey ($51,605), Massachusetts ($51,297), Maryland ($49,324), and New York ($47,176), all five of which are "blue" states, i.e. they tend to vote Democrat.

On the other hand, the six states with the lowest annual per capita income are Mississippi ($29,582), Arkansas ($31,145), West Virginia ($31,198), Utah ($32,249), Kentucky ($32,673), and South Carolina ($32,790), all six of which are "red" states, i.e. they tend to vote Republican.

Furthermore, the campaign fundraising numbers for the first quarter of 2007 were just released, showing that Hillary Clinton raised a record-shattering $26 million in just three months, with Barack Obama just a hairsbreadth behind at $25 million (that's right - a combined total of over $50 million).

So the real question is, which is really the party of the rich fat cats and which is really the party of the poorer people?

DaH ll. 855-1048: Then went she where did sleep her lord.

Her parents, though yet distressed, are nevertheless won over by the child's wondrous pleas, and she runs early in the morning to greet Sir Heinrich with the news--which, as you can guess, he takes with his own distress. But soon he, too, is won over to the cause, and he prepares the girl for the journey to Salerno. If you are interested, the full Middle High German text can be found here, and an online knowledge database can also be found here.

Once again, any and all feedback is requested and welcomed.

Introduction & lines 1-132
Lines 133-162
Lines 163-232
Lines 233-348
Lines 349-458
Lines 459-542
Lines 543-662
Lines 663-854

855 And when they saw their daughter’s pace
So rushing on to death’s embrace,
And that she with such wisdom spoke
And human bounds of conduct broke,
Together they began to see
860 That wisdom and this reasoned plea
Could ne’er the tongue of children’s speech
Produce or demonstrate or preach.
They did confess that th’ Holy Ghost
Was of her speech the author most,
865 Who also helped Saint Nicholas,
When in the cradle laid he was,
And to him holy wisdom taught
So that he turned to God and brought
His child-like goodness innocent.
870 Their hearts bethought and minds hath kenned,
That they would ne’er nor should they her
From that discourage or deter,
Which burden on herself she’d laid:
From God was come her reason’s aid.
875 With grief their body frigid grew,
When farmer and his wife, the two,
Sat on the bed together, so
That they forgetful were in woe
From of their child love’s charity
880 Of speech and reason’s clarity.
And in that very hour’s spell
Could neither of them speak or tell
A single word, their tongues gone slack.
The spasms then began to rack
885 The mother from her sorrow’s care.
Thus sat the two together there,
Of joy denied, by pain aggrieved,
Until they then by thought perceived,
What use to them was sorrow’s ache:
890 If one could not yet from her take
Her will and her intent away,
Then for them would no goodness pay
As that they not it her refuse,
For surely they could never lose,
895 In better way their daughter leave.
Should they it with ill will receive,
It would bring them with their master
A great amount of displeasure,
And nothing else thereby would find.
900 In willing manner well-inclined
They both then gave assent by voice
That at her plan they did rejoice.

Then joy the maiden pure did take.
When scarcely come was morning’s break,
905 Then went she where did sleep her lord.
Calléd to him his bride adored,
She spoke: “My lord, asleep are ye?”
“Not I, my bride, now tell to me,
How art thou early so this day?”
910 “My lord, beset me doth dismay
And sorrow at your malady.”
He spoke: “My bride, it paineth thee:
This dost thou well me witness cite,
And God shall for it thee requite.
915 But for it can no aid appear.”
“But verily, o lord my dear,
There shall quite well for you be aid.
Since such are matters with you laid,
That help to you can one convey,
920 I’ll let you wait not e’en a day.
My lord, this have ye yet us told,
If ye should have a maiden bold,
Who gladly would death undergo,
She would to you good health bestow.
925 I will by God that virgin be:
Your life hath greater use than me.”
Then did her lord her very much
Give thanks for her intention’s touch,
And filled his eyes around their lid
930 From sorrow’s pain in secret hid.
He spoke: “My bride, indeed is death
Yet not a soft distressing breath,
As hast thou thought in mind unmoved.
Thou hast quite well to me this proved,
935 That if thou couldst, thou wouldst help me.
That is for me enough from thee.
I recognize thy purpose sweet:
Thy will is pure, thy mettle meet.
I ought from thee no more exact.
940 Thou canst for me this not enact,
Of which thou hast here spoken late.
The faith, with which thou dost me rate,
Shall God to thee reward provide.
This would my countrymen deride,
945 Whate’er from this time forth of cure
I should upon myself secure
And which for me should nothing gain,
But as it yet hath been in vain.
My bride, thou doest as children
950 Who are of hasty mind and ken:
Whate’er should come into their mind,
Be't evil or a goodness kind,
They are all quickly to it spurred,
And then regret it afterward.
955 My bride, so also doest thou.
This plan hath thine intention now:
But if one would ‘t from thee collect
So that one should then it perfect,
Then thou wilt yet regret of it.”
960 That she should still bethink a bit
And better yet, beseeched he her.
He spoke: “Thy mother and father,
They cannot well without thee go.
I, too, should not demand their woe,
965 Who have their grace e’er giv’n to me.
Whate’er the two have counseled thee,
So do, my bride belov'd and mild.”
And thereupon at this he smiled,
For little then could he infer,
970 What yet was later to occur.

