7 Quick Takes Friday (3/28/14)

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Ah, the Friday of Spring Break.

It feels rather less like a Friday and more like a “Um, excuse me, Ms. Shea, have you graded those papers yet…?”

I’m working on it, people. I am.

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Over at Crisis Magazine, Anthony Esolen lauds the University of Dallas for its authentic commitment to the Western literary tradition:

Here is what my great and wise professor, Robert Hollander, had to say about the University of Dallas. Let his words ring in your ears, American bishops whom I want so badly to love and to follow in the fight for things both human and divine, and who so often let me down:

“After my first visit to UD in the spring of 2005, I came upon my friend and colleague, Alban Forcione, surely one of the five or fewer greatest scholars of Cervantes alive, [and told him] that we had wasted our lives teaching in the Ivy League and that I had found the place at which we could have spent our careers with better effect.” (Esolen, “On the Academic Hostility to Great Literature”)

As my friend Shelley would say:

ohyeahdespicableme

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But wait…

As much as I agree with the core (get it?) of Esolen’s argument, there are parts I am not so sure about.

Let’s define a few terms first:

The Core (n) – the 60 credit hour sequence of classes taken by all students at the University of Dallas, regardless of major, predominantly in their freshman and sophomore years. Eg: Literary Traditions I-IV, Philosophy of Man, Western Theological Tradition, etc.

The Common Core (n) – “an education initiative in the United States that details what K-12 students should know in English language arts and mathematics at the end of each grade. The initiative is sponsored by the National Governors Association (NGA) and the Council of Chief State School Officers (CCSSO) and seeks to establish consistent education standards across the states as well as ensure that students graduating from high school are prepared to enter credit-bearing courses at two- or four-year college programs or enter the workforce” (via Wikipedia)

The Common “Corpse” (n) – Anthony Esolen’s nickname for the Common Core (see above), reflecting his belief (and the belief of many Catholics) that this education initiative undermines not only the Catholic identity of schools, but the very purpose of authentic education itself

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Okay.

Now, in the aforementioned article, Esolen’s chief purpose is not to criticize the Common Core, although he does do this as a way of opening. You can view his much more comprehensive (and, at times, compelling) arguments here:

“How Common Core Devalues Great Literature” at Crisis Magazine

“Common Core’s Substandard Writing Standards” at Crisis Magazine

“Common Core: 21st Century Peonage” at Crisis Magazine

Here are just a few thoughts:

I am a high school English teacher, and last year I was encouraged to implement Common Core Standards in my lesson objectives. Thus, I cannot really speak to ALL the standards, but I am familiar with the grades 9-12 Language Arts standards.

Common-Core
source: politichicks.tv

THE BAD:

1) Common Core has mysteriously descended upon most of the states without any kind of debate or voter input. States’ Rights Advocates are rightly suspicious and annoyed of this top-down Federalizing of education.

2) “Follow the money,” as a wise person recently reminded me. Common Core is largely funded by The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. You may draw your own conclusions. Moreover, the biggest reason it was so quickly (and almost universally) adopted is that President Obama offered the states an extra competitive edge in their applications for “Race to the Top” federal grants if they adopted the Common Core Standards by August 2010. Hm.

3) It is true that the Common Core seems to prize “informational texts.” This is especially evident on their “recommended” reading lists and options for teachers. Many people are worried that this is to the exclusion of “literary texts.”

4) Many Catholics object to the content of some of the recommended texts as being inappropriate or indoctrinating students into secular agendas.

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THE GOOD:

1) One reason for the unifying of educational standards is rather practical. Some states have horrible and confusingly-worded standards, period. Or they have such an overwhelming number of standards that teachers look at them, groan, and then move on with their lesson planning either cherry picking a few numbers here and there or ignoring them altogether. The Common Core tries to simplify and streamline the standards so that they are much easier to understand and thus to implement in one’s actual classroom teaching.

