Come Rack, Come Rope

I recently read (twice) English novelist Evelyn Waugh's life of St. Edmund Campion, the Jesuit priest who was martyred under Elizabeth I. Perhaps it is a certain Shakespearean quality--a kind of tragicomedy--about Campion's story that draws me to him. Perhaps it is the surprisingly contemporary character of his story--his Gospel of peace and reconciliation increasingly perceived as a threat to Crown and State. In any case, I cannot help but admire this brilliant and brave companion of Jesus.

Campion began his career as an Oxford scholar, and proved himself among the brightest lights of the University. He won the good favor of the Queen when she made her famous visit to Oxford in 1569, and even earned the patronage of the Earl of Leicester, the Queen's favorite suitor. He was ordained a deacon in the newly established Church of England, and commenced his Theology studies.

As he studied the Church Fathers, however, his conscience weighed heavier and heavier upon him. Was it possible that the true religion, as Christ had intended it, had remained hidden for 1500 years, only to be revealed in these last days to a few English elites? He sought the good opinion of every learned person he thought might be able to resolve his doubts, but in vain.

Not yet desiring the life of an outlaw, he attempted to buy himself time by traveling to Dublin to assist with the establishment of the University there (later Trinity College). However, this endeavor was short-lived, and in 1571 he fled to France. At the English College at Douai, a haven for Catholic ex-patriots, he was reconciled to the Catholic Church, and began his studies for priesthood.

After ordination, Campion traveled to Rome, where he joined the Society of Jesus. His early years as a Jesuit were spent teaching in Vienna and Prague. But in 1580 a mission to England was established, with Jesuits at the helm. Their mission was a dangerous one, as the Mass was banned, and any priest found saying Mass, or any lay man or woman found harboring a priest for the purpose of saying Mass, was considered guilty of treason.

Still, Campion's small group, entering England by different ports, disguised as merchants and assuming false names, were able to slip past the authorities. For the next year they preached and administered the sacraments to those English men and women who remained faithful to Rome, moving from house to house, rarely staying more than a night. This proved a difficult task, as the Crown employed informants, professional "priest-hunters", such as the infamous George Eliot.

It was no suprise, therefore, that on 15 July 1581, Campion and his companions were discovered. Campion's arms were bound, and a piece of paper bearing the inscription "CAMPION THE SEDITIOUS JESUIT" was stuck in his hat. He was led to the Tower of London, where he was met by the Queen herself. Elizabeth asked Campion whether he acknowledged her as his rightful Queen, and promised wealth and high office in her church if he would renounced his faith. Campion acknowledged that she was his rightful Queen, but refused to renounce his faith.

After many grueling months of torture, which included being racked twice, and theological debate with Anglican scholars who refused him the use of texts or notes, Campion and his companions were collectively tried for treason. They were quickly convicted and sentenced to death, at which the group sang the Te Deum laudamus. Upon the scaffold at Tyburn, Campion prayed that the Queen have a long and peaceful reign. He was then hanged until he was half dead, his genitals cut off, his bowels torn out, and his mangled body beheaded and quartered, the parts to be disposed with according to Her Majesty's pleasure.

In a letter to his mentor, Cardinal William Allen, Campion wrote, "I have made a free oblation of myself to His Divine Majesty, both for life and death, and I hope He will give me grace and force to perform; and this is all I desire."

Saint Edmund Campion, pray for us!

Journey

I confess that I have had my fair share of frustrations with the Church. Or, more accurately, I have had my fair share of frustrations with people--of both high and low station--within the Church. I have repeatedly been vexed by the unkindness, incompetence, and sheer stupidity within its ranks.

And yet, despite the flaws of so many of its members, I cannot help but love the Body of Christ. Even in those moments when my frustration is most acute, I cannot help but appreciate the charity, strength and wisdom one finds in this community of faith. Indeed, twenty four years after my baptism, I frequently think to myself, "I think I'll convert to Catholicism today!"

