Notes on Fiducia Supplicans

This is part three of a three-part series on Episcopal consecration.

This is part two of a three-part series on Episcopal consecration.

This is part one of a three-part series on Episcopal consecration.

Nuestra triple observancia de la Cuaresma corresponde al triple mandato de Cristo de responder a la Buena Nueva.

Como en la sinagoga de Capernaum, ¿está Satanás entre nuestra congregación?

Vatican offers updated guidelines regarding the handling of cremated remains

A particularly good novel that I finished earlier in the year is A Man Called Ove , by Swedish author Fredrik Backman. First released in 2012 in Swedish, it hit the market in English just a year later and was on the NYT Best Seller list for over 10 months. Ove is a 59-year-old man who is wrestling with sadness and loneliness after having lost his wife Sonja. His neighbors and the townsfolk see him as a crotchety old man with a disdain for others. He has difficulty dealing with others as he is all caught up in his fond memories of his wife and recollections of their life together. Throughout the tale, I enjoyed the author’s keen insights into the human psyche, especially how sadness and loss can cripple one’s ability to form new relationships and darken one’s view on life around them. As the story unfolds, Ove is confronted with new situations, neighbors, and experiences that allow him to come out of his isolation and find meaning in community as a sort-of new family. It is truly a heartwarming read. If I read it again, it would be during winter by a fire with a cup of tea; that now seems the best setting. Warning: the book contains material revolving around depression and suicidal ideation. I came across an interesting read in May — interesting because I found the book per chance at a book giveaway, did not have much hope for it, and ended up content upon finishing it. I am usually disappointed in modern retellings of the lives of the saints, especially when so many modern non-Catholic authors try to debunk the supernatural or discredit the Catholic Church in the way they re-tell the story. I was quite happy with Kathryn Harrison’s Joan of Arc: A Life Transfigured . Born in the 15 th Century, Joan of Arc led her fellow Frenchmen into battle against England. She claims that angelic voices led her to do so. Captured during the siege of Compiègne, she was put on trial by the English ecclesiastical authorities. After a trial verdict of guilty that was posthumously overturned, she was burned at the stake at age 19 for blasphemy, heresy, and following demonic visions. Much legend surrounds her life, especially fantastical accounts of her prowess in battle. Harrison attempts (successfully, in my opinion) to entertainingly tell Joan’s story devoid of unhistorical details that lack evidence. Her sources include Scripture, historical accounts, and the trial records kept during Joan’s prosecution. While I do not agree with all of Harrison’s portrayals and conclusions, the book as a whole is a very unique look at the life of the Maiden of Orléans.

In preparation for a faculty in-service at Bishop McGuinness Catholic High School, I reread this summer C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce . The title pays homage to William Blake’s poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. In Lewis’ short story (less than 150 pages), we follow the narrator on a bus ride to a fantastical place along with many grumpy passengers. When they disembark, they are revealed to be ghosts. There are a number of descriptions that seek to pin down the precise meaning of Lewis’ allegory. I have always described it as souls from hell are given one day at the doors of paradise, but must confront someone they knew in life who is now in heaven. The dialogue is fast-paced and makes the reader reflect about their own actions, responses, and priority of loves in their own life, but weighed against the love they have for heaven. In terms of southern, Catholic authors, Flannery O’Connor and Walker Percy are two of my favorites. Walker Percy (1916-1990) lived most of his life in Louisiana and was an Oblate of St. Benedict. He was trained as a physician but, after contracting tuberculosis, dedicated his life to philosophy and writing. This summer, I read Percy’s last novel The Thanatos Syndrome , published in 1987. It is a sequel to Love in the Ruins . It is set in the not-too-distant future in a town where residents are experiencing “off” behaviors. It follows a psychiatrist and lapsed Catholic who returns to his hometown and begins observing strange behaviors in the residents, including his wife with whom he is no longer in love. He feels compelled with the assistance of his cousin to figure out what the root cause is. One element that I enjoy in Percy’s novels is that there is always a fallen priest character that is secondary to the main plot. In The Thanatos Syndrome , the local parish priest has been replaced because he has given up the ministry and run off to live in a wildfire watch tower in a nearby National Forest. The interchanges between the psychiatrist and priest are comical, enlightening, and quite on the nose about fallen human nature. Altogether, the novel moves briskly in its plot as it introduces a number of poignant themes: the fallen hero; a world gone crazy; science’s role in the devaluing of human dignity; and the inability of society to function without a shared language and shared moral values. As a caveat, let me be clear, this is not a novel for young ones as there are some adult themes present.

After a hiatus from my Sunday articles in the bulletin, I wanted to switch gears from catechetical topics. For the next handful of weeks, I wanted to offer some recommendations from my own reading. Each week, I’ll offer two books that I’ve enjoyed reading or rereading in the past few months. I hope you may consider taking up a book or two that might enrich your day-to-day life. In terms of something that I read to enrich my faith, I have been rereading this summer The Imitation of Christ by Thomas á Kempis. For such a small book, it seems to smack me in the face every time I read it. Thomas is no wuss. He wants his readers to take seriously the commands and example of Our Lord with such alacrity that we are ready at once to enter into heaven. With books like this, I do not recommend them for the scrupulous. We must take what is useful from them to advance in small steps in the ways of holiness, but not take the ideal they present to us as if holiness is so very far from us or impossible to reach. The Imitation of Christ is divided into four “books.” The individual meditations for each day can be read in all of three minutes, give or take. The first book seeks to stoke the flame of our interior sentiments so that we might see what prevents us from zealously pursuing holiness and begin to desire a life that is ordered to what is above. Then, he moves to true interior conversion by highlighting the obstacles to God’s love and follows with a great treatise on how to bend and conform our interior faculties to despise the world and seek heaven. Lastly, he offers a beautiful set of reflections that can be prayed and mediated upon before the Blessed Sacrament, using the Eucharist as the Christ-now-and-here-present to motivate our imitation of the Savior. This time around, I gleaned the most benefit from his last few chapters in the second book, wherein he admonishes those who do not wish to take up the Cross of Our Lord. It seemed especially fitting since we encounter in ourselves in the present day so much lukewarmness and unwillingness to boldly live our Faith. In terms of a book not directly related to theology or the Faith, I finally got around to reading John Steinbeck’s 1952 crowning novel East of Eden. Finally? Yes, because a friend from high school who teaches English literature has been begging me to read it for about 12 years. Oh my, it’s a long investment; but I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with it. The entire novel has so many allusions to Biblical stories, especially from Genesis, but that’s not what I took away from it. First of all, I love good writing. Too many popular books, especially modern popular books, have great literary elements, characters, and plots, but lack in good writing. Steinbeck’s ability to paint a scene as a backdrop to a character’s decision or response to some interaction is prophetic. Most ingenious is Steinbeck’s ability to describe human nature. Throughout the whole epic, I failed to really identify one character as immaculately good. And that is the predicament with modern authorship. Many times, modern authors want to paint the characters as good, evil, or somewhere in between. Steinbeck has an uncanny ability to elucidate the “good” characters as deeply flawed and the “bad” characters as redeemable. It reminded me that human nature never changes. Even when we are good, we need to illuminate the parts of us that need to be better. And when we find ourselves to commit sin, there is always a good part of us that can be redeemed to overcome the bad.