So spoke the noble man to her.
Her father then and her mother
Did speak: “O lord, our master dear,
Ye have us greatly and sincere
975 Shown friendship and with honour graced:
This would not well be used—a waste—
If we with good you not repay.
Our daughter’s of intention’s way
That she will death for you endure.
980 This we allow her well and sure,
980a So hath she our approval earned.
980b She hath her thought not shortly turned:
This day today, it is the third,
That ceaselessly her plea was spurred,
So that for it we gave her leave.
Now she hath it from us received.
985 Now let through her God health bestow:
We for your sake will her forego.”
Then as his bride did offer him
Her death against his sickness grim,
And one did see her earnestness,
990 There was there suff’ring’s sad distress
And aspect sorrowed and in pain.
And then diverse depression’s strain
Arose among them, grief’s degree,
Between the child and them, the three.
995 Her father and her mother dear
Here hoisted many weeping tear:
Them weeping caused great many woes
For their dear daughter’s death's repose.
Now, too, her lord began to weigh
1000 And further think in such a way
On this, the child’s devotion true,
And misery besieged him, too,
That he began to weep severe,
And doubted much, of this unclear,
1005 Whether it better were begun
Or if it should be left undone.
From fear the maid, too, wept her plaint:
She though his courage lost and faint.
So were they all of joy denied.
1010 The plan of none could none abide.

At last their lord then fixèd firm
His mind, poor Heinrich the infirm,
And then began he to express
To them, the three, his thankfulness
1015 For loyalty and good bestowed,
(The maid—her spirits overflowed,
That gladly in the plan he shared),
And for Salerno he prepared
As fast as he could see to it.
1020 Whate’er, too, did the maid befit
Made ready was at quickened pitch:
A pretty mare and clothing rich,
With which she ne’er before had dressed.
‘Twas ermine, samite, sable best,
1025 Indeed the best that one could find,
The raiment of the maiden kind.

Now who could tell in full extent
The heartache and the cruel lament,
The mother’s shocking, sharp duress,
1030 And, too, the father’s deep distress?
It would indeed for them have been
A wretched, woeful parting keen,
When they had let their dear child go
Away to death, yet healthy so,
1035 And then to see her nevermore,
Except that softened was their sore
Distress by God’s pure goodness kind,
From which indeed the heart and mind
Came to the child so young to know,
1040 That gladly would she death’s way go.
And it had come without their say:
Therefore from them was put away
Ev’ry distress and sorrow’s plea,
For otherwise would wondrous be,
1045 That broken not were they in heart.
To joy was turned their troubled part,
So that they suffered no distress
Then at their daughter’s death’s oppress.

Contra Resurrectionem Iesu: James Cameron and the Continued Attack on Christianity

It seems that James Cameron has found something bigger than the Titanic: apparently, he's found the REAL tomb of Jesus, from which He was never resurrected and in which He was buried with his wife, Mary Magdalene. In fact, Cameron is so convinced that he's going to do a documentary showing once and for all that the largest religion on Earth is, in fact, a complete fabrication. (Click here for a good critique of the argument by Dr. Ben Witherington; also, a humorous take can be found here.)

But why should we expect anything less? The claims of Christianity have been under sustained attack for years by secularists, and this is just their latest gambit to try debunk it (one wonders when they'll start to understand that Christianity isn't exactly dying out). After the monstrous atrocities that the last century saw on account of anti-Semitism, Western society has at least tried its best to rid itself of that particular evil. Yet, anti-Christian sentiments are alive and well, fanned it seems from every corner of the liberal intelligentsia.

What's funny is that, while such anti-Christian fervor is rigidly protected and promoted by elements in Western society like the ACLU, any sentiment against Muslims that even begins to match its intensity is immediately decried as ranging from "insensitive" to outright "bigotry". Imagine if James Cameron tried to produce a film claiming to have archaeological evidence that Mohammed didn't really write the Qu'ran: the Islamic world would erupt in violence and chaos in comparison with which last year's ruckus over some Danish cartoons would pale. And the cries of outrage would not just be limited to Muslims; I can already see editorials in The New York Times decrying Cameron's blatant (and even bigoted) anti-Muslim views (compare, for example, the reaction to Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ).

Yet, this latest, dare-I-say bigoted attack against Christianity will pass by, and if we're lucky, The New York Times will relegate their praise of the documentary's merits to the Arts and Entertainment section.

Ne Obliviscaris: Alma Shippy and the Racial Integration that Nobody Noticed

I just came across this wonderful story on CNN.com about a young man in 1952 named Alma Shippy, who became the first black man ever to attend Warren Wilson Junior College in Swannanoa, North Carolina — and he did it without a court order, without armed escorts, without mass protests and violence. It's a story that tells us a lot about what really matters when it comes to tearing down the hateful barriers of racism that divide our country. It was no militant march on Warren Wilson's campus that integrated it, no students striking and taking over the college's buildings, no rallies met by police with attack dogs and fire hoses. Instead, it was the realization by the administrators of the school that it was Alma's shared humanity as a creature of God and not his skin color that dignified him, and it was the compassion of the school's students that they realized how much they really had in common with this unassuming young man. Alma Shippy should be an example to us all: he didn't walk around wearing his race on his sleeve and demanding reparations for the discrimination he had faced in life. Rather, he quietly but confidently taught in the Sunday school at his local parish and let the Truth of God's Word and Love, by which all men are made equal and set free, live in his heart, shunning the bitter enmity engendered by racism's deprecation in favor of the peace that comes with accepting Christ's message.

SWANNANOA, North Carolina (AP) -- There is no monument to Alma Shippy.

No plaque describes how, in 1952, the shy teenager packed a bag of clothes, caught a ride in a friend's pickup truck and walked into history on the campus of Warren Wilson Junior College.