Of late, nothing has affirmed that re-commitment like Father Robert Barron's Catholicism project. In his television documentary, currently airing on PBS stations around the country, and in its companion volume of the same name, Fr. Barron provides a delightful synthesis of Catholic faith and life. He draws not only on the Church's long and rich theological tradition, but also her art, architecture, music, and history. He invokes the wisdom of Augustine and Aquinas, the genius of Michelangelo and Bernini, and the faith of John Paul II and Mother Teresa. He takes one on pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Rome, and from new York to Calcutta. In short, Fr. Barron offers a faith that is truly incarnational, in contrast with the impenetrably abstract and ultimately unsatisfying spiritualities on the market today.

In the scenes of his documentary and in the pages of his book, God becomes incarnated, enfleshed, for the spiritual seeker. Here is the God who reveals Himself in the person of Jesus Christ, the God who deigns to live and move among His people, who identifies with them.

I highly recommend both the film and the book to every spiritual seeker, whether she be a novice or a proficient, with a prayer that she enjoy this "journey to the heart of the faith"!

The Gospel According to U2

This past Sunday, which also happened to be the Feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, known colloquially by its Latin name Corpus Christi, I had the great privilege of seeing U2 live in concert.  The event was rescheduled from last year's original date, which was to bring the Irish rock legends to Spartan Stadium... before Bono threw out his back.  The co-occurrence of this concert and the liturgical fest is of no small import, as I will explain below.

But first, permit me to say that I believe U2 to be one of the most positive forces on the artistic scene today.  Anyone who is even slightly familiar with their music knows that it frequently speaks to spiritual, even explicitly Christian, themes.  Consider lyrics such as "You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains/ Carried the cross of my shame/ O my shame, you know I believe it"?  Or, "The real battle just begun/ To claim the victory Jesus won/ On Sunday, Bloody Sunday"? 

Lest anybody doubt the Christian commitments of the U2 front man, I recall an excerpt I read recently from his interview-style biop.  When asked about his own religious convictions, Bono responds with candor and no small amount of theological depth: 

I'd be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I'd be in deep s---. It doesn't excuse my mistakes, but I'm holding out for Grace. I'm holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don't have to depend on my own religiosity.... The point of the death of Christ is that Christ took on the sins of the world, so that what we put out did not come back to us, and that our sinful nature does not reap the obvious death. That's the point. It should keep us humbled . It's not our own good works that get us through the gates of heaven. (From Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas)

Um... wow.  

So what does U2 have to do with the most Holy Eucharist (despite goofy Anglican attempts to integrate their music into worship)?  I would suggest that the lads not only preach a very Eucharistic message, in the form of their music, but live a very Eucharistic life.  


The great gift of the Eucharist is not only the opportunity for real, physical and spiritual communion with Jesus Christ, but also the grace that empowers us to be Eucharist for others.  Christ, in His humility and love, comes to us in the form of bread and wine, to be our spiritual food and drink.  As He did two thousand years ago on Calvary, when He gave up His own life that we might have life, so He continues to do today, wherever the Mass is celebrated.  In the Eucharist, Jesus says to us, "Freely you have received; freely give" (Matthew 10:8).


This message of Christ is also the message of U2.  Bono is one of the greatest philanthropists in the world.  Consider the ONE campaign to cancel Third World debt, and the RED campaign for AIDS relief in Africa, each founded through the magnanimity of Bono.  I would suggest that it is not coincidental that Bono, who is a committed Christian, is also so giving.  Charity is the heart of the Christian life, and Bono has learned that virtue in the school of the Eucharist.  

Blessed John Paul "the Great"

Christus resurrexit, alleluia!

Well, Finals are finally over, and this blogger can finally take some time to rest (between blogging, of course, as well as work and studying Hebrew)! One of the greatest blessings--if not the greatest--since I last posted, is surely the beatification of Pope John Paul II, or as we are bound to call him now, "Blessed" John Paul!

While others had woken up at an ungodly hour for the Royal Wedding the day before, I slept in front of the TV, alarm set for 4:00 am, so as not to miss a moment of the blessed event. EWTN is fine, but for my money the best coverage was provided by NBC, which featured commentary from papal biographer George Weigel and the eminent theologian and evangelist, Father Robert Barron of the Archdiocese of Chicago and Word on Fire Ministries.

