Who am I?

 Here I am at the beginning of another blog reboot, this time returning to my roots. Sort of. It's hard, after all, to return to a mindset and sense of purpose (or a place where you didn't need a sense of purpose) after, oh... 14 years. I actually had to look that up--it feels much longer. But I am returning to my first blog. It feels appropriate, once again, to write under the label of "Words, Words" rather than trying to define myself more specifically. I may still branch off a little. I've picked up a bit of a romance novel habit that some of my blog friends may not be interested in--nay, may find distasteful. And "Booknotes from Literacy-chic," which I intend to keep up, doesn't quite feel like the right place, either. But I'll probably keep this as the hub. In the meantime, I rolled another blog that never really got off the ground, but had some interesting snapshots from a former workplace, into this one. I've decided that I was compartmentalizing a bit too much. It's not really who I am.

"Who am I?" indeed.

Identity is a strange question, isn't it? Much stranger than when I first started blogging in January 2007. I'm not really here to introduce myself, rather, I want to sort through the things that make up my life right now, in 2021.

Things that are the same (but different), in alphabetical order:

• Catholicism

I am still Catholic. Of course. But I am not the fresh convert that I once was, working to arrange my life according to Church teachings. Surprise! Do Church teachings still exercise influence in my life? Of course. Are these influences as powerful and compelling as they used to be? Sadly, no. This is perhaps for the better, since I don't argue and agonize about them as I once did. But my Catholic faith is still an important part of who I am. At least, I think so. These days I mainly concern myself with what parishes are not doing to prevent the spread of COVID-19, and our mass attendance is through YouTube.

• Family

Need it be said? Family is still one of the most important things to me. My oldest, now 24, is still at home, and we love this. He's completing his B.A. this year after a challenging educational journey that has more to do with finances than anything. He is also working alongside me at my workplace, but I don't expect to say much about that. My two daughters, 13 and 15, are in 8th and 11th grade, respectively. Last Spring (2020) they went online by mandate, and in 2020-2021, we found one of the best online schools in the country and decided to stick with it for 2021-2022. I have a husband with a solid academic career in libraries that I alternately support and resent, mostly at the same time. But I'm proud of him and I love him and I'm so happy that I have him. We're coming up to our 25th wedding anniversary next year. I still have a mother and brother who I worry about, and 4 other siblings with whom I have limited contact--in one case more, in another case, none at all.

• Reading

Books are still a large part of my life. What I read has shifted drastically as well as, shall we say, how I use books. There's a lot more escapist reading and a lot less literary snobbery in my life, although I am still particular, and selective. I still post to my Booknotes blog occasionally, when something strikes me, but less analytical posts may wind up here. I may also start a romance reading blog.

• Sewing

I still sew when the mood takes me. I made some masks. I make clothing sometimes with variable success. I started a blog long ago that I thought would be devoted to sewing, but working through frustrations with patterns publicly just didn't seem the best use of my time. I may post about sewing here sometimes. We'll see.

• Writing

This may also go without being said? I come back to writing at times. It never leaves me, though sometimes I leave it for a time. I was writing a dissertation when I started (except that I had to give up blogging for Lent in order to actually finish the dissertation). Now, I have a book project that I'm not working on. The more things change...

Things that are new:

• Academia

Academia is not a part of my life. This is new. I may still have some thoughts on it from time to time, but I am out, and besides the resentment that it had to be like this, I am fine with it. It is no longer a place where I feel I belong.

• Art

In short, I do more of it now! Not currently, but periodically. It started with Inktober, which I'm not linking to for reasons. I don't need controversy, and I don't actually care about other people's angst on the topic; it was a neat idea. I wound up rediscovering (in 2015, if memory serves) that I can draw fairly well, and I enjoy doing so. When I was out of work in 2018-19, I developed a comic. A small sampling of the comic and my most recent partial Inktober efforts can be found here. Well, that's embarrassing. It seems that the posts I had scheduled to roll out one by one did not. <<cue mass posting>>

• COVID-19

This is a part of who everyone is these days, isn't it? I don't know that I'll have a lot to say about it, but who knows? My girls are in an online school; our workplaces are operating as conservatively as possible. My son will have to attend classes in person, but he will be masked and is vaccinated, as we all are. We all still have our fears and anxieties, but we're coping so far.

•  Crochet

Crochet is my "lockdown skill." I had a grandmother and an aunt who did (very different) crochet, and last year, 2nd daughter and I taught ourselves. My house now has a lot more yarn.

• Exercise

Okay, one of my first ever blog posts was about yoga, and the blog I merged with this one had a post about exercise, but maybe it wasn't a huge part of my life and blog in the past. It is now. Mainly because it has to be. Which brings us to...

• Health

Oh, where to begin? Some of this was already surfacing with the "rolled in" blog. I need to be aware of blood pressure and cholesterol, the former is currently under control to good effect and after much trial and error. I'm wondering whether some things I'm experiencing signal perimenopause. I have some issues with my joints--outer hips, lower back, right ankle--and a lot of anxiety about health issues. My husband has issues with blood pressure (under control), cholesterol (not), and blood sugar (with type-2 diabetes in the family and a "get the numbers down" kind of ultimatum). The kids are fine, but could be more active, particularly being at home more.

• (No More) Babies 

My early blogging days were filled with pregnancy and breastfeeding and other concerns related to babies. These experiences are no longer part of my life. For a few brief weeks in January 2020, we thought there might be another baby. This was not to be. Given the events of the year and my anxiety about the whole thing, this is probably for the best. There's a brief reflection on the experience here. I may make reference to this happening some time. 

• Pens and Inks

While it is true that I have used fountain pens sporadically over the past 20 years or so, this is a hobby/practice that blossomed during the pandemic with my discovery of the wonders of shimmery ink! It is very possible that I may write about this in the future.

• Publishing

Publishing is part of my life because it's my job. I have a book contract, but I'm not currently working on the book. Maybe that part of publishing will resurface in my life. 

• Teaching Certification

This is something I'm seriously considering. So seriously that I've submitted an application to a post-baccalaureate certification program, which will have part of its tuition covered because of my employment with the university. I'm not sure teaching high school will be feasible or enjoyable. But it's an option, and options are important.

• Television

I usually don't include TV in my blogging. I don't watch what anyone else watches. But the shows I do watch, I've been really captivated by. They might pop up. They include:

• The Secret History of the British Garden with Monty Don
• Hidden Villages with Penelope Keith
• Penelope Keith's Village of the Year
• Wartime Farm
• Edwardian Farm
• Tudor Farm
• Victorian Farm
• Wainwright Walks

If I ever make it to England for a holiday, I will almost certainly not visit the urban centers.

• Work

Work has been a problem. It wasn't such a problem when I started, mainly because I was a graduate student who only had to worry about one class at a time--if that--in addition to whatever scholarship I was supposed to be working on. Kind of changes things to have to work full time, you know? But the blog that I recently merged with this one was a real attempt to come to terms with the kind of work I was doing (technology training) in relation to the kind of work I was trained to do (academic teaching and scholarship). The blog didn't last and neither did the career. What did last was the sense of dissatisfaction, and, at times, utter despair. Jealousy--that my husband has the more interesting job where he is respected, where he learns things and talks about intellectual things, and my knowledge that it can also be a complete pain and inconvenience for all of us: these are all included, too. My blog posts have never concealed my deficits. Usually, I reveal them in painful detail. And my relationship to my work and to his work is an area that is... fraught. 

• Word Limits?

I don't have one in mind, but I'm putting this out there. A few limitations might help me to actually post regularly, and might prevent people from being bored before the end.

So if not who I am, this is where I am. The earlier question is something I'm trying to work out all the time.

Cheers!

Familia: To go, or not to go. . .

I've tentatively signed up for Familia in the fall. For those not familiar with it, Familia is a Catholic lay apostolate focused on the family. That doesn't help? No, I didn't think so. It's a program that invites women and men to get together in groups by gender and discuss topics based in encyclicals that relate specifically to the family. Given that the groups are gender-based, you might assume that the topics are predetermined based on gender. You would be right. And therein lies much of my hesitation. Part of the description from the Familia web site reads, "The unique and complementary roles of a husband and wife can be the source of joy or confusion as the two individuals work together to become one." What worries me about this is that "the unique and complementary roles of a husband and wife" could be read either broadly or narrowly, and I fear a narrow interpretation. Though they claim to want to "support every aspect of each person's vocation," I fear that what "every aspect of each person's vocation" entails will be narrowly defined. Case in point: when I looked at the materials on the web site, the men's program begins with a discussion of the dignity of work. The women's program is about femininity--and they use the rather reprehensible term, "authentic feminism." I object to the term for several reasons, but let's just start by saying that this is a rhetorical move that is designed to contradict feminism by re-appropriating the use of the term and turning it to Catholic-based purposes. So really, it muddles things by suggesting that the two things--feminism and Catholic conceptions of femininity--are equivalent, or at least complimentary, which they aren't. And it is intended to appeal to women who wish to see themselves as feminist, as a kind of "lure" into the Catholic conception of femininity. I should say "a" Catholic conception of femininity, because there is not a unified Catholic conception of femininity--there is no "official" description of Catholic gender, even within marriage. Equally disturbing to me is this: the men's program talks about what men do; the women's program talks about what women are.