It's an obscure vignette in civil rights history. Shippy not only was Warren Wilson's first black student, but one of the few to attend any segregated college or junior college by invitation -- and not by court order and armed escort.

A core of Shippy's family and friends -- some of whom paved his way and some whose path was paved by him -- want wider attention for what they see as a bright moment of brotherhood in one of the South's darkest eras.

"There were no dogs, no guns. He didn't have to be shot at. There was nobody that was beaten up, nobody died because he came here," says Rodney Lytle, a 1974 Warren Wilson graduate and now the school's multicultural adviser. "And that -- that story -- that is beautiful!"

And it didn't happen by chance.

Shippy's presence was the culmination of a decade of work by leaders of Warren H. Wilson Vocational Junior College and Associated Schools, created in 1942 from the merger and expansion of two high schools run by the Presbyterian Church.

Arthur Bannerman, born in Africa to Presbyterian missionaries, was named the school's new president. With new Dean Henry Jensen, he opened the school's doors to a variety of outsiders, starting with two Japanese-American girls from an internment camp in Arizona.

They were missionaries, says Warren Wilson graduate Marvin Lail, with a philosophy of "not just telling you but showing you."

Bannerman began writing to church-connected schools for blacks, seeking a student who might want to come to Warren Wilson. It wasn't until the spring of 1952 that the men learned of Alma Shippy, a 17-year-old who had befriended some Warren Wilson students in local churches where he helped teach Sunday school and Bible classes.

Lail, then 16 years old, was deputized to walk across the Swannanoa Valley to Buckeye Cove -- "truly on the other side of the tracks" -- where Shippy lived with his grandmother, Ludie White. He invited Shippy to speak at the campus evening prayer service.

Jensen watched Shippy's brief address, and afterward joined Lail in asking whether he might like to attend Warren Wilson. Then, as now, students help with their expenses by working at the school. Shippy, who had no money for college, said yes.

"I think he was really taken aback that white men or peers -- I was just a boy -- would come and invite him to a white college," Lail said.

There was a hurdle: The college had one dormitory for male students and Shippy would have to live there. Jensen called a meeting of the 55 Sunderland Hall residents.

Jensen "was a very smart man and was a good speaker and (said), 'We're going to integrate the college and we want it to be sooner rather than later, because it's coming down the road and everything will be integrated,"' Lail recalled.

Listening was Billy Edd Wheeler, about to start his final year at Warren Wilson. He was brilliant and athletic, a popular campus leader who later became an award-winning country music songwriter.

But he knew what it meant to be a misfit -- born poor and illegitimate in a West Virginia coal camp and sent to Warren Wilson four years earlier to appease an unloving stepfather. The question of accepting this stranger struck at his heart.

"I had that ingrained in me, that I could never be better than anybody else," Wheeler said. "I think that was part of it, being able to empathize."

Lail, too, was moved by a childhood spent in the company of black sharecroppers on his family's farm who cared for him as his mother began a slide into mental illness.

"They were very good to me, fed me. I thought, 'Why do we treat these people so bad?"' he said. "I thought, 'This should be changed."'

The vote was 54-1 to accept Shippy. He began classes at Warren Wilson Junior College in the fall of 1952.

Support from classmates

After the first few days, his presence drew little attention on a campus that already housed students from China, Cuba, Europe and South America, Wheeler said.

"It sort of settled into just a routine of life and you didn't think much about it," Wheeler said. "But for the people here in the valley, it was a pretty big deal."

At night, the college phone rang through to Bannerman's home. His 11-year-old daughter, Mary -- now Wheeler's wife -- fielded a couple of calls offering the traditional slur for whites who befriended blacks.

It was "scary, and proud," she recalled. "I can wear that badge of honor."

Classmates did, too. Shippy later told the Asheville Citizen-Times about going to an ice cream parlor in the Swannanoa community with a group of students.

"They sat me in the middle of the booth and that just did not work," he recalled in a 1994 interview. "(The manager) said, 'We can't serve you. You can get it to go and take it outside.' I had a hard time convincing the students not to tear up the place."

Instead, they all left.

The college tried to downplay Shippy's presence. Bannerman was friends with the editor of the Asheville newspaper and asked him to keep it quiet "for safety, for Alma's safety and the students' safety," Mary Bannerman Wheeler said.

The first newspaper story about the school's integration appeared in September 1955. By then, Warren Wilson had five black students and its first black graduate, Georgia Powell, who had earned her associate's degree that spring. And by then, Shippy was long gone; he left after one year, to make some money for his family, his brother Michael said.

He joined the Army, then moved to Indiana, where he married and fathered two girls. Except for occasional correspondence with a few friends, Shippy vanished from Warren Wilson life until 1987.

Reconnecting with campus

Then, his marriage over, he returned to the Swannanoa Valley to care for his aging grandmother, going to work at a state-run long term care facility. He again became active in his church and enthusiastically backed local youth sports teams, sitting behind the umpire at Little League games so he could cheer for both sides.

That's where Rodney Lytle first encountered the stranger who had a silent, but major impact on his life. A friend nudged him and pointed to Shippy. "He's one of you," she said.

Lytle was confused. He had two cousins who attended Warren Wilson in 1959 and knew blacks had gone there for years, well before it became a four-year college in 1967, well before he met his wife there, earned his degree, got his job.

But he had never seen this older man or heard the name Alma Shippy. He walked over and struck up a conversation, "and from that moment on we were friends."