While I struggled to stay awake at that early hour, I did catch several key moments in the ceremony, held in St. Peter's Square to accommodate the 1.5 million pilgrims who flooded Rome for the historic event. After sleeping through my alarm, I awoke just in time to hear Pope Benedict read out--in Latin--the proclamation of beatification, which officially declared JP2 to be among the blessed in Heaven. The beautiful song, "Aprite le Porte a Cristo" ("Open the Door to Christ"), composed especially for the event, was sung, and the enormous tapestry of a smiling JP2 was unveiled. Meanwhile, a small phial of the late pontiff's blood, encased in a shining silver reliquary, was brought forward for the veneration of his successor.

All in all, the ceremony was breathtaking, as befits the man who is bound to be known as the most influential man of the century, not only within the household of the Church, but also in the wider world. His legacy, if I may thus summarize: The value of a human life is defined by nothing more or less than the love of God, and that this divine love is the grounding force of the universe, as well as the sure path to peace.

For those interested in the life and times of the Blessed, I highly recommend George Weigel's book, Witness to Hope: The Biography of Pope John Paul II, as well as its sequel, The End and the Beginning: Pope John Paul II--The Victory of Freedom, the Last Days, the Legacy.

Blessed John Paul the Great, pray for us!

La Santa Madre

I recently read an excellent biography of the great saint and Doctor of the Church, Teresa of Jesus, by Cathleen Medwick. Ms. Medwick, while neither a Spaniard nor a Catholic--she is, in fact, an American Jew--captures perfectly the flavor of 16th century Spain, as well as the wit, determination, and chutzpah of la Santa Madre in Teresa of Avila: The Progress of a Soul.

I must confess that, when it comes to all things Teresian, I am very biased. Teresa is my best friend in heaven, the true companion of my soul. Still, I think that Medwick's book is as thorough and honest a reading of the life of the revered saint as one may find outside of her own autobiography, the Vida de Teresa de Jesus ("Life of Teresa of Jesus"), perhaps more so given Medwick's unique perspective. After all, Teresa was herself ethnically Jewish; her grandparents were conversos, Jews who were baptized in the Reconquista of Ferdinand and Isabella. (In an interesting turn of providence, three great Carmelite saints and spiritual masters, Teresa of Jesus, John of the Cross, co-founder with Teresa of the Discalced Reform, and Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, or Edith Stein, the brilliant philosopher and martyr of Auschwitz, were all ethnically Jewish.) Medwick's Teresa is a sign of contradiction: as a nun, bold yet humble, as a religious superior, firm yet loving, and as a reformer of her Carmelite Order and founder of monasteries, industrious yet completely trusting in God's providence.

For Teresa, the Discalced Reform was, ulltimately, God's own project, and God would see it completed. Perhaps a little context is necessary here. By the 16th century, the Carmelite Order, which has been founded in the Holy Land in the 13th century, had strayed from the austerity and prayerfulness of the primitive Rule, especially in Spain, where noble ladies were permitted to bring lapdogs and servants into the convent, adapt the habit to reflect their superior station, and come and go freely from the convent, to the neglect of their religious duties. Teresa's own convent of La Encarnacion was no exception. Moved by a voice from heaven, she established the first reformed convent, called descalzo ("discalced" from the fact that the nuns wore not shoes but simple hemp sandals), San Jose de Avila in 1562, with many more to follow throughout Castile and Andalusia.

While Teresa authored many books throughout her long life, including her spiritual masterpiece, Las Moradas ("The Mansions", more commonly known in English as The Interior Castle), as many commentators point out, her greatest work was her reform movement, which eventually bore fruit in many communities of strictly enclosed, contemplative nuns, as well as friars who, due to the requirements of their various ministries, were less strictly enclosed, but no less contemplative. To this day, these sons and daughters of Mary, Queen and Beauty of Carmel, live lives of prayer and quiet sacrifice, constantly interceding for the people of God.

A good companion to Medwick's biography is the nine-part Spanish mini-series Teresa de Jesus, directed by Josefina Molina and starring Concha Velasco as Teresa.