I fear that this program, if not specifically designed for women who do not work, is at least designed for women whose jobs are secondary--to family life, or more specifically, to their husbands' jobs. I think of it in terms of primary and secondary careers. While a couple of the women at the informational meeting who had been participating in Familia for a while had jobs, the implication was that the balance between work and home had needed adjustment, and this program pointed that out. My family is of the utmost importance to me, but I also have, for better or worse, whether I like it or not (and depending on my mood it can go either way), the primary career right now. Or I will when I get a permanent position, so right now I have the task of diligently preparing to have the primary career. This is not to say that I devalue my husband's work, but right now, his position--while enjoyable to him at times, on a level--is not what he wants to be doing long-term. I hope that when I do find a position, he finds a position that is equally agreeable to him. That is the ideal goal. So I seek a balance, and I do not particularly want to be sent messages through the materials and discussions that suggest that I am not doing right by my family by devoting effort to work. It is a delicate balance, and I don't always manage it well, but will hearing about the "true nature" of woman help? Not sure. And it the program frustrates me so that I am thinking and pondering and arguing about it for hours afterward, that surely won't lend itself to professional productivity or domestic tranquility.

Clarification: I've been thinking about the terms "primary" and "secondary" career, and they don't set well with me. I might prefer the term"supporting career" to denote the career that might--if necessary--be abandoned or changed for one reason or another, or by choice of the person who holds that particular job. Right now, as I indicated (but not strongly enough) I don't have a career, I have a potential career. My husband's current career path, which it might be if he wanted to stay in this position or if we weren't planning to move on from here, is "supporting" only in the sense that it allows my potential career path to exist. It has facilitated the completion of my degree and is the steadier of our two sources of income--a real, full-time job, not dependent on the budget cycle or departmental funding from one academic year to the next. But it is also not the career goal we have both been working toward--the one that will carry us into a (hopefully) more permanent location, with greater earning power for the two of us combined and the family overall. Come to think of it, I'm not crazy about the term "career," as it implies living to work rather than working to live, but that's a different topic. . .

Christian Parents and Pre-Teen Guides to Sex

I've been in hibernation lately, I know. I do spend more time than I should online, but as I've mentioned before, I'm trying to limit myself to the sort of fleeting thoughts that lend themselves to Facebook status updates, and channel the complex meditative asides into something that might pass as academically productive. We'll see how that works out.

[For fear of Google, I have comment moderation on]

Recently, however, we encountered some issues with my son (now 12) that necessitated the opening of a pretty weighty subject--how to address topics related to sexuality in an informative, sex-positive, yet Catholic Christian context. And, well, I want him to have a book or books to turn to when curiosity arises and he doesn't necessarily feel like getting a parental lecture--because too often, I think, we give too much information and bore the heck out of him, truthfully. . . So while we are open to questions, and correct misperceptions or misbehavior, explain when necessary, I think a good book is a good thing to have. But where to go? He's younger than the target age for the Theology of the Body for Teens resources, and most of the Catholic resources that I've seen for younger ages address the spiritual aspects of where babies come from, and feelings of love, etc. Basically, I wasn't finding much actual information about anatomy, biological functions, adolescence--you know, the basics! Perhaps I wasn't looking in the right places, but I'm pretty good at looking, and I wasn't finding. So I looked at the mainstream/secular resources, which of course, went in the opposite direction.

I believe that even if I *wanted* to affirm, promote, and emphasize use of birth control, as I would have at one point but do not now, I would still think that 12 is too young. He knows that birth control exists. Last year, he asked me whether there was a kind of medicine that a woman could take to prevent her from having a baby. I said yes, there was, and explained the Church's position on contraception in basic terms. At this stage, I don't want a book that details the various methods of contraception, though I am not--by any means--opposed to his learning about them. I will, of course, let him know our beliefs and the reason for those beliefs when the subject arises. He will make his decisions based on the information and moral guidance that we give to him, without the information being omitted.

The non-religious reference books on sexuality for youth that I found biologically informative and generally well-written also introduced and affirmed every type of sexual practice and lifestyle choice without any reference to the fact that not all lifestyle choices are condoned by all religions or *gasp!* parents. The books made it clear that these are exclusively personal matters and constructed implied child reader as independent from the beliefs and wishes of his/her parents. Basically, they provided an initiation into the happy utopia of adult sexuality. Ugh! You have no responsibility to anyone but yourself, so use protection and follow your impulses. Ugh! There was some stuff for girls about not being taken advantage of, some advice to empower girls to say no, but the overall message was that yes was good, too. Hence, the religious objection to sex ed: it not only provides information, it presents a certain world view and attitude toward sexuality that is largely self-serving and does not acknowledge that there may be other contexts for understanding human sexuality. This was not my experience of sex education, and I believe that this is because the average teacher of biology is not necessarily comfortable with promoting sexual practices to pre-teens or teens. There are, of course, exceptions, as the famous "condom-on-a-banana" anecdotes demonstrate. "Health" teachers might be a little more suspect. . .

So I admit that I do want to avoid the "You Might Be Gay--and It's Okay!" chapters. First, because however early homosexual feelings do appear, to confront and affirm them too early may lead to reckless lifestyle choices that are not informed by the wisdom and maturity of age. I would have scoffed to hear myself say such things when I was 17 (and a sophomore in college), but I can look back and see how my attitudes toward sexuality, which I developed largely on my own, matured over many years. Second, I want the Catholic version, that says, "You might be gay, and it's okay, because that's how God made you; but understand that the Church teaches that homosexual acts are inherently sinful, and you are called as a Catholic Christian to live according to this teaching. It may be that this is your cross to bear, and that you are called to a celibate life, and a life of service to others. This may be your special calling." I know it's unpopular. I have friends who are openly gay and live homosexual lifestyles, and they are dear friends, and I love them, but I have to acknowledge the teaching of my faith--which they do not share--in the instruction of my children, and my faith says that ALL lustful inclinations, ALL intercourse outside of the sanctity of marriage, and even some intercourse within the sanctity of marriage, is sinful. Men who aren't married, women who aren't married, homosexual and heterosexual--all are called to celibacy. Meanwhile, ALL people are called to chastity. It's a hard thing, so please don't blame me for it. I understand it and accept it, and will teach it to my children, as I am called to do.

Point is, of course, you're not going to find a book that says any of this. And with the Christian books, it's difficult to find a book that presents Christian teaching on alternative lifestyles sympathetically. Because taking something as a matter of faith, accepting and promoting an unpopular, politically incorrect teaching about sexuality, does not mean that you have to bulldoze through it and dismiss the feelings of those most intimately affected by the teaching. It does not mean that at all. So the book that had a table of contents arranged by "Thou Shall Nots"?--Uh uh. Not for me.

But, I did find some good books--two, to be exact. I apologize for making you read to the end of this to discover what they were. First, there was the "icebreaker"--the funny book, and to date, the only one of the two that my son has read (that he's admitted, anyway). It is called Lintball Leo's Not-so-Stupid Questions about Your Body. Published by ZonderKids, it is specifically geared towards boys, but there is one for girls, which I found first, and thought, "I wish there was one like this for boys!" and then looked on the next shelf. It provides information, does not insult the intelligence, does not preach, but does couch the physical, biological, and social questions that accompany puberty in a context that acknowledges nondenominational belief in God. Any divergences from Catholic teaching are very, very small--for example, it doesn't necessarily say that masturbation is a sin, but it does say that masturbation could become a part of sinful behavior or behavior patterns. The parent's objection to this statement could vary one way or another.