2) Another reason for the unifying of educational standards is also practical. In previous decades, when people stayed put and were educated in their home states at least through high school, they could follow a coherent set of standards that (supposedly) guided a coherent curriculum (a particular sequence in Math classes, for example). But recently, since so many people do NOT stay in one state and are often educated in several states over time, there were a lot of issues with different students encountering the same skills over again at a different grade level, or skipping them altogether. Common Core says, “okay. By the end of 6th grade, everybody has to have mastered A, B and C.” So even if they move to a school in a different state, these students will be on the same track.

My conclusion, as of today. (Although I am open to your comments and to learning more. I don’t pretend to have this all figured out.)

1) The Common Core is a tool, that, like all tools, can be used for good or for evil. It may not even be a very good tool, but it is definitely better than some.

2) The “recommended” texts are just that. Recommended. And, as a high school teacher, I can tell you that Educational fads and theories “recommend” all sorts of silly things all the time that a reasonable person can confidently ignore. This is not a good reason to adopt the CC, but it is a good reason to not freak out.

3) Esolen seems to suggest that the Common Core itself is the source of a lot of current and potential problems. But I see it as more a symptom of our flawed notions of education than anything else.

4) Catholic Schools are in a privileged position because we are NOT required to adhere to state or national standards by law. Unfortunately, in order to seem “competitive” it seems a lot of Catholic schools are dumbly nodding their heads and saying “oh yes, we have Common Core too. Don’t worry, your kids will be well-prepared for college just like everybody else.” But this is 1) just marketing and 2) rather beside the point. Catholic Schools have a responsibility to educate the human person from a supernatural perspective that is utterly antithetical to many secular alternatives, not just the Common Core.

5) If anything, the Common Core at least is forcing some Catholic schools to re-examine their identities and the purpose of Catholic Education to begin with–which is a very good thing.

6) With Saint Paul, we can “examine everything carefully” and “hold fast to what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:21). We don’t have to throw out the baby with the bathwater out of fear and knee-jerk reactions to a complex problem.

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So my “Quick Takes” basically turned into a discussion of the Common Core. Whoops.

Here’s another controversial topic, that I think is explored quite well in this article from the American Spectator: “Hobby Lobby, Your Bedroom, and Your Boss” by Natalie DeMacedo.

A taste:

Outside the Supreme Court some women held signs saying, “Birth control is not my boss’ business.” You are completely correct! So stop asking your boss to pay for it.

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The best piece of advice I have received recently came from a good friend. During a homily at Mass, she said the priest was discussing how overwhelming Lent can be sometimes, especially after the first few weeks when you have failed in your promises and resolutions.

He has some simple words that I have been repeating to myself a lot:

“Pray, and then do the next right thing.”

Which, oftentimes, is to pray again.

Flannery’s Birthday and the Annunciation

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source: mbird.com

I would be remiss if I did not blog on Flannery O’Connor’s birthday.

I have always liked the fact that March 25th is also the Feast of the Annunciation – the day that God became “incarnate of the Virgin Mary,” according to the Creed.

It seems very fitting that Mary Flannery (yep, Mary is her first name, Flannery her second and later her published name) should have been born on this feast day. The Incarnation seems to be the central concern of all of her works. She says:

The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location.

Well, in some sense, that location is the Virgin Mary. That’s where “time and place and eternity” met for the first time.

In Flannery’s fiction, that location is usually a bizarrely violent moment of grace: like the murder of the grandmother and her whole family, the drowning / baptism of the little boy, the woman gored in the heart by a runaway bull… the list goes on.

Some pious Catholics are scandalized by Flannery’s writing, and they often cite the absurdity and violence in her works as their reasons.

Maybe they’re forgetting that, in the original Incarnation, when God first entered temporality, there were all sorts of violence afoot. Herod’s slaughter of hundreds of little baby boys comes to mind.

And even Simeon’s prophecy to Mary– as he held her beloved child in his arms — is predominantly concerned with violence: “A sword will piece your own soul too” (Lk 2:25).