Religion, Violence, and True Peace

I finally had the opportunity to see The Stoning of Soraya M. The film, set in Iran in 1986, is based on the true story of a woman named Soraya. Soraya is a good, compassionate woman; she consoles the local mechanic when his wife dies, and even agrees to work for him, cooking, cleaning, and caring for his mentally handicapped son. When her abusive husband, Ali, desires to marry a younger "woman" (she is fourteen years old), he asks for a divorce, and enlists to local mullah (cleric) to help him. In return, he will grant Soraya a portion of their property and custody of their two daughters (he will, of course, take their sons). Meanwhile, the mullah will attend to any other needs, with the expectation of forming with Soraya a "temporary marriage", called a mut'ah, which is allowed by Sharia (Islamic law). Unwilling to give up her dignity to become what she calls a "holy whore", Soraya refuses to grant the divorce.

Ali, infuriated, conspires with the mullah to charge Soraya with adultery, which is a capital offense according to Sharia. They produce false witnesses, including Soraya's employer, a simpleton who is easily coerced. Together with the spineless mayor, and despite the best efforts of Soraya's noble aunt, Zahra, they convict and brutally stone Soraya to death. Buried waist deep with arms bound, Soraya is forced to watch as her own father, husband and young sons take part in the bloody scene. The next day, an Iranian-French journalist, in need of an auto mechanic, happens upon the small town. With a bit of stealth, Zahra leads the young man to her home, where she insists that he listen to her story, and tell it to the world.

Soraya's story, though saddening, must be heard, especially in the West, where we have such little direct knowledge of Islamic culture. I assert that if there is a tendency to violence in Islam--as there clearly is--it has less to do with "extremism" (whatever that may mean) than with Islam's basic conception of God. As Christians, we believe Deus charitas est, "God is love" (1 John 4:16). The appropriate faith-response to the God who is love is love. Muslims, we might say, believe Deus voluntas est, "God is will". The only appropriate faith-response to this God is submission, hence the name "Islam" (Arabic, "submission"). Because God's will is absolute, it must be done, whether by persuasion or by force.

Muslims have a custom of adding "peace be upon him" whenever they speak the name of Muhammad. I would suggest that Christians, when speaking the name of Jesus, add "who IS peace." Because only in the God who reveals Himself in Jesus Christ, and who provides in Him a model of non-violence, compassion, and love, can we truly have peace.

Why Believe in Jesus of Nazareth?

Today, as part of my Lord's Day observance, I watched the excellent documentary, The Case for Christ, based on Lee Strobel's book by the same name. In the film, Strobel, a journalist for the Chicago Tribune and former atheist, ably presents the evidence--collected over the course of years and with a journalist's critical eye--for belief in Christ.

Here are just a few highlights of the film:

The historical reliability of the Gospels. Strobel argues that, while one may choose to believe or not to believe that the four canonical Gospels (i.e. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) are divinely inspired, one cannot deny that they are reliable historical sources. He notes the scholarly consensus that the Gospels were written within the lifetime of the Apostles (i.e. before 90 A.D.). In other words, they were authored by, or with the assistance of, eyewitnesses to Jesus life, death, and resurrection. Further, since the proclamation of these Gospels was a community event, and that many of these eyewitnesses were still living in the community, they surely would have corrected the Gospel accounts had they strayed from the truth.

Strobel also easily refutes the argument that the Gospels are unreliable due to inconsistencies among the different accounts. He demonstrates that these inconsistencies are relatively insignificant and observes that, in a court of law, were the testimonies of many witnesses identical, the first objection would be "collusion", that the witnesses had conspired to produce a false testimony. In this respect, the small variations among the four Gospels only add to their credibility; they do not detract from it.

The consistent witness to the personality of Jesus. Strobel also refutes the argument that it is impossible to know who Jesus really was or what He really did, considering the proliferation of apocryphal "gospels" and other scriptures, particularly originating from the Gnostics (an early Christian sect that taught that matter was inherently evil and that salvation was achieved through esoteric knowledge, in Greek, "gnosis"). These Gospels, however, are universally recognized by scholars as being written well after the Apostolic era, and present a portrait of Jesus that is often disconsonant with the earlier, eye-witness accounts of Jesus and His ministry.