The second book I found had more information about sex--it read more like the mainstream sex ed books for teens/pre-teens in terms of what topics it covered, albeit from a Christian perspective. Again, I did not find the Christianity too prohibitive (that is, prohibitive in terms of "thou shall nots"), but do consider that I was looking for a minimally didactic book explaining sexuality within a Christian context. The book is titled, Sex and the New You, and is part of the Learning About Sex series published by Concordia Publishing House that is intended for children in various stages of curiosity about their bodies. The particular title I purchased is "For Young Men ages 13-15"--again, gender specific. There is a girls' version, and the difference is in the anatomical and social emphases. Each gender's version has a chapter relating to the anatomical features of and changes being experienced by the other, so the chapter "About Girls and Women" discussed female anatomy including menstruation--and has a drawing of a naked lady, to boot! And the glossary includes "clitoris"! ;) Emphasis is on respecting the bodies of others as well as yourself. I picked the age 13-15 volume because the younger volume was mostly centered on reproduction, and that was not the issue at hand. We were ready for a more mature set of subjects. But there is even a volume for ages 4-6, in picture book format, though I only noted it with passing interest. They are marketed as part of a home school or Christian school curriculum, or for individual use. The use of Bible verses was more extensive, but very tastefully done. I was less impressed with the title that was one "stage" down (all about reproduction), but each book has a different author, and it may well have been because it was not what I was looking for at the time. Still, I debated before choosing one over the other. Very occasionally, I disagree with generalizations about gender roles, but in general this is handled very well. The chapter on differences between men and women emphasizes that physical differences do not dictate differences in ability.

So that was a learning experience for me a couple of weeks ago, and hopefully yielded some information that will be helpful to others--and maybe I also provided some insight into what concerns Christian parents have about teaching sex ed to their kids. ;)

God's House

Over the summer, Doodle attended the child development center at our parish 3 days/week from 9-2:30. She was in a class with 2's, 3's, 4's, and 5's, in a Montessori-like environment. After a while, I started noticing something. . . Doodle would occasionally tell me about Jesus. "That's Jesus!" with a nod and wide, knowing eyes, pointing, usually I think, to a crucifix. Sometimes she would say, "A Jesus. A God." ("A" or "ah" approximating "it's" or "that's" until recently.) A day or two ago, she found a reproduction of an antique print of the Last Supper. Jesus is holding up bread, in the shape of the Host, representing the institution of the Eucharist. "Who's this?" Doodle asks. "Jesus," I reply. "Yes, Jesus," she says with certainty, nodding. She then proceeds to ask about the apostles, who occupy the edges of the image, though with less interest.

This evening, we got pizza from Papa John's. The franchise we ordered from, for pick-up, was a scant block away from the priests' residence, not two blocks from the church that is the student parish for the university and community college in the area. As we were waiting 5 min. before going in to check on the pizza order, the church bells rang. Doodle perked up, eyes wide, and said, "Listen!" Then she said something through her pacifier that sounded kind of like "God." I wasn't sure, but I started telling my husband about the influence of the church preschool. Then she said again, with excitement, "God! God!" So I asked, "God?" "Yes!" As my husband turned the car around to pull alongside the pizza place, she caught sight of the church (where she and Chiclette were baptized--and me, too!--and my son in the chapel, which is also where we were married. . . so many Sacraments, so many memories!). "There it is!" she said, pointing. "God!" Why yes, yes it is! :)

Teaching The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, and other things. . .

If you haven't read the original, you can read it here. I assigned an essay on "The Moral Simplification of Disney's 'The Little Mermaid,'" and had them read the original text. I don't think any of them had read it before.

My first surprise was when it was argued that the Disney version was better by virtue of its simplicity because without the immortality of the soul as a subtext, it would be more accessible to those who were atheist or agnostic, and so did not wish for their children to be exposed to difficult questions that would then require explanation. Also, the replay value of a text with such an unhappy ending--one that instructed rather than amusing--was called into question. This rather put a damper on the prospect of discussing Andersen's text on its own terms, but then, with such a popular version as a comparison, I guess the original was at a disadvantage. The essay argued that the happy ending does rather a disservice to the reader, creating expectations that wishes will always be fulfilled, and attributing misfortune to the will of a single malevolent force. We wound up discussing the issue of representation of parental authority, and why parents feel threatened when fictional characters disobey (and get away with it)--not an issue in the original. Another point was that it contains more relevant topics--like not to talk to strangers--than the immortality of the soul. I tried to compare the complexity of the two issues. Even if you're not interested in the immortality of the soul, you can still concede that the question is more complex, no? The issue of why the mermaid could not achieve both a soul and true love was raised--the dichotomy was seen as a false one.

I admit that I felt a bit at a disadvantage because the Andersen text was being charged with not being politically or socially relevant. Maybe that's why it was excluded from the anthology!! But then, I think it's a problem when the expectation is that the world should be fair, and fiction is expected either to create a safehaven where the world looks fair, or becomes more fair (just), or acknowledges its unfairness in a way that places blame or suggests a remedy. I never had a problem with the notion that toils and suffering could be fruitless, even as a child--except that her toils were not fruitless, as she was granted the opportunity to gain for herself an immortal soul. But if that consideration is alien to your worldview, it's rather difficult to entertain that as a concrete gain. So how to discuss texts with a Christian subtext in a secular university context?

I was particularly interested in the nature of love and the representation of marriage. Observe this passage:

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

In this characterization of marriage, we approximate the Catholic concept of a Sacramental Marriage, I think. At least, that would be a productive way to discuss a marriage that is so bound in the Judeo-Christian notion of the soul. The Biblical imagery--or analogy--is obvious: as Adam leant his rib to make Eve, so the husband of the mermaid (who is not human, and so is not the same as a human wife would be) lends part of his soul so that she might partake with him of Eternity. Pretty profound, actually. I managed to tease out the Adam & Eve reference, but had to quickly abandon the topic (which I did not introduce in the terms described above, though I would have liked to be teaching in a context that would have allowed for that kind of discussion). Now, even wanting to talk about the story in this way is new for me, much less having the context to do so, so I did not embark on an attempt to have the students define Sacramental Marriage through the story or evoke Catholic teaching. No waaaaay I'm THAT naïve! But still, I couldn't help wondering where that kind of discussion would lead. I planted the Adam & Eve seed, though. I didn't ask why there were all of those priests & incense & ritual in this Protestant, Danish text, but I wondered to myself. . .

In order to have something to discuss, I did ask what a feminist perspective might be, but that was too easy, really. She is dehumanized--being non-human in the first place doesn't really matter, or rather, it does because the female protagonist is alienated from the patriarchal world from the very nature of her being (or non-being)--and depends on finding a husband for her very soul. Her identity depends on him. Now, the Disney version does not really vary from this--rather, it validates that Ariel's existence depends on the prince. We learn that that's O.K. I'm not happy with seeing the Andersen version as negative in this way, and I don't think Disney's rebellion theme redeems their dependence on the handsome prince to justify Ariel's transformation. I presented this poem by Judith Viorst as an alternate "take" on the story; I liked this one in high school, but (point being taken--don't change who you are, yadda yadda), it doesn't exactly satisfy me in its interpretation of the story:

A Mermaid's Tail (Tale)

I left the castle of my mer-king father,
Where seaweed gardens sway in pearly sand.
I left behind sweet sisters and kind waters
To seek a prince's love upon the land.

My tongue was payment for the witch's potion,
And never would I sing sea songs again;
My tail became two human legs to dance on,
But I would always dance with shards of pain.

I risked more than my life to make him love me.
The prince preferred another for his bride.
I always hate the ending to this story:
They lived together happily; I cried.

But I have some advice for modern mermaids
Who wish to save great sorrow and travail:
Don't give up who you are for love of princes.
He might have liked me better with my tail.

For all the validating of identity for girls, it is an oversimplification--likely by design. So how to avoid that kind of oversimplification in classroom discussion? We discussed (briefly) ecofeminism, which is so over the top that it's really about use of language rather than perceived oppression, and so is fun for me. Briefly, briefly we discussed Matthew Arnold's "The Forsaken Merman." I think that comparison could have been fruitful on the religious front, with the contrast between nature/paganism and humanity/religion, and all of the various associations. But we wasted too much time talking about Disney. :P

My previous post about politics, perspectives, worldviews in the classroom was kind of poking (admittedly smug) fun at myself, though it did culminate in a very real frustration with what I see as the limitations and expectations of my teaching in my discipline. I worry about including texts that I don't like or with which I don't feel familiar enough to teach simply in order to represent a diversity of voices. I worry that when I include multi-ethnic selections or female authors as an afterthought, that I'm being a phony--or that I will come across that way. And that's a lot of baggage to add to the already considerable pressures of teaching.