Lytle became Shippy's champion, determined not only to commemorate his accomplishment, but to help him live a more comfortable life.

Though Warren Wilson had long required students to complete service projects to graduate, no one had done anything to help its first black alumnus.

A pair of students organized a crew to fix Shippy's house. In 1994, the college included Shippy in the centennial celebration of its original farm school. And eight years later, on the 50th anniversary of his enrollment, the board of trustees passed a proclamation honoring Shippy, Bannerman, Lail, Jensen and all those involved.

Shippy had prepared a three-page speech, but when he stood to read it, the pages rattled in his shaking hands, Lytle said. He took his seat again and began to cry.

"I can't say anything," he told Lytle. "I'm overwhelmed."

In early December, his friends gathered once more, crowding into the college chapel for a memorial service, a few days after Shippy's death at 72. They are determined that it will not be the last time the school marks his memory.

One former classmate has proposed a scholarship in Shippy's name. Shippy's family, Lytle and other college officials are discussing a permanent memorial -- a marker, or perhaps a tree outside Sunderland Hall -- for Shippy and all those who welcomed him into their lives not because of a court order, but as a matter of fairness and faith.

"This group of people at Warren Wilson College was open-minded and willing to accept Alma not as a colored guy, like they called us then," Michael Shippy said. "They accepted him as a man."

Advenerunt nobis dies poenitentiae ad redimenda peccata, ad salvandas animas

In diem cinerum Anno Domini MMVII

Today, we begin again our annual journey of fasting and prayer, to prepare ourselves for the ultimate mysteries of the life of Christ. Today our foreheads are anointed with the sign of the cross, fashioned with the black dust of ashes. Today is a day of confession, a day of penitence, and a day of mortality. We confess today our sins to God, the sins which every single one of us has committed, abundantly and grievously, against Him and against our neighbors, against His Love and against the love we owe to Him and our neighbors, against His Grace which we he has so mercifully sent to us but that we have so brazenly rejected. In donning today the ashes, the sign of penitence, the sign of our profound poverty as sinful human beings, we approach the altar of God, marked in our contrition. It is a penance that we owe to God, “for the fierce anger of the Lord is not turned back from us,” (Jeremiah 4:8). Therefore, “O daughter of my people, gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in ashes,” (Jeremiah 6:26), and “O Jerusalem, wash thine heart from wickedness, that thou mayest be saved!” (Jeremiah 4:14). Finally, today is a day of our mortality. Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris— Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and unto dust shalt thou return. Indeed, today we remember that we men are mortal, destined to quit this tired life. All too soon will our bodies turn to ash, and so with ash do we anoint ourselves, recalling also that these frail bodies perched on the razor’s edge between life and death are not our own, nor is the life with which we animate them, but that we have this life only by the grace of the Creator.

Our confession today is also the confession of the death of Christ. We take the ashes today in the form of the cross, professing thereby that it was Jesus Christ who hung from the Cross, and that it was our very sins that nailed Him to that tree. We lay ourselves penitent, as did the Magdalene, before His feet, and as we anoint ourselves with the filthy ashes and dust of the earth, so we anoint Him with the ointment from the precious jar. We remember today that, as man is mortal, so, too, Our Lord Jesus Christ suffered death on that Cross. His body lay, stiff and lifeless, in the frigid tomb, as, too, shall our bodies at the end of our mortal toil.

Yet, today is also a day for the remission of sins, a day for the salvation of souls. This confession we make, this penitence we perform, this mortality of which we are so starkly reminded, are not the end of this day. No, they are but the beginning, for we confess our sins and repent of them, that God might have mercy upon our souls, quia multum misericors est dimittere peccati nostri Deus noster— because Our God is much merciful to remit our sins. We recall also that, though it is our sins that pin Our Lord to the Noble Tree, it is yet His Love by which three days thence He burst the door of that dark tomb, leaving it empty for all the world to see that by death He had destroyed death and returned unto us eternal life. Indeed, humiliated by our own wretchedness, we shall yet be lifted up: we know that Our Redeemer liveth, and that at the latter day he shall stand upon the earth. So, too, we know that our own mortal bodies, though they shall now wither in death, yet shall they, too, be raised up at the latter day. The ashes we wear today as a sign of our own mortality have yet been sprinkled with that Holy Water in which we were baptized, in which we have already died to sin and been reborn, indelibly marked with the sign of the Risen Christ.

As mournfully as we walk through the valley of tears when, penitent and lowly, our heads receive that mark, we yet approach today the altar not once, but twice. When we come again to the Lord’s Table, we come to receive His True Body and True Blood, not dead but immanently alive, the bread and wine become the immortal flesh of the God-Made-Man. Even as is come to us today the day of penitence, so, too, is come to us today, as is come every day in the Eucharist, the day-spring from on high, to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet in the way of peace.

The Peace of the Lord be with you all, my dear readers, and take heart today that, though we are unworthy that the Lord should come under our roofs, yet he has spoken the Word that our souls might be healed.

Harrius Potter et Camera Secretorum

That's right - they've done it again. After the smash-hit success of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis (Peter Needham's brilliant translation of the first book in the Harry Potter series), and of Ἃρειος Ποτὴρ καὶ ἡ φιλοσόφου λίθος (Andrew Wilson's equally brilliant, though far more difficult, Greek translation), comes Needham's attempt at the second book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The Times offers a review that borders on the droll, though nonetheless reminds us how wonderful it is to be able to read Harry Potter in the language that he's really meant for - Latin. (For those of you who don't know, this is a specialty of mine, having written [and rewritten with successive books] my expansive high school senior thesis on the classical connections, both linguistic and literary, in Rowling's spectacular creation).