The joint witness of the empty tomb and the blood of the martyrs. For Strobel, as for most Christians, the primary issue is Jesus' resurrection from the dead. He observes several idiosyncrasies (as we might call them) about the Gospel accounts of the resurrection. For instance, the Gospels report that it was women (including Mary Magdalene, a woman with a dubious past) that were the first witnesses to the resurrection. Strobel argues that, had the story been fabricated, the Gospel authors certainly would not have relied on the witness of women, distrusted as they were in first century Palestine. Further, the Gospels report that it was Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish governing body that condemned Jesus to death), who offered his new tomb for the burial of Jesus. Surely the Gospel authors would not have reported this potentially embarrassing fact had they fabricated the story. Finally, Strobel observes that after His resurrection, Jesus appears not to a select few, but to hundreds of people. Many, if not most, of these early witnesses to the resurrection gave up their lives in martyrdom rather than deny what they saw with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, and touched with their own hands. And not only these, but others who were initially opposed to Jesus, such as the Pharisee Saul of Tarsus (a.k.a. Paul the Apostle). It is highly unlikely, Strobel argues, that people would choose to die for what they knew was false.

Strobel, fine journalist that he is, has certainly done his homework. I highly recommend this film to both believer and skeptic alike.

Watch the entire film here (or on Hulu.com):

Angels With One Wing

I recently finished Anne Rice's Of Love and Evil, the second novel in the Songs of the Seraphim series. Toby O'Dare, a hit man who has known profound grief, is visited by Malchiah, an seraph who bears a message of God's mercy and the need to make reparation for sin. Thus far, that opportunity has involved travelling back in time and space ("Angel Time") to protect God's chosen people, the Jews, from persecution. In the first novel in the series, Angel Time, Malchiah brings Toby to thirteenth century England where, in the guise of a Dominican friar, he defends a Jewish family that has been falsely accused of murdering their young daughter. Similarly, in this second novel, Toby is taken to sixteenth century Rome, where he intervenes in the case of a Jewish physician, who has been falsely accused of poisoning his Christian patient. It is a delightful series, well-grounded in the Catholic theological tradition with much owed to Thomas Aquinas, the "Angelic Doctor", that creatively explores the rapport between angels and humans. One hopes that Ms. Rice's recent defection from the Church (which is a topic for another post) will not adversely impact the series.

Here a just a few things that I love about the series:

It recognizes angels as the personal representatives of God's love and protection. In other words, God could--and often does--protect and guide us humans directly, but His love is such that He creates spiritual beings for the sole purpose of bearing His love to us.

It acknowledges the reality of spiritual warfare. If there are spiritual beings who have chosen from the moment of their creation to love and serve God and to collaborate in our salvation, then there must also be spiritual beings who have chosen to not love and serve God and who work toward our destruction.

It has an historical perspective. There can be no doubt that Ms. Rice is an enthusiastic student of Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance history. I am particularly appreciative of the fact that Rice has chosen neither to defame the Church (in a Dan Brown-esque way) nor to ignore her very real faults and failures through the centuries. Especially heartbreaking is the mistreatment of the Jews in Medieval and Renaissance Europe.

On a final note, I thought that a quotation prefacing the book reflects well the overarching theme of the series:

"We are each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another."
--Luciano de Crescenzo

Highly recommended.

"She Who Conquers the Serpent"

After following with awe and wonder the festivities surrounding the December 12 celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe--both north and south of the border--I realized that I knew next to nothing about the Morenita, her appearance to Saint Juan Diego or the miraculous tilma imprinted with her image. So, when I happened upon Paul Badde's María of Guadalupe: Shaper of History, Shaper of Hearts in a Catholic book shop in Savannah, I leaped at the chance to learn more. Badde, a German journalist and former papal aide (to John Paul the Great), weaves together the history and science of the tilma with his own journey of discovery, which takes him from Germany to Mexico and from Jerusalem to Rome, in the footsteps of the Morenita.