And what about Catholicism? If to teach is my vocation (or part of my vocation), and I'm supposed to live my Faith, how do those things work together? As far as I can tell, it doesn't mean that I have to be nicey-nicey in the classroom (or on the blog, for that matter). I certainly DO have to engage with these questions, and this is a good format for me to do so. But what about subject matter of research and teaching? Surely I shouldn't shy away from the Christianity, though I can't really pursue the themes in more than superficial terms in my current position. And I have a problem with texts being taught simply for their Christian elements (usually in a simplified form)--like is done with the Chronicles of Narnia, which are typically embraced or rejected by scholars or teachers for their Christian elements. That is a bit simplistic on both sides.

With research, it is easier than teaching, I think. If we are selective in our research, well, that's part of being specialized. And I'm not sure how we can live the Faith through academic publishing, unless it means not publishing that thing I wrote about S & M in the films of a certain Spanish director. Yeah, that topic has been shelved permanently for a few years now.

Catchier Title: Catholic Postmodernism?

I suppose the whole "finishing a dissertation draft" thing is making me feel like an academic again or something, because my last few posts have been very much in the academic vein. That makes me feel good, really, because this is pretty much how I should be thinking if I want to pull-off an academic career of sorts. Also, it's nice to have ideas & feel excited about having ideas again!! So continuing the trend. . .

In response to my last post about Reading Modernism as an Adult, Maria, fellow-Catholic Academic and Modernist (!) wrote a post about her experiences of Modernism as an Adult, with particular reference to postmodernism. She writes:

I realized that I was a modernist after a few years too. Especially, in grad school when I realized that my dabbling in postmodernism had turned me off of over fragmentation without a purpose. A purpose of purposelessness. I found that increasingly annoying. Particularly because of the discussions that I had in the last few courses of my MA with people who thought that uselessness had more use than well, use (sorry about that). It really bothered me to think that there were people who thought in such a way.

This made a lot of sense to me. Particularly the bit about fellow students. I almost think sometimes that grad students and (to a lesser extent perhaps) professors who study postmodernism take it more seriously than the writers themselves.

I know that in theory postmodernism is "A purpose of purposelessness," and that many writers and philosophers do indeed take that to heart. But I would venture to say that not all of them do. In all of the fragmented contradictions of postmodernism, isn't it possible to sometimes glimpse a hint or hope of meaning? The pieces may not fit. . . or perhaps it's that we haven't yet found--or have forgotten--the clue to assembling them. Not that we would necessarily assemble them anyway, because aren't the pieces interesting in and of themselves? They make us laugh at ourselves. As in the stories of Donald Barthelme. But perhaps I'm not talking about the purist postmodernists. I have a few postmodernists that I keep up my sleeve and play with from time to time. I've waxed poetic about Calvino before. And Borges is always good for a laugh.

Now the interesting thing about Calvino and Borges is that--whether or not they ever set foot in a Catholic Church past the age of 7--both lived primarily or extensively in Catholic countries, or so it could be supposed. (I have since found Barthelme listed in many places under the heading "American Catholic writers," usually with the disclaimer that he declared himself to be agnostic.) And though being "culturally Catholic" isn't the same as being Catholic, raised Catholic, practicing Catholic, or coming from a Catholic background, it affects one. There are moments in Invisible Cities that remind me--not of Catholicism exactly, but of a certain worldview that I grew up with. It has to do with the continuation of life--indeed, the celebration of life!--in the face of fragmentation and apparent meaninglessness. I say "apparent" because nowhere in Calvino do I get the sense that life is absolutely meaningless. Life provides questions--seemingly contradictory questions--that we can't answer, but, well, we all know that. Of course, I'm also the person who sees Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star" as posing a dilemma that actually allows for a theological answer. *shrug* Truthfully, there's a certain kind of hopelessness that I find exhilarating. Perhaps because it is after a certain point of hopelessness that faith really begins to take root. There are moments like that in Tolkien, too, and they can be positively identified as Catholic in his context.

So what I'm wondering is, can a "Catholic postmodernism" be identified, and what would it gain for us to do so? Perhaps an articulation of a particular Catholic worldview. To return to my Catholic colleges question, I think I imagine an academic community that would assist and support this kind of inquiry--colleagues who would take such questions seriously. Wonder where I could find such a place?

Okay, So I Might Graduate. . .

Actually, it's looking pretty certain these days. I'm finishing up the dissertation now (well, no, not now exactly, but you know what I mean. . .), and my defense is set for May 5. I have to have a good copy to my committee by Friday so they can, like, read it and stuff. So eventually, I figure, I should get a job. Well, I guess first I have to look and apply for some jobs. So I was wondering. . .

Since becoming Catholic, I have been thinking, Gee, wouldn't it be nice to teach at a nice Catholic school? Then I could raise the kinds of questions that you can't raise in a state school where you're supposed to respect everyone's religious identity to the point of annihilating your own (like when, post 9-11, one prof voluntarily removed his Divinity Degree from the wall, and another was advised to hide her icons!!), and where there would, presumably, be some sense of Catholic identity, and opportunities for faith formation among the faculty and. . . well, that's the kind of thing I was thinking. Except that even in the first fervor of conversion, I wasn't sure Ave Maria or Steubenville would be for me. I'm an orthodox kind of gal, but I'm not ready for any Catholic versions of those protestant colleges that won't let faculty drink alcohol (yet the one I have in mind has the bar and cash register from the Bird and the Baby--the Eagle and Child pub where the Inklings met--in its library--yeah. . .), and I believe that those schools might be a teensy evangelical in flavor for a recovering protestant.

So then I found the blogosphere. Specifically, the Catholic blogosphere. And I learned that not all Catholic colleges are created equal. And that precious few are deemed "Catholic enough" for the orthodox crowd who want their kids to have a degree. I've been to a bunch of the web sites that give you the scoop on the adherence of the various Catholic colleges to the Magesterium, read many a lament about the state of Catholic higher education, many tirades against the Jesuits, and, frankly, I'm confused. The scholarly, prominent Catholic universities with whom every new Ph.D. would LOVE to have an interview are apparently unworthy of being termed Catholic, while the most orthodox of all hire mainly clergy or have 5-person English departments or 300-student enrollments and the ones in between have low pay, high teaching loads, nominal research requirements--not the kind of place to go, in short, if teaching and research are on your agenda, that is, if you want your ideas to be heard by the scholarly community. So is it worth investigating positions at Catholic colleges at all? If you risk being associated with heterodoxy or heresy, or exposed to and manipulated by such ideas? If, by avoiding those pitfalls, you are compromising the chance of having a Catholic voice in the cacophany of scholarly opinions? Not to mention compromising your ability to pay those loans--you know, the ones that are equal to or surpass the price of a really nice house? The ones that you will not pay off before you die? The ones that are, in fact, a lease on your education rather than a purchase? Yeah, those. Is it O.K. for a Catholic academic to take a position at a Catholic college or university that is Catholic in name only? In hopes of influencing others, maybe? Or do you just give up on Catholic education altogether in order to avoid this sticky issue?

Baptism Reflections. . .

On Sunday, during Mass, we witnessed the Baptism of three infants, and while the addition of half an hour or so is typically not the best thing with a temperamental toddler who is, nevertheless, getting better about staying in the pew, the Rite was very well integrated into the Mass and oriented those present towards the meaning of the Sacrament in a quiet yet profound and even scholarly way. It was nice to see the Baptism, as it always is, though I was a bit sad to note that all of the babies seemed younger than mine, whose Baptism we have been planning for. . . well, months now, but our plans have really been coming together in the last few weeks. I sometimes forget, now, that the importance of Baptism was something that I rejected initially as a mere display--an impression I received from other churches--then because I did not hold with the idea that a newborn could be "tainted" by anything. But I grew gradually to doubt my own certainty, losing faith in my skepticism, until fear that Baptism might be necessary to Salvation gave way to acceptance and faith. It was the biggest step in my conversion process to accept the necessity of Baptism, and I first considered the possibility of its truth for the sake of my family--particularly my son. I couldn't have anticipated the fullness of what it came to signify for me. . .

Apart from the Grace of the Sacrament, Baptism is a gift that I give to my children so that they will always have the Church as a spiritual home--a place where they belong. I know that there are many who were raised Catholic who don't now feel this way, never have felt this way, or never will again. But in the stories of Catholics who have returned to the Church after being away for a period of time, there is always the sense of returning home. I felt this way myself, though I was not baptized Catholic as an infant. I knew that both of my parents were raised Catholic, that my aunts and uncles were raised Catholic, that my grandmother was devoutly Catholic in her way, that many of the older adults I encountered were Catholic, their houses adorned with the trappings of Catholicism. So when I decided, finally, to become Catholic myself, I had a sense of returning home--of being where I belonged.