Now, when I sit down at the beginning of the summer to reread all 6 books in advance of the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the 7th and final book, on July 21, I can read the first two in my preferred language.

Pro Vita: "The Grassroots Aboriton War"

TIME Magazine's cover story this week explores the "new face of an old movement: kind, calm, nonjudgmental, a special-forces soldier in the abortion wars who is fighting her battles one conscience at a time." The incredible work being done by pregnancy resource centers (PRC's) around the country (which today outnumber abortion clinics) is rarely covered by the mainstream media, and rarely will one find the word "compassionate" coupled with the pro-life cause. Kudos to TIME for seeing, if dimly, the light that Christ shines forth from these centers and their workers of divine mercy.

I say dimly, of course, because, with as much praise as the article does give to the strong hearts fighting with love this battle for life, they do also chronicle the reports from NARAL and other groups that when women go to PRC's, they are "harassed, bullied and given blatantly false information." While certainly they can produce limited evidence of misinformation by PRC staff (like pamphlets and recordings of phone calls), what the article fails to document is the far more serious bullying, harassment, and outright lies many women face at Planned Parenthood and other abortion clinics. The article fails to mention the scores of women who enter a clinic because they are being forced by boyfriends or parents, nor does it mention the extreme lengths some abortionists will go to convince a woman, especially a young or poor mother, to have an abortion.

One of the most shocking secrets that the article fails to disclose and that Planned Parenthood will go to the greatest lengths to hide is their widespread practice of covering up cases of statutory rape, that is, when young girls come to them, the victims of older men, the clinics are for more likely to provide them with an abortion and cover up the sexual assault than they are to follow their legally-bound duty to report the crime to police (click here for more information on this disturbing phenomenon).

Despite such failures to provide a balanced reporting of the failures on both sides to provide accurate information to expectant mothers, the article nevertheless ends on a positive note, profiling the unexpected partnership that has developed between an abortionist and a Presbyterian congregation in Asheville, Tennessee—a partnership to work to reduce abortions by focusing on the positive, that is, by focusing on our compassion for the mother, especially the mother who is in great distress. The most important thing that the pro-life movement can do today (especially since, with a Democrat-controlled Congress, our legislative agenda will likely be stalled) is to increase the visibility of our efforts to take care of women both during and after their pregnancies. It is not enough for us to prevent the mother from having the abortion: we must come together to support her and her child, especially since the majority of mothers who do consider having an abortion do so because they don't have the financial or or other means or support to have a child. We need to change that—we need to help these women be able to have their child and to rear that child in a good, safe home both by providing them direct support and by working to build a social fabric and a community that values and supports the bearing and rearing of children.

DaH ll. 663-854: I must myself to God ordain

The maiden responds to her parents' pleas, offering both practical and theological arguments to support her decision to sacrifice herself, including a beautiful comparison of life in Heaven with life on their farm. If you are interested, the full Middle High German text can be found here, and an online knowledge database can also be found here.

Once again, any and all feedback is requested and welcomed.

Introduction & lines 1-132
Lines 133-162
Lines 163-232
Lines 233-348
Lines 349-458
Lines 459-542
Lines 543-662