Perhaps more amazing than the miraculous qualities of the tilma itself (which continue to confound modern science) are the conversions that the encounter with the Morenita has occasioned, from the day of Juan Diego to today. Badde recalls how the Spanish conquistadores, the worst possible missionaries, "were incapable of evangelizing the Aztecs" (145). That came with the appearance of the Blessed Mother to a poor Indian man on Tepeyac Hill (just outside modern Mexico City) in December 1531. She came in the guise of an Aztec princess, proclaiming the Gospel of her divine Son, whom she bore in her womb. As proof of her visitation, she left behind her miraculous image on Juan Diego's tilma (a kind of cloak woven of agave fibers). A shrine was soon built in her honor.

What occurred thereafter is something wholly unique in the annals of world history: not only were the Aztecs converted to the religion of their often brutal conquerors, but the conquerors themselves were inspired to lay down their swords and live in peace with the Aztecs. Badde observes:

After the apparition, both military cultures, people who before were seeking to annihilate each other, literally began to embrace each other like lovers before this picture! ... There are no more Spaniards or Amerindians. From that moment there was a radical new beginning: the Mexicans have been shaped into a new people. (146)

Badde observes further:

Evangelization went very deep, with colossal speed, for both Aztec and Spaniard. Eight conquistadors of Hernan Cortés' inner circle became churchmen, Franciscan, Dominican or hermit. No one campaigned as passionately and boldly for the rights and defense of the Aztecs as the mendicant orders. (148)

Never has such a reconciliation of peoples and cultures occured in recorded history.

A final, interesting fact: it is likely that the Spanish title Guadalupe is a corruption of the Nahuatl (the language spoken by the Aztecs) Coatlaxopeuh, which means "she conquers the sepent" (Cf. Genesis 3:15, wherein "he" has also been interpreted as "she").

Let us pray that Mary, the Queen of Peace, might reconcile all her children to each other and to her divine Son, especially in her own Land.

Justice, Mercy, and "True Grit"

I recently saw the Coen brothers' remake of the 1969 classic True Grit, based on the novel by Charles Portis. The film stars Jeff Bridges (formerly John Wayne) as the aging and cantankerous U.S. Marshall Reuben "Rooster" Cogburn. When an Arkansas man is killed in cold blood by the outlaw Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin), his precocious fourteen-year-old daughter, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld), vows to bring the killer to justice, and hires Coghburn to help her. Joined by LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), a pompous Texas ranger who also has a claim on Chaney, the unlikely pair pursue the outlaw and his gang into Indian territory.

The film begins with a verse from Proverbs: "The wicked flee while no man pursueth" (28:1a). This is a clear reference to Chaney who, after killing Mattie's father and stealing two California gold pieces and a horse, flees the small frontier town, despite the fact that none "could be bothered to give chase." This is consonant with the character's cowardice and slow-wit, but it is also indicative that he still retains a shred of conscience. Indeed, Mattie says, Chaney "must learn that there is nothing free in this world, except the grace of God." The line might strike the viewer as somewhat out of place; what, after all, does God's grace have to do with a story primarily concerned with earthly justice?

[SPOLER ALERT] In the end, Cogburn, with the help of Mattie and LaBoeuf, gets his man, whom Mattie has the pleasure of shooting herself. However, the recoil from the rifle knocks her backward into a pit where she is bitten by a rattlesnake. Cogburn pulls her from the pit, attempts to extract the poison, and rides all day and night to deliver the injured girl to a doctor. As a delirious Mattie looks to the starry heavens, she murmurs, "He's getting away." "Who's getting away, sis?" Cogburn asks. "Chaney," she responds. The line is, I would suggest, an intimation that Chaney, having been served justice on earth, has received grace and mercy in heaven.

In fact, I believe that the entire film is--aside from a rousing good Western--a sustained reflection on justice and mercy (i.e. grace), which are not mutually exclusive categories. Recall Mattie's comment about "the grace of God". This is the law of love, by which God says, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice" (Mat 9:13). This does not mean that criminals like Chaney should go unpunished, which would be a simplistic denial of justice. It does, however, mean that justice must be tempered by mercy, something that Mattie learns the hard way. In the end, we learn that while Cogburn saved Mattie's life, the doctor could not save her arm, which has been amputated. The symbolism is clear: Mattie's single-minded search for justice has taken a part of her. She is, ever after, an incomplete woman.