We have scheduled my little daughter's Baptism for March 1--an oasis in the desert of Lent--and this is what I wish for her: to be initiated into the Catholic Church as a spiritual home, where she can belong, to which she can always return, and where she can learn (about God), and grow (towards God), and thrive (in His Grace).

Status Update with Random Thoughts

Things have been going well lately, but though I've wanted to sit down & blog (or at least answer comments from previous posts!) I can't seem to manage a whole post. I've got some partial ones saved, but that doesn't count. In fact, a bulleted list of random thoughts about things that have happened lately is more my speed right now, so here goes. . .

• A thought to add to Sarah's 40 reasons to have kids: Holidays are more fun when you have young children whose innocent delight reminds you of how to enjoy the trappings of the holiday!
• I have finally had success with a baby carrier! A pouch sling that I made from the directions on this web site. So now I want to make more for myself!!
• Things have been going much more smoothly with the toddler. She seems better able to understand what we want, and we are more able to communicate to her. Perhaps a breakthrough? (She's so sweet, I hate to sound as if she's trouble, and I hate to see her cry in anger, hurt, or frustration.) :(
• Newborn screenings are a pain. My baby has tested positive at the 2 week screening for a rare enzyme deficiency that only occurs in 1/60,000 infants. Yeah. She tested positive--along with 3 other 2-week-olds tested on the same afternoon at the same pediatric department at the same health insurance run clinic. Can we say lab error? Can we also say 4 sets of stressed parents??? Waiting for results from the retest. :(
  
• I did have some thoughts on discipline, but I have lost them now that things are better on that front. My brain can only hold one or two things at a time these days.
  
• My toddler is peeling off the little stickers on the back of breast pads and spreading the pads across the floor, but I'm nursing and can't stop her. And you know what? I don't care even a little! ;)
  
• Someone once told me that if you pray for patience (for example), God may not give you patience so much as the opportunity to exercise and so develop patience. I've thought about that a lot lately, like yesterday, when my toddler was trying to pour herself a cup of water out of the 1/4 full gallon jug. I went over to help her just as she inverted the jug, pouring water on the table, herself, and the floor. It was one of those slow-motion moments when you just can't seem to do anything. Soon, the gallon was empty, and she said, "Uh oh! Rain!" I laughed, sighed, and cleaned it up.
• Yesterday I managed to put both babies to sleep all by myself! Today, I managed to bathe & get dressed while they were both sleeping. Now, if I could only manage those two tasks on the same day. . .
• Another thing that having babies does is this: Children help their parents analyze and develop how they practice their faith (that is, when they aren't disrupting said practice of the Faith by driving the parents to distraction in Mass!!!) ;) In the coming weeks, we will begin planning for the baby's baptism. A thought that occurred to me is that, while I feel competent enough to teach my children the ins and outs of the practice of Catholicism, where I feel I am lacking is the ability to teach the love and awe--of the Church, of the Church as the Bride of Christ and of the Church as representative of the Body of Christ-- basically, awe and love of God through awe and love of the Faith that unites us. Is this something parents can teach? Likely. I frequently take lessons from Melanie and Bella (such as this one, and this one, and this one). I don't believe it has to be taught, but how wonderful if we could give something like that to our children! And if it begins growing in early childhood, hopefully the child will always have that as an anchor. But I don't know how to teach it. It is at these times that I realize that I am still new at this, and wonder where to go from here. . .
• I love Advent!! I love the decorations, the readings, the music--especially "O Come O Come Emmanuel," which I had never heard before I became Catholic. It is the time of the liturgical year when I most feel the awe and love--of God and the Church--that I mention above.
  

Hope to post more in coming days, if I can. I think the prospect of a unified post intimidates me lately, so I may stick with the bullet format.

Quiet Resignation vs. Heroic Defiance

Perhaps all Christians in general, but certainly Catholics in particular, hear a lot about acceptance of God's will. I am reminded of one woman's story of her conversation with a Protestant minister as she labored under the influence of RU-486 to deliver her child that had died in the womb (found courtesy of Entropy's blog). The story highlights how she, backed by Catholic theology, was much more willing than the Protestant minister to attribute specific redemptive cause to the situation in which she found herself. The story speaks of courage, intelligence, and faith, and shows a certain feistiness as well. She accepts God's will without necessarily liking it, as her analogy shows: God's making me into a sword and I just happen to be at the 'beat the hell out of it stage'. That's okay, because at the end, He will cool me off and polish me up and I will be sparkly and shiny and I will be a sword. But that's not necessarily common in the "accepting God's will" stories we here. My impression is that mostly it's a pretty passive process, and that the truly serene don't question overmuch. At least, that's what we're supposed to think.

Then, there's the issue of "joining one's suffering to the cross"--that is, allowing ourselves to participate in Jesus's sacrifice, remembering his sacrifice and accepting our own more willingly, sometimes even cheerfully. Admittedly, I am in the earlier stages of understanding this. Taken together, these concepts allow us, perhaps, to avoid the rejection of God that so may experience in difficult times, teaching us, instead, that God's love is still with us in difficult times. Through acceptance of redemptive suffering and through remembering Christ's sacrifice in (or by way of) our own pain, we are perhaps drawn down the path towards sainthood. But is everyone called to this kind of acceptance? And if so, why is it so contrary to human nature? Is the human will one of those things, like certain aspects of human sexuality, that must be controlled and contained, even overcome, on the path to holiness?

I admit that these ideas a problematic to me because the"calm acceptance" model rather induces me to expect the worst--as my pregnancy anxieties have no doubt revealed. I am inclined to worry anyway, but somehow along my Catholic journey, I have adopted an idea that runs something like, "If suffering is redemptive, and if so many around me are suffering, and if I'm supposed to join my sufferings to the cross, and welcome them as an occasion for growth in faith, then why the heck should I be spared? Shouldn't it be my turn?" (not in the sense that I want bad things to happen, but because I dread the possibility). My life hasn't been easy, but it hasn't been catastrophically bad, either. When I was pregnant for my son, a good friend who had also been pregnant at the same time in worse circumstances (but miscarried, presumably), died about 2 weeks before I delivered of tragically preventable circumstances. But losing a friend, while terrible, is not the same as what her family experienced. Why them? I hesitate to ask, "Why not me?" but that does seem the natural line of questioning. Were they more "worthy" of the suffering, or more able to deal with it? Or is it simply that I have not had mine yet, and if so, when should I expect it?

Well, clearly, it is counterproductive to go through life expecting it--even fearing it. I really like the line in the novena that I have been praying since Sunday night (thanks to Sarah of Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering!) that says, I am so attached to the things of this world that instead of longing for Heaven I am filled with dread at the thought of death, and clearly it is perfect for me that this is a novena to Our Lady of Hope. So appropriate in so many ways!! But what about that "longing for Heaven"? How much rejection of the world is too much? Can't I rest assured in the knowledge that what I do here for my family and others is valuable, and that God will surely allow me to continue to accomplish those tasks? Or is that arrogant on my part? Is it simply a matter of resignation? "Trust in God" clearly takes many shapes, and sometimes can resemble futility (if we trust that God will send us tragic events and circumstances, no matter what, for His own good reasons) or vanity (if we believe that God will not send us tragic circumstances, because we're too darned important).

So as some part of my brain was pondering this this morning, thinking about my recent anxieties, I thought of one of my favorite poems and one of the most moving poems in the English language. Hmmm. . . Not very Catholic, I thought, but why not? Not everyone is called to be a martyr. At the same time, we believe that God's power and omnipotence can anticipate our defiance, non-acceptance, whatever--and turn it to his purpose. But I wonder, there is much discussion of "Catholic friendly" literature on blogs & such. . . What do we do with this? The poem is about grief, but the tone is attractively and tragically heroic. Is it wrong, somehow, to admire a poem of such angry defiance?:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Incidently, if you have Flash, you can hear the author read the poem here. At least, I think so. Apparently, I don't have flash. But hearing Dylan Thomas read it is incomparable.

Friendship, More or Less Generally Speaking

This post grows out of my previous post on Catholic Friendship, and refers frequently to comments made by others on my post. Actually, it started as a comment, but grew out of control and asserted its need to have its own space. Also, I posted something about my son's school library experience, and didn't want that one to overshadow the friendship discussion, which I have been enjoying!