And I don’t think we need to cite the crucifixion.

Flannery’s response is that the earthly response to grace is usually a violent one, and that “All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful.”

As beautiful as the Feast of the Annunciation is, it’s important to remember Who was being Announced. The Incarnation of God was something wholly unexpected and ridiculous. And when people finally began to understand what He was saying, they killed Him, because in a way it was the typical human response to divine grace.

Flannery O’Connor shows the Incarnation over and over in her stories.

And like Mary brought grace into the world, Flannery brings grace into her fiction.

(She would probably scoff at that last sentence and censure me for impiety and exaggeration.)

 

An Introduction I wrote for my seniors, and my first post

One year ago today… this was my first blog post! Happy blog anniversary!

Mysteries and Manners

peacock001Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen: The Art of Manners

The 20th century American Southern writer Flannery O’Connor says:

Here are two qualities that make fiction. One is the sense of mystery and the other is the sense of manners. You get the manners from the texture of existence that surrounds you. The great advantage of being a Southern writer is that we don’t have to go anywhere to look for manners; bad or good, we’ve got them in abundance. We in the South live in a society that is rich in contradiction, rich in irony, rich in contrast, and particularly rich in its speech. The type of mind that can understand good fiction is not necessarily the educated mind, but it is at all times the kind of mind that is willing to have its sense of mystery deepened by contact with reality, and its sense of reality deepened…

View original post 494 more words

7 Quick Takes Friday (3/21/14)

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Before anything else:

Two UD alums just lost their 3 year old and 6 year old daughters in a car accident the other day. Please pray for them and consider participating in this fund for them.

Sean and Becca Lewis Fund

More here:

Elizabeth Scalia at the Anchoress

Calah Alexander at Barefoot and Pregnant

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Do I say something about this or do I not?

Lewis said, when his wife died: “I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate if they do, and if they don’t.”

I’ve found that suffering of this magnitude often is best respected with silence — the silence of Mary watching her Son on the cross, perhaps even the mysterious silence of God the Father that drives all of us–His Son included–into anguish and loneliness and fear.

Some people conclude that this silence reveals absence. They ask “why” and of course receive no answer.

Others discover in the silence the gaze from Jesus on his cross.

C. S. Lewis describes grief better than most people–but only because, in this book, he was describing it from the inside:

“You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth of falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it?” (Lewis, A Grief Observed)

“Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand.” (Ibid)

“It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn’t matter.” (Ibid)

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Also, I’m not going to apologize for being a “downer” in a (normally lighthearted) Quick Takes post. It is okay to be sad. And it is good to grieve for others. I don’t know whether it helps in any practical way, but it seems to me rather a matter of justice that we give up our own happiness sometimes to grieve for the pain of others, even those we do not know.

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The Pope (as usual) has challenging things to say that we ought to listen to. (Yes I’m okay with ending some of my sentences with a preposition.)

He says (as others have said) that when we rely on other things or people besides God, we become pagans, because we turn these other things or people into idols.

But then he makes a really interesting point about being a pagan and how it affects our identity.

When we cease to trust in God, when we cease to call God “Father,” we begin to see ourselves differently too:

“Do I still have a name or have I begun to lose my name and … call myself ‘I’? I, me, with me, for me, only ‘I’? For me, for me . . . always that self-centeredness: ‘I.’”

Without God, or with God pushed to the periphery, we think of ourselves only as an “I”. And spite Martin Buber’s beautiful reflections on the “I-Thou” relationship, which Pope Benedict mentioned quite a lot in his writings, Pope Francis here suggests that all of this “I” and “me” is actually deceptive. We are thinking about ourselves all wrong.

Only in God do we receive our true name, which is not “I” or “me,” but “Son,” he said, according to Vatican Radio. But when we place our trust in others, our accomplishments, or even ourselves, we lose sight of our true worth as a child of God. (Catholic News Agency)

My true name is not among the names I (!) use all the time: I, me, my etc.