Indeed, the true model of both justice and mercy (or love) in the film is the uncouth--and often drunken--Cogburn, who selflessly risks his own life to save Mattie's. He descends into the snake pit in order to pull Mattie out (recall Christ's descent into hell), extracts the poison from her hand (note the close association in Latin of the words for "healer" and "savior"), and delivers her to safety. Not only is Mattie an icon of the fallen soul, but Cogburn is an icon of Christ who heals and saves.

The thematic meatiness aside, the film also boasts some wonderful Old Western action. Particularly delightful is the climactic scene wherein Cogburn rides one against four, reigns in teeth, firing two navy pistols. "I mean to kill you today Ned [the film's other villain], or see you hanged" says Cogburn. "I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man" taunts "Lucky" Ned Pepper. "Ned, you son of a b***h!" Cogburn cries, as he charges forward, guns blazing. You can almost hear the Duke laughing with glee from his seat where Justice and Mercy reigns. In fact, it is reminiscent of the second half of that verse from Proverbs: "but the righteous are bold as a lion" (28:1b).

Highly recommended! The Brothers Coen are (to employ a Hebrew pun) the high priests of film!

The Catholic Priority of Truth

I recently had a conversation with my English professor that reminded me of the prevailing attitude toward Pope Benedict XVI, especially among intellectuals. I had met with him to discuss my research paper, but somehow the conversation turned to matters of faith. My professor commented on the pontiff's perceived unconsciousness of his political influence. He mentioned (predictably) the recent opening of the canonization process for Venerable Pope Pius XII, frequently accused of indifference toward the Shoah, and the lifting of the excommunications on members of the Society of St. Pius X, including Bishop Williamson, an infamous Holocaust denier.

I explained that Pius XII harbored hundreds of Jews within the walls of the Vatican itself, and instructed religious houses across Europe to do the same. So grateful was the Chief Rabbi of Rome, Israel Zolli, that he converted to Catholicism, taking the name Eugenio, Pius XII's baptismal name. Regarding the Williamson debacle, I explained that while the illicit ordination of bishops is an impediment to full communion with the Church, stupidity is not. Since the members of the SSPX have repented of that crime, canonically, the excommunications must be lifted. Still, he countered, I could not deny that these actions were impolitic. Perhaps.

However, as I left his office, that stubborn and most Catholic of questions weighed on my mind: But is it true? Is it just to deny Pius XII beatification merely because of the slanders against him? Is it fair to deny full communion with the Church to those who have repented of the sin for which they were excommunicated in the first place? Ultimately, it's a matter of differing priorities. For secular intellectuals, many of whom deny man's ability to know truth with certainty, the priority is political advantage in some form or another. Not so for Catholics. Sebastian, in Evelyn Waugh's masterpiece Brideshead Revisited, observed that "everything they think important is different from other people." For Catholics, who vehemently affirm man's ability to know truth with certainty, the priority is the proclamation of that truth which sets us free (John 8:23).

If one desires to understand the mind of the Church and its priorities, Pope Benedict's new book, Light of the World: The Pope, the Church and the Sign of the Times, is an excellent guide. As eminent theologian George Weigel writes in the Preface:

World political leaders see the flow of history in terms of interests, alliances, and power. Intellectuals of international repute perceive humanity in terms of their philosophical, historical, or scientific theories.... Popes, if they have the wit and the stomach for it [Benedict does], see the whole picture.... (ix)

This broadness of vision derives not only from the Holy Father's close and frequent contact with bishops and faithful from around the world, but from his grounding in Christ, the Truth whom we can know personally. He explains how Christ-who-is-Truth frees us from the "dictatorship of relativism":

The truth comes to rule, not through violence, but rather through its own power.... [Jesus] does not defend the truth with legions but rather makes it visible through his Passion and thereby implements it. (51)

And this, brothers and sisters, is the essential difference between Catholicism and every other philosophical system: the proclamation of the Truth through Love. It is the bent-but-unbroken logic of the Cross.