One thing that has occurred to me is that I posed this in terms of Catholicism in particular. This is because there is so much in scripture and hence, in the homilies, about interpersonal relations. But these references are generally not referring to friendships. Usually, the relations between people that are mentioned are between people who do not know each other. There is also the idea that all earthly relationships should be second to the relationship with God, stated most explicitly in the "leave your family and follow me" passage(s), which I have never heard explained adequately--that is, explained in a way that helped me to actually understand it--in a way that gave me that "aha!" moment. There is a separate theology and discourse of marriage within Catholicism, which lead me to the question of a Catholic theology of friendship.

Separately, I had been thinking about one of Kate's earlier posts, as I explained in my earlier post on friendship, which specifically mentioned forming friendships with Catholic couples specifically, and thinking of the Catholic friends I have or have had, which led also to the formation of this question in terms of Catholicism. I wasn't necessarily thinking only of the good of Catholics seeking friendships with other Catholics, however; I was also thinking of the difficulties. Entropy mentions that even though her husband is not Catholic, they share most if not all (not wanting to misrepresent her characterization!) of their deeply held beliefs about religion. By contrast, it is possible for two Catholics not to share any of their deeply help beliefs--or at any rate, not to be able to express them in a way that promotes mutual understanding. There might be such animosity over certain questions of faith, or such defensiveness, that even when the two agree it feels like disagreement. And yet, the friendship persists, where maybe it shouldn't.

Entropy mentioned how great it was to know so many Catholic bloggers, because it is nice to know that there are people with the same worldview and background. That has been wonderful for me, too! And that feeling, I think, is what we seek when we seek other Catholics (virtually or in "real life") as friends--that commonality of deeply help belief that Mrs. Darwin, Melanie, Kate, and Sarahndipity have all mentioned. I have never really know that before, being a convert whose friends were mostly not Catholic, and whose Catholic friends ranged anywhere from laissez-faire, to Sunday-only, to cafeteria, to sincerely struggling, to complete acceptance without struggling. . . and the descriptions could go on. It's surprising how many Catholics one gets to know even by accident! ;) The great thing, too, is when those virtual friendships come to feel more real than virtual, when those little off-blog exchanges happen, when we actually get to meet each other in person. It's another new experience for me, and I feel like I'm waxing poetic about it. I must be in a good mood. (The library email was somewhat cathartic, and I've been happy since my class last night, which reminded me that I actually do like teaching! I've also been strangely productive lately, probably because I've been blogging less. :( Oh well!) But I have been self-conscious about my post because it seemed to limit the nature of the friendships I was talking about to specifically Catholic, or specifically religious-based friendships. (My post--not the comments!!) I wanted to think about friendship from the perspective of myself as a Catholic first, then (possibly) in terms of Catholics being friends with other Catholics and whether it creates more tensions or more sympathies, but inevitably in terms of friendships more generally.

So I asked a non-blogging but heavy-emailing deacon friend of mine a shorter version of the question I posed initially--whether there is a Catholic theology of friendship. While he had not heard of such a thing, he suggested that the underlying principles should be prayer and forgiveness. The forgiveness part certainly makes sense, though I'm not sure I understand the prayer part. He answered in brief and promised to think more about it, so perhaps I will eventually get him to explain the prayer. Forgiveness is so fundamentally Christian--having particular emphasis in Catholicism, in my opinion--that it is certainly a good basic principle to employ in friendship. However, forgiveness implies that something has already gone wrong. It is also difficult to anticipate how forgiveness will best be achieved or expressed if, indeed, it becomes necessary during the course of the friendship. I found myself, after converting, revisiting in my mind friendships that had ended badly with people from whom I was long estranged, asking myself if I had forgiven them, asking for the grace to forgive them, in some cases, asking for the grace to be able to stop reliving the circumstances of the friendship or breakup of the friendship or whatever. I believe that I had already forgiven some simply because of the distance of time, but that seems too easy; I had not made the conscious effort to acknowledge the forgiveness. But those were not relationships that could be resurrected. It is possible that even if they could have been resurrected, the friendship would not have been worth saving. Or equally possible that, had they continued, the friendship itself would not have allowed for forgiveness in the same way that distance has. I alluded in a comment to my post that some friendships could be "dysfunctional." Even if we consider ourselves friends, behave like friends, care like friends, even care passionately--are there friendships that simply should not continue? Luckily, friendships are not Sacraments, as I've said before, and do not require annulment--we don't have to declare that the friendship was fundamentally flawed from the beginning. . . or is that really what I'm suggesting?

My friend also suggested that if a friendship in some way interferes with one's relationship with God or if it becomes an occasion of sin, one should consider moving on. . . That is an interesting concept. Friendships can be occasions of sin in large ways, I would imagine, inspiring lust, leading one to commit crimes, indulge in excesses; but what about friendships that inspire envy or anger? Of course, these could be looked at as opportunities for improvement. Basically, in the case of a bad friendship, these things can get very, very complicated.

I confess that I have experienced many more bad friendships than good ones. The intense ones tended to be the ones that ended badly--with a need to completely remove oneself from the person. The lukewarm ones simply faded away. There have been some good friendships along the way, people who, should we chance to meet again, would be happy to see me, and with whom I could spend a lot of time "catching up" before fading away again. People with whom I shared some commonalities, though not the deepest, and with whom I probably share very little at this point.

When I think of those deep-but-failed friendships, I can liken them to passionately flawed dating relationships or teenage obsessions. The world revolved around those relationships, but when they were over and sufficient time had passed, I/we/you realized that they were started for the wrong reasons, were woefully lopsided, and doomed to failure, or, if not, to utter misery. There was enough "there" to form a strong attraction, but there was also some great incompatibility.

The idea that Sarahndipity mentions about people with children assuming that other people with children will have commonalities is an interesting case. It is similar (though perhaps only similar on a surface-level) to the "Catholic friend" question, though only in that it is one shared commonality among many possibly commonalities. Also, while one assumes a greater common background among Catholics than among parents of children, both have many possible variations.

Having said this, it is also a new experience for me to have friends who have children. Until recently, I just didn't know many people with children. Being in grad school and having children creates a bond of sorts. In fact, just the experience of giving birth gives women something to talk about who might not be able to stay in the same room with one another otherwise. These are starting points for friendships, but don't necessarily spell success, I guess. It is something I have enjoyed lately, though--the company of other smart moms!!

What is success in friendship, by the way? I've suggested my marriage as a successful friendship, but surely friendship does not need to be held to such a strict standard! Something more to ponder, I guess. . .

Reading Kate's recent blog entry on friendships, which she writes in part a reaction to my original post, I was struck by many things. Thanks, Kate, for such a great post on the topic! When Kate quotes Cicero, I feel as she said she would have felt in high school. Cicero writes:

"Friendship may be defined as a complete identity of feeling about all things in heaven and earth: an identity which is strengthened by mutual goodwill and affection."

And, well, I have not yet met anyone (to whom I am not married) about whom I can say these things. I felt, upon first reading this, that it was an impossible standard. My friendships have been mostly the type that involve stimulating conversation and interest in some aspect of the other person's life--and not much more. I found the following observation of Kate's rather profound:

I discovered that my friendships had bottoms, walls. Stopping points. Places beyond which we did not go. The freedom I had found in friendship – the freedom to enjoy each other, to be unafraid of rejection, to grow alongside one another – the freedom had limits.

And her discussion of her own experiences with friendships is touching and insightful.

At the end of the film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, the main character says to her daughter that she was simply not meant to have a passionate, loving romantic relationship, and that, really, she hasn't missed it. I wonder if having a passionate, loving marriage is compensation for the lack of other types of friendships? (Or something better than compensation, since it is a deeper bond--indeed, a Sacrament!)

Different personality types have different needs where personal relationships are concerned. Some do need more than one close friend. I'm not sure that any friendship could be as deep or fulfilling as the one I have. And I'm not sure it matters. I like having friends to talk to and who offer different perspectives on the world. I like giving things that others need. But I may go too far--giving too much and being hurt if the other is not "there" for me in a similar way, when not everyone shares the same capacity for emotional support. And we can't expect reciprocity if there is no capacity for reciprocity in the other person. But what about the giving? It seems Christian to give, and yet giving until we hurt without mutual understanding, with different ideas of respect and admiration, with what is essentially self-sacrifice. . . Is that appropriate, even for a Christian friendship? I suppose that may in fact lead both away from God rather than toward.