“In thee, O mother, I believe
And father mine, that I receive
665 From you all grace’s loving pure,
With which a father and mother
Their child should grant, afford, and grace,
As have I found to be the case
From you at ev’ry passing day.
670 For have I by your grace’s way
My soul and a fine body fair.
Me man and woman praised declare,
All they who catch a sight of me,
That I the fairest child be
675 That in their lives they’ve seen so fine.
To whom should I the grace assign,
But to you two, though after God?
So ought I by your order’s prod
E’er gladly stand, abiding true.
680 How great my duty is thereto!
O mother, blessèd woman thou,
Because my soul and body now
Have I from your grace’s present,
So let it be with your consent
685 That I may cut them both away,
Removèd from the Devil’s sway,
And must myself to God ordain.
Yea, ‘tis the life of this world’s reign
None other than the soul’s privation.
690 The worldly pleasure’s strong temptation
Hath not as yet upon me borne,
Which leadeth hence to Hell-fire’s scorn.
Now shall I God give thanks and praise
That He hath in my young, short days
695 For me good sense of mind affirmed,
That I this languid life infirm
Regard of very small concern.
So will I, pure, myself return
And to the pow’r of God succumb.
700 I fear, should agèd I become,
That me worldly seduction sweet
Would drag and tear beneath her feet,
As hath she pulled so many strayed,
Whom, too, her sweetness hath betrayed;
705 So simply would be God denied.
To Him it must be ever sighed
That I should live to see the morn.
No comfort found, this world I scorn.
Its comfort is a hardship great,
710 Its greatest joy a sorrow’s weight,
Its sweet reward a bitter woe,
Its lengthy life death’s sudden blow.
We’ve nothing else more sure than so:
Today success and ‘morrow woe
715 And in the end e’er death’s oppress:
This is a wretched, grim distress.
No aid from birth, nor goods’ defense,
Nor beauty, strength, high spirits’ sense;
The virtues and high honour aid
720 No more against dark death’s cold shade
Than lowly birth and vice uncouth.
Our life and our so vital youth
Is but the dust and shadows brief;
Our firmness trembleth as a leaf.
725 He is a fool, queer and perverse,
Who doth himself in smoke immerse,
Be it a man or woman then,
Who cannot this bethink and ken
And climbeth up the worldly rung,
730 For o’er the stinking, rotten dung
Is spread for us the costly silk.
Whome’er this dazzle now doth bilk,
He is to Hell’s hot furnace born
And hath no less than this forlorn:
735 His body and his soul above.
Be mindful, blessed woman, of
Your mother’s promised loyalty
And soften now your sorrow’s plea,
Which have ye now for mine own sake.
740 So, too, my father thought doth take:
I know he willeth my health’s part.
He is a man so ably smart
That well doth he discern, that ye
Cannot for long have yet with me
745 Your joy divine and gladness main,
E’en if I yet alive remain.
Abide I without husband here
With you for two or e’en three year,
Then is my master likely dead
750 And come we in distress so dread
By poverty’s quite easy way,
That ye could not such dowry pay
To any man for me enough,
That I must live so poorly rough
755 That ye would rather I be dead.
But let us not speak of such dread,
Such that be us no trouble’s fear
And with us should my lord so dear
Extend his stay and so long live,
760 ‘Till one me to a man could give,
Who wealthy be and noble fit:
Then hath it been as wish ye it
And hope for me well should it be.
Else hath my mind advisèd me.
765 Be he my dear, this is distress;
Be he my sorrow, death’s oppress:
So always have I suff’ring’s blight
And am complete with hardship’s plight
Cut off from comfort’s easy type
770 By matters of a many stripe
That trouble women and dismay
And lead them from their joys astray.
Now me that full provision lend,
Which there ne’er cometh to an end.
775 A Farmer Free doth for me yearn,
To Whom I well my life return.
Indeed, to Him ye should me give,
Thus well supported shall I live.
His plow is very light to pull,
780 His house of all supply is full.
There neither horse nor cattle die,
There troubleth none the children’s cry,
There not too warm and not too cold,
There none become of long years old
785 (Become the aged younger still),
There neither frost nor hunger shrill,
There none of any kind of pain,
There ev’ry joy without the strain.
To Him will I myself outstretch
790 And flee from such a farm, the wretch,
Which hail and thunderstorm doth beat
And wash away doth flooding fleet,
With which we fight and e’er have fought.
Whate’er a man through long year’s lot
795 Can struggle for and lay away,
‘Tis lost in but a half a day.
This farm, I will leave it behind:
It be by me cursed and maligned.
Ye love me—that is decorous.
800 Now shall I gladly see it thus,
That your love be not love’s offence.
If ye can with right mindful sense
Discern my case and with your wit,
And if ye grant me and permit
805 Possessions and the honour’s trim,
Then let me turn myself to Him,
To Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Aid,
Whose grace is so steadfastly laid,
That it no end doth e’er endure,
810 And, too, hath He for me, though poor,
A love as great and as serene
As hath He for a high-born queen.
I should by mine own fault’s offense
Out of your favour’s countenance
815 Ne’er come, God will it and God speed.
‘Tis surely his command decreed
That I be subject you unto
Because I have my life from you:
This render I without regret.
820 My loyalty I should not yet
Transgress, which to myself I owe.
I’ve always heard the saying go:
Whoe’er doth so another glad
That he himself becometh sad,
825 And who with praise doth other crown
And his own honour deep doth drown,
His staunchness be too great indeed.
How much I will for you this heed,
That you I loyalty afford,
830 But most of all myself accord!
Will ye from me salvation steal,
Then would I rather let you feel
Awhile for me the flowing tear
Than that that be in me unclear,
835 Which to myself in charge I owe.
I always thither will to go
Where I shall joy in fullness find.
Ye have indeed more children kind:
Let them your joy and flower be
840 And comfort you because of me.
Not one can bar me or impede:
To health I verily will lead
Myself and my lord master dear.
Yea, mother, I before did hear
845 Thee speaking and lamenting so,
‘Twould cause thy heart great pain and woe,
Shouldst thou stand o’er my earthy tomb.
Thou wouldst be free yet of such doom:
Above my grave thou standest not,
850 For where I meet my death, my lot,
To see that none will suffer thee:
‘Twill happen in Salerno’s lee.
852a There shall this death release us four
852b From ev’ry kind of suff’ring sore.
Through this, my death, be saved will we,
And I far better still than ye.”

Unitas Hominum: A "Racist Myth"?

The TRUTH movement at Boston College (formed last semester in response to growing racial tensions on campus) has just released their February newsletter, and it contains some fascinating insights into the nature of racism and of man. I was particularly struck by the following passage:

“The myth of colorblindness, a dangerous and unattainable way to look at people, has made its way into our institution as well. In the words of Father Leahy in 1997, “Our Judeo-Christian heritage proclaims that we are members of one human family, each one of us made ‘in God's image.’” The God of which Father Leahy speaks is historically white, as decided by the First Council of Nicea in 325 CE, an endeavor to melt the various religions of the Roman Empire into one religion under a Holy Trinity including a Jesus Christ that has been depicted as white. More than a mere oversight, this has a tremendous influence that goes unchecked while people wave around the concept of colorblindness as a solution to the deep seeded [sic] racism that was often supported by Christians throughout the colonization of the Americas.”

It would seem that Fr. Leahy (the president of Boston College) made a grievous error in preaching the unity of mankind; indeed, if we are to belive TRUTH’s contention about “colorblindness,” it is really the color of our skin that must define who we are, not the content of our character (I presume, therefore, the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., simply misspoke when he expressed that particular dream). Furthermore, it would seem that the great message of Christianity was early on corrupted by white Western European men (please note: the Council of Nicaea took place in present-day Turkey and the majority of its attendees were bishops from the east whose skin color was, needless to say, several shades darker than the blond-haired, blue-eyed Nordic peoples) in order to subjugate those whose skin color was different than those same white Western European men.