It is “Son” or “Daughter.”

We recognize our true identity with that name.

And this is beautiful:

“If one of us in life, having so much trust in man and in ourselves, we end up losing the name, losing this dignity, there is still a chance to say this word that is more than magic, it is more, it is strong: ‘Father.’”

“He always waits for us to open a door that we do not see and says to us: ‘Son.’”

(via Catholic News Agency, “Rely on God alone, Pope Encourages in Homily”)

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Good news:

I will be returning to Louisiana at the end of the year to see some of my former students graduate! They were sophomores during my first year in ACE, and now they’re all grown up.

I can’t tell you how excited I am to see them!

And MORE good news:

Although for a while there was some serious doubt that ACE teachers would be returning to the Diocese of Baton Rouge…….

Some miracle happened and so they are!

I am so happy that my former school and the other schools ACE serves in that diocese will continue to receive support from new teachers. We’re not perfect, and we don’t know everything, but ACE teachers bring a lot of love to the table.

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Speaking of ACE…

The ACE Bus, on it’s national tour, came to Colorado last week and I was able to reconnect with some amazing people and meet former ACE teachers who live out here.

Read about their awesome visit here:

The Peak of Excellence: Faith and Academics Collide in Colorado by Eric Prister

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It has been a busy, busy week. I’ve been pushing myself to go out and meet new people and it has been lots of fun, but my Introversion is kicking in big time.

And hey, it’s the beginning of spring break.

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“It’s Really Baffling”

A few days ago, I wrote a post about the one thing I would love to teach about writing, if I could.

I was thinking about Flannery O’Connor’s advice: “Wouldn’t it be better for you to discover a meaning in what you write than to impose one? Nothing you write will lack meaning because the meaning is in you.”

It takes a lot of courage to write like that. To be really truthful – especially when you’re in over your head.

And then a friend of mine who teaches 5th graders sent me a paragraph, composed by one of his students, that shows so perfectly what I was trying to express about good writing I was absolutely amazed.

Here is the poem this student was writing about:

A Patch of Old Snow

by Robert Frost

There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if
Small print overspread it,
The news of a day I’ve forgotten —
If I ever read it.

One is tempted in all sorts of literature to over-analyze, to impose, to project–but most of all to do such things (to) poetry, because it’s so elusive. So many high school students (I was one myself) dislike poetry because of its difficulty. As my favorite UD professor says, poetry demands you to develop “the skill of life” which is “the capability of always acknowledging that condition of dereliction out of which alone we can know the preciousness of what we love” (Gregory, “Lyric and the Skill of Life”).

Good writing always comes from humility before what is true.

What would you say if you had to write a paragraph about Frost’s poem?

This is what my friend’s 5th grade student said:

Untitled copyI think (I don’t know) that Robert Frost is trying to remember a day in the past. The simile “It is speckled in grime as if small print overspread it” doesn’t mean a lot until it said “the news of a day I’ve forgotten if I ever read it.” It gave me the idea he’s trying to remember the past. It’s almost as if he has lost his mind and can’t remember anything from that day. It’s really baffling though. That’s what I think about the poem.

I think that is so beautiful. Flannery would be proud. So would Frost.

7 Quick Takes Friday (3/14/14)

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My friend Maria just emailed me these beautiful words from Blessed John Paul II:

It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; He is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; He is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is He who provoked you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is He who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is He who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. – JP2

I was thinking about these words a lot yesterday, especially in their relation to Lent. During Lent we try to give up good things— Lent isn’t about dieting or eliminating bad habits, but about giving up activities, objects and experiences that are not in themselves bad. When we miss them, we miss something good — but hopefully we remember that what we really miss is Jesus.

For example, I’m giving up wine because I really love wine. But if all I do on a Friday evening is complain, “ugh, I wish Lent were over so I could go have a glass of wine