I've wondered what it says about me as a person that I have not had many close friendships or (any?) lasting friendships. I admit that I am not a particularly trusting person, so that is likely one fault I bring to the formation of friendships. But if, as Kate suggests, ideal friendships are bound by a desire to see one another in heaven (which should probably be the foundation for that "missing" Catholic theology of friendship!!), this has not entered into any of my friendships. It is simply not a habit of thinking that I have had toward anyone until recently, and that I have had it at all was a gift of grace taught to me through my family, and one of my strongest pulls to Catholicism. So if the ultimate friendship is a Christian friendship in more than just the sense that both parties happen to be Christian (or Catholic), I'm simply not there yet. Considering that, as someone said, it is harder to make (close?) friends when one is married (and perhaps even harder when one has children), maybe I won't have that kind of friendship at all. There are lots of nice people I wouldn't mind seeing in heaven, I'm just not sure our paths to holiness intersect! ;)

I'm afraid I have rambled more than is usually advisable in a blog post, but I'm hoping that there are enough tidbits here to initiate some more comments, for which I have been grateful!

Catholic Friendship?

I've been thinking a lot about the nature of friendship lately, and how the concept of friendship should be regarded in terms of Catholicism. If there is a theology of friendship, it's not something I have come across yet. Friendship is certainly not a Sacrament, but it almost seems to me that it might have the quality of a sacramental, though it could be that that just sounds nice, since I'm not prepared to elaborate on it at this time.

My greatest friendship is, of course, my marriage. It seems natural, though not all people see marriage in that way. Interestingly, it is also the only friendship I have had in my life that I can consider truly successful. I attribute this, in part, to the fact that my husband and I are alike enough and different enough in the right ways for a really deep friendship to work. I don't doubt that it is possible to have love without this kind of friendship, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Otherwise, friends come and friends go. Sometimes they drift away naturally, sometimes there is something more explosive involved. Usually with the friends whom I consider to be closer, the end is more explosive.

With a friendship as consuming as my marriage, other friendships have been mostly matters of acquaintance. I have hesitated to call colleagues friends, for the most part, though this has altered as I have found more colleagues with more in common with me--family situation, in particular. Which brings up the question of on what bases friendships are built. Clearly, friends don't have to have any similarities. But it likely helps. Friends I knew in high school used to quote a line from the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead: "All we have in common is our situation." But is that truly enough?

Perhaps there needs to be some kind of mutual understanding. Or perhaps just the desire to be friends. An enjoyment of each others' company. But don't we have friends whose company we find agitating and antagonistic? What about concern for the other's well-being? Is that enough? And at what point, if any, should friends part ways? Like I said, it has always happened rather naturally for me--sometimes from mutual apathy, one might say. Other times from deep betrayal and hurt. Somehow, neither of these options feels particularly desirable from a Christian perspective. But does "loving one's neighbor" necessarily involve indissoluble bonds? Perhaps remaining true to such bonds teaches us about Christ. (Is that what I meant by friendship being a "sacramental"?)

Recently, Entropy and Kate have posted on different aspects of friendship, the former involving bloggers and the latter involving finding Catholic couples to hang out with. (Though I can no longer find Entropy's entry, I think that she was approaching some aspect of the post through a Catholic lens, even if it was through the lens of Catholic guilt--just kidding! At least, I think I'm just kidding. Unless I'm right. . .) I know that when I read Kate's post, I wondered about the Catholic connection--and the couples' connection. I've never thought specifically in terms of either. But it does kind of make me ponder the benefits--and possibly the additional responsibilities and constraints involved--in having or seeking Catholic friends in particular. Especially "like minded" Catholic friends.

I confess that this is a post of questions. I have no answers. But friendship has always been somewhat of a struggle for me, and I'm not sure if it has been because of some failing on my part or on the part of others. It is some of what made sense on that "personality quiz." (And the thing about being laid back--which I define loosely--until a vital principle is violated plays into this, too; friendships can easily be lost over such principles.) I take relationships very seriously, invest a lot emotionally in a very few friendships, and, well, this is not always considered a "healthy" state of things in the "real" world of post-Freudian pop-psychology. It made my life h*ll in high school, gotta tell you.

Words: "Conversion"

Well, it's happened. Someone has made me think! ;) Blogging around this afternoon--something I have neglected this week--I discovered this post by Entropy on the subject of being a "Cradle Catholic" vs. a Convert. Now, this is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, so I couldn't help adding my $0.02. I think it becomes a particularly relevant question to Catholic converts, or should, whether converting is "better," somehow, than being raised in the Faith, since practicing Catholicism involves choosing Catholicism for one's children, which is not something that can be said of most Christian churches, and which is in contrast to the experience of some (many?) coverts to Catholicism. In particular, the churches I was exposed to as a child required a personal conversion experience, and in fact, many tried ("revival"-style) to induce a conversion experience (in the manner of Langston Hughes' "Salvation," which has always been a favorite short story of mine). So I was "touched by Jesus" several times when visiting weird youth-groups with friends, only to realize when I returned home that what I mistook for "repentance" was actually guilt for some minor or imagined teenage transgression, and that I had been duped into feeling something that was not, in fact, genuine. Over the years, one of my issues with the churches I had attended (the more mainstream ones, that is) was this emphasis on the Ultimate Conversion Experience--that is, the moment of Being Saved. It struck me as being so intangible as to be unreliable, first of all (child of reason that I was), and second, so wrapped up in emotion as to be, to my mind, distasteful. (I've said before that I've had to gradually "grow into" spirituality, in part because I had been warm & fuzzied to death over the years. . .) I wondered how one recognized the One Moment, what happened if one lapsed (this from observing the "Saved" around me, or the hairdresser who declared her son to be "Saved" anew every time he came back home needing money), and any number of other things. I believe I understand things a bit better now, but suffice it to say that I was skeptical, and rejected the whole concept out of hand. I came to wonder if not everyone was capable of the Ultimate Conversion Experience, so when I was looking for a conversion experience, I looked to reason rather than the lightening bolts I was told to expect. (Is it any wonder I liked the Hughes story?)

Now, this is not to say that my conversion experience, when it came, was not recognizable as something unique and momentous, and suffused with emotion, but that's not where I'm going with this. Rather, I want to think about the difference in the way "conversion" is represented within Catholicism. Certainly, "conversion" is the act of becoming Catholic--or Christian, if one is not Catholic. It involves Baptism if one is not Baptized already, and in Catholicism, it involves the acts of receiving the other Sacraments of Initiation--First Communion, First Reconciliation (if one is already Baptized) and Confirmation. But I was surprised to find, within Catholicism, a discourse of conversion that went beyond initiation into the membership of the Faith--something beyond that first acceptance--of the individual by the Church and of the Church by the individual. During Lent in particular, there was a discourse of "turning away," of "converting"--turning one's mind and actions away from sin and toward God. Those Catholics who had turned away from the Church, but returned were described as having "conversion experiences" (though they were not called "converts"), and even those who had never left the Church were sometimes referred to as having a conversion of mind, heart, spirit, etc., sometimes to a new acceptance or a closer understanding of Church doctrine. In addition, the Eucharist is a means toward our continual conversion. I found comfort in this expanded definition of "conversion" which placed emphasis on a continual affirmation of faith rather than a one-time faith event that was supposed to sustain the love of God and the will to remain relatively sinless. It placed more responsibility on the individual and acknowledged the individual's weakness simultaneously. It also somewhat modified my understanding of what "conversion" means.

Thinking about Entropy's post, then, my initial response addressed the question of what I gained from being a convert, and what I thought my children stood to gain from being raised Catholic rather than being allowed to convert later, in the manner of many Protestant denominations, which teach that Baptism should follow the individual conversion experience rather than being chosen by the parents. I did value my choice, but this was from the perspective of rejecting organized religion (int he form of all Christian churches). However, I do think that even had I been raised Catholic (as I "should" have been, given that my parents were Catholic and were married in the Catholic Church), I would have rebelled at some point. But perhaps I would have had a better vantage point for converting, that is, for turning back. I still would have had the ability to "claim" my faith, and perhaps (ideally) I would have had a better idea of what I stood to gain or lose. Who knows? But this is my point: that what we really mean by "converting" when we talk about the Ultimate Conversion Experience (or even Being Saved) is the act of Claiming one's faith. And though Catholics are Baptized at birth, all Catholics have various opportunities to claim our Faith. Inevitably, it is (or should be) an act of will to convert--to claim one's faith; however, everyone should at some point exercise their own will in choosing their faith, even to choose the faith that they were given from birth by their parents.