(At this point, many of you will probably be trying to figure out whether to laugh at this contention’s absurdity or to cry at its stupidity.)

Personally, I weep and am ashamed that Boston College could produce students whose understanding of the message of Christ is that colorblindness is “a dangerous and unattainable way to look at people” and who see in the statement, “Our Judeo-Christian heritage proclaims that we are members of one human family, each one of us made ‘in God’s image’” a profanity discriminatory against peoples of different skin colors. To deny the unity of the human race in the sacrifice of Christ upon the cross is to deny his very message: “For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother,” (Matthew 12:50), “... so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others...” (Romans 12:5), “I appeal to you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another so that there may be no divisions among you and that you may be perfectly united in mind and thought...” (I Corinthians 1:10), and perhaps the most astonishing of all, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28).

Such vapid and nonsensical claims about Christianity and its message as this contention that Christ does not unite us demonstrate once again how little the leaders of this TRUTH movement understand about our true nature in Christ. Indeed, their name is a lie and heresy in itself, for they preach not the truth that “shall set you free” (John 8:32) but the falsehood that binds us to these meaningless and divisive labels of skin color. I have myself tried to engage the leaders of this movement in a philosophical dialogue about the nature of race and what place it has in our schema of determining human dignity, and they have rebuked me immediately. Rather than listen to the reasoned arguments of logic, they block up their ears, and rather than see the inestimable worth of a human being that lies beneath his skin, they cast their eyes no deeper than its color.

I call on each and every reader of this blog to sit back now and think for a moment about themselves. Think about how it is that you view the world. Do you walk through life and see division everywhere, everywhere the differences that segregate man from man, woman from woman, race from race, everywhere only black, white, yellow, red, brown, and the other fallacious “colors” of peoples’ skin? Or do you walk through life and see unity everywhere, everywhere the common dignity of being made in the image and likeness of God, everywhere that inestimable worth granted to humble man, a sinner, by the great sacrifice of Christ, the God-Made-Man Who gave His Life for us that we, together and united in Him, might share in His everlasting, glorious, and awesome Life?

Harrius Figulus et Sacra Mortis

J.K. Rowling announced today that the seventh and final book in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, will be released in English-speaking countries at the stroke of midnight on Saturday, July 21, 2007. I am clearing my schedule for that weekend.

De Sacra Liturgia

My friend, Donato, passed this blog post on to me, and I would like to share it with you, becuase it hits the nail on the head--it is exactly how I feel when I go between my home parish during the holidays and St. Mary's Chapel while I am here at school. It is also exactly why I continue to say even at St. Mary's "And with thy spirit," "Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst come under my roof, but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed," and "We do not presume to come to this thy table, O merciful Lord...grant us therefore gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of Thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink His Blood, that we may evermore dwell in Him, and He in us," etc. (albeit under my breath)--for me, the words of the Novus Ordo (or at least, the ICEL translations of it) are talking to my neighbor, whereas the words of the Anglican liturgy are talking to God.

You will note that I have never been a staunch proponent of the restoration of the Tridentine rite, for I was raised in the vernacular. I have only come to appreciate the Latin Mass in recent years, and only because I am now a trained Latinist; it is not an experience I would recommend for any who are not prepared to engage the Latin. At the same time, I am very dissatisfied with the ICEL's Novus Ordo. For me, the appropriate language in which to talk to God is Elizabethan English and sometimes Latin--but that's because that's how I've been raised. For others, a modern English idiom is more appropriate--but it should not be an everyday language; the language of the liturgy, the language with which we speak to God, should be elevated and extraordinary.

The worst thing, however, about the Novus Ordo is not the rite itself but our attitude toward it--the "let's get this thing over with so we can get on with the rest of our lives." Every word of the Mass, it's every action and every moment, should be said, performed, and experienced with the utmost attention and care; we should lovingly caress the words with our mouths, and meditate upon them in our hearts, so that "the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart may be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer" (Psalm 19:14).

The liturgy is not a place for individual innovation; rather, it is a place for communal obedience and submission to God. Indeed, the liturgy is not about ourselves, nor even about the community of individual men and women of which we are part; rather, the liturgy is about the community of man and God; it is about stepping outside of the boundaries of our daily lives and entering into an extraordinary place of holiness; it is about witnessing the eternal sacrifice of our Lord, who gave His Body and Blood to us in payment of our debts to the ineffable Creator, this sacrifice made once and for all on Calvary, yet every day renewed and fully present to us in the sacrifice of the Mass upon God's altar. The Mass is not about us--it is about Jesus Christ. Let us never forget that every time we enter the sacred space of a church or chapel where is reserved the Blessed Sacrament, we enter into the presence of God--we enter a realm which far surpasses the rest of the world around us in beauty, in tranquility, and in treasured wealth. And when we enter that space to witness the renewal of that sacrifice, we witness an event, real and wholly present in both time and space before us, that far surpasses in enormity and magnificence even the greatest of human deeds.

Cursus pro Vita

As many of you know, I will in Washington, D.C. this weekend to attend the Students for Life Conference at Catholic University and to take part in the annual March For Life on Monday. When I return, I will, of course, offer my thoughts on the weekend here on my blog. At this time, however, I simply ask your prayers for a safe and productive time in Washington.