Things I've Been Thinking About. . .

If anyone can find a way to make that title grammatically correct and casual at the same time, let me know. . .
1) A while back, Jen referred me to another blog post of hers in response to a comment I made on this post. On my most recent post, I seemed once again to be asking the same questions, so I decided to write a response to Jen. It went something like this:

One of the reasons that I object to those who advise married couples to re-prioritize with God's will in mind is that it implies a serious judgment on the couple--that by pursuing careers, they are not considering their vocation as a married couple and God's will for their family the way they should be, and that the couple needs to re-prioritize with these things in mind, making sacrifices, yada yada. But I think that even if the couple was not yet consciously considering God's will, they might have been acting in accord with it simply from having been directed that way. So the acknowledgment that the family is or should be guided by God does not necessarily mean that everything that has happened up to that point was fruitless or misdirected. I know that in my life and my marriage and my family, I have certainly seen what I now take to be evidence that we were heading in the right direction. In many ways, my conversion was a culmination of where God had been leading me through motherhood, marriage (in that order) and my pursuit of higher education. There are certainly some things that I should have done differently to be more perfectly in accord with God's plan for my life--like the marriage and motherhood being somewhat out-of-order--but as I read somewhere, on "The Anchoress" blog, I believe, the Holy Spirit works with such materials as he has, and I'm not sure God could have gotten through to me in any other way. Had I not become pregnant, my husband & I would have probably lived together without being married, and may have lost each other by doing so. So if you look back on your life and feel like you can see that yes, God has been leading you into certain choices simply by making the right options available at the right time, how can you possibly interpret that as a cause to re-evaluate? I know situations are different, and something like the materialism you describe may be a cause to reevaluate priorities, but that may involve a shift in thinking and not always an entire lifestyle change.

The other problem I have is that the implications are usually the most dire for women--especially ambitious women, who must give up everything that they have pursued to the point of marriage and/or motherhood. Had I believed this when I became pregnant with my son, I either would have been pushed toward abortion, or I would have left school before reaching my B.A., which would have had serious consequences for our financial well-being as a family as well as my ability to cope with the challenges of motherhood. But again, I don't think that commitment to a marriage necessarily involves the degree of self-sacrifice that is generally attributed to it. I do believe that it involves compromise, some self-sacrifice on the part of both spouses, devotion to the marriage, the spouse, and to family, but I'm not sure that it involves an abandonment of personal and professional goals outside of the house, especially if those goals were family-friendly or were made with the possibility of a family in mind. Now, if the plans were made with an overly idealistic view of how things would work with a family, that is something different, and reevaluation would certainly be in order. But these things tend to be discussed in such abstracts and absolutes that it is difficult to find oneself in what is being proposed.

2) Harry Potter. Before my mom left, we went to see Order of the Phoenix. It was compelling--more so than the other films, I thought. And it raised enough questions that I wanted to read the book. Now, I hadn't gotten past the first chapter of Azkaban previously. There were some things that really bugged me--and some that still do. One is the matter of internal consistency. But I have revisited Azkaban. They're great when you need an escape--and I do.

3) An article mentioned, I believe, by The Curt Jester, titled "The New Victorians." I do take issue with the title, but we won't go into the Victorian thing. The idea is that there is a movement among women to embrace traditional conceptions of family and reject the trappings of the Sexual Revolution, including scanty clothing and promiscuity.

4) An article mentioned last Friday in Jen's Friday Favorites about a professional couple who decided to keep a baby at a professionally inconvenient time, rather than abort the baby to allow them to continue with their plan to investigate restrictive abortion laws in Mexico. There's a lot that's troubling here, although the overall message that life can continue with a baby is one that I'd like to see promoted more often, as I've mentioned before. I'm frankly surprised that this appeared in the New York Times. It just doesn't seem like their kind of topic.

5) The Latin Mass. Specifically, what the recent Motu Proprio issues by Pope Benedict XVI really means, apart from the hype of those who want to say that it's a step backward, that the Latin Mass is anti-semitic, and all of the other charges that have been leveled in recent weeks. My question: Does this really affect most parishes in this country? Should we really expect to see Latin Masses popping up in our local parishes? Unfortunately, the answer is likely 'no'. It is great that in parishes where a lot of crotchety Catholics have been clamoring for a long time for the Mass in Latin, the priest no longer has to rely on the permission of the bishop (who, in a perfect world, would have seen the value of permitting the Latin Mass) to serve his parishoners' liturgical needs. And similarly a good thing that those who attend schismatic masses simply because they like the Latin can be reincorporated into the Body of Christ. But in places where there's not a huge agitation, just a handful who would really like to seethe Mass done in Latin on a regular basis (weekly or at least monthly), there is little real hope that the pastors will see the need to comply. Here is one post that suggests some of the obstacles--popular opinion being one, and one that attempts to explain the implications of the Motu Proprio. I've been told by a deacon friend that, while "the motu propio has made provisions for the faithful to initiate the request and a mechanism for bypassing balky priests
and bishops," several obstacles exist, including that "most American seminaries stopped teaching Latin in the 1970s or have greatly lowered the Latin that they teach their seminarians," resulting in a loss of comfort level with the Latin among priests. There also seems to be a scarcity of the 1962 Missal. I also wonder if the sheer hassle of trying to fit another Mass--in another language--in the weekend and determining who will officiate is part of the deterrent. Any way, I feel rather let down, like the Motu Proprio--so long anticipated--has been much ado about. . . you know.

6) A half-post started a while back, in response to a comment from Melanie B on this post. She links to an article by Christopher West, of Theology of the Body fame, whose work I have never before read, but who has some interesting things to say in this brief article about Catholic moms and breastfeeding. This comment came at an interesting time for me (although I read it a few days late), as my husband and I had just been talking about something related. I was remembering having read that the Catholic Church encourages mothers to breastfeed for nutritional/nurturing purposes--though I can't remember now where I read this. A quick Google search revealed that most of the mention of breastfeeding in a Catholic context has to do with NFP and Natural Child Spacing, with occasional references to John Paul II or a rather recent book called Breastfeeding and Catholic Motherhood that talks about breastfeeding in the context of the "vocation as a Catholic mother." None of these are quite what I had in mind. (I hate lost references!)

An aside: In the process of searching, I found a film review by the USCCB that listed potentially objectionable elements in a particular film as "Murder (not shown), several disturbing images of a female cadaver with upper nudity, realistic fistfight with blood, a dead pet, rough and crude language and profanity, sexual language and groping, breast-feeding, discussion of abortion, discreetly depicted urination, alcohol use and domestic discord." Hmph!! As far as I'm concerned, the term "breast-feeding" (however spelled) should never be included with the rest of that sentence! It should never even be considered potentially offensive. But the anti-breastfeeding bias exists, even in contexts where it should not. Well, at least we know that this doesn't represent the Church's official position on the subject!

Christopher West's article takes as its point of departure some of the recent controversies surrounding breastfeeding, particularly images of breastfeeding in popular culture (interestingly, I almost showed a breastfeeding picture from a magazine cover alongside a book cover for a book about implants in my class for visual rhetoric and had them analyze the implications of each, but that was the last slide and we ran out of time). He discusses some cultural differences in terms of how breastfeeding is regarded, and concludes more or less that it is our skewed (sinful) way of viewing things that results in breastfeeding being seen as somehow improper, inappropriate, scandalous.

Though taken out of context, I found this quote interesting:

John Paul II observed in his theology of the body that the “whole exterior constitution of woman’s body, its particular look [is] in strict union with motherhood.” Since the body reveals the person, John Paul believes that this speaks volumes, not only about feminine biology, but about the dignity and nature of woman as a person.

My initial reaction was to take exception to the first observation, that the “whole exterior constitution of woman’s body, its particular look [is] in strict union with motherhood.” That is, until I remembered seeing on several documentaries about sex the same assertions made from a scientific and evolutionary rather than theological perspective. The body, from an evolutionary perspective, is designed to facilitate procreation--that is, survival of the species--beginning with sexual attraction of the mate, which, evolutionary biologists maintain, has to do with the potential mate's suitability for mating and the production of healthy offspring. Anyway, the compatibility of these notions struck me as interesting. The second part of the passage above is a little more complex. I'm not sure what is meant by "the body reveals the person." Again, it is taken out of context, but I wonder how less desirable physical characteristics would be regarded according to this sentiment, or how cultural and racial differences might enter that discussion. . .

And well, that's all for now! (Okay, it was a cheap ploy to get 6 posts in at once!)