Almighty Father, Who art the author of peace and lover of concord and Who knowest every child in the womb; Pour forth, we beseech Thee, the strength of Thy awesome love into our hearts and into the hearts of all thy people, born and unborn, that we, marching under the banner of Thy rigtheousness, may in Thy holy Name promote and protect that beautiful mystery of Life in which Thou hast by Thy grace created us; Through Jesus Christ Thy Son Our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee, in unity with the Holy Spirit, ever One God, world without end, Amen.

DaH ll. 543-662: Thou wilt yet to us both bequest...

After waking her parents with her tears, the girl is scolded by them, but she will not be silenced. Her impassioned plea, however, is met with her mother's heart-wrenching response (mothers: keep the tissues handy for this one). If you are interested, the full Middle High German text can be found here, and an online knowledge database can also be found here. Also of note is the odd numbering at the end of the passage: it's the result of a new manuscript that was found after the original critical edition had been established; rather than renumber the poem (which would cause havoc, since all of the old references are keyed to the old lines numbers), the editors simply added the lines in as a, b, etc.

Once again, any and all feedback is requested and welcomed.

Introduction & lines 1-132
Lines 133-162
Lines 163-232
Lines 233-348
Lines 349-458
Lines 459-542

They turned about to her to see
And said, “See here, what troubleth thee?
545 Quite foolish art thou in excess,
That on thy self such great distress
Of such lament thou didst impend,
Which no man can bring to an end.
Why willst thou not us sleep allow?”
550 So they began to scold her now:
What good to her were such lament
Which no man could yet then prevent,
Avert, abolish, or defeat?
So thought they that the maiden sweet
555 Again was silenced and was still.
Unknown to them then was her will.
So answered them the maiden bold:
“As hath my lord the story told,
So can one heal quite well his pain.
560 Forsooth, ‘less ye will me restrain,
So am I good to be his cure.
I am a maid, my will is sure.
Before I see him cease to live,
I will my life first for him give.”
565 Then were by these words and review
Her mother and her father, too,
Dejected, saddened, and distraught.
His daughter he bid and besought
That she would leave her story’s word
570 And promise only to her lord
That, which for him she could secure,
For this could not be done by her.
“O daughter, thou art but a child,
And thy grand promises are wild
575 And in this matter far too grand.
This canst thou not achieve as planned,
As hast thou here to us portrayed.
On death hast thou thine eyes not laid.
Whene’er the time is come for thee,
580 That from it there no freedom be,
Thou must succumb to death’s long reign,
And couldest thou it then attain,
Thou would’st yet rather keep life whole:
Ne’er would’st thou come in worser hole.
585 Now close thy mouth, this speech be gone!
And if thou wilt from this time on
E’er more this utterance allow,
It shall be felt upon thy brow.”
So he believed that then was she
590 By both his threats and ev’ry plea
To silence brought: but he could not.
His daughter answered him this lot:
“Howe’er young be I, father mine,
Retain I yet the insight fine,
595 That I the pain from teller’s breath
Well fathom that the body’s death
Is sharp, severe, and quite intense.
Whoe’er yet then a long time hence
Should live with hardships light or fell,
600 For him it, too, is not so well;
For when he struggleth here along
And beareth in his old years long
With great distress his body slow,
Then must he death yet undergo.
605 Then if his soul is lost, forlorn,
So were he better left unborn.
Up to this point have come my days,
For which I will e’er God give praise,
That I can now my young life give,
610 That I might life eternal live.
Ye ought not now my task to still.
For both myself and you I will
Thereby exceeding good collect.
Alone can I us well protect
615 From harm and suffering and pain,
As shall I now to you explain.
We have now goods and honour’s side:
This doth our lord’s intent provide,
For ne’er caused he us injury
620 And ne’er from us took property.
So long as he should stay alive,
So shall our situation thrive.
And if we let him die away,
So must we perish and decay.
625 I will protect him for our sake
With this pure act, which I shall make,
By which we all are saved from woe.
Permit me this: it must be so.”
Her mother spoke with crying raw
630 When she her daughter’s staidness saw:
“Remember child, my daughter dear,
How great my pains and how severe,
Which I have suffered for thy sake,
And let me better reward take
635 Than have I heard thee here explain.
Thou wilt mine heart sever in twain.
Subdue a bit for me thy call.
Yea, wilt thou thy salvation all
Against God and for us remit?
640 Why dost thou not recall his writ?
Yea, bade he, ordered, and he taught
That mother and to father ought
One render love and honour earned,
And promised, too, this in return,
645 That soul’s salvation would there be
And life on earth of long degree.
Thou would’st thy life, as sayest thou,
For both our joy give and allow:
Thou wilt yet to us both bequest
650 A life of deep distress unblest.
Thy father and I happily
Live when ‘tis for the sake of thee.
652a What good to us are goods and life,
652b What good are worldly pleasures rife,
652c When thou dost not with us remain?
652d Thou ought not bring us grief and pain.
Yea, should’st thou, lovely daughter mine,
Be for us both our joy divine,
654a Our love without sharp suff’ring’s care,
654b Our eyes’ refulgent, brilliant flare;
655 Be of our lives a dear delight,
Among thy kin a flower sprite,
In our old age the staff of love.
But if thou lettest us above
Thy grave of thy transgressions stand,
660 Thou must from grace of God’s right hand
Be e’er cut off and disavowed:
For both of us this earnest thou.
662a If, daughter, good wilt thou us be,
662b Then thou should’st from thy story flee
662c And thy intent for our Lord’s grace,
662d The story which I’ve heard thee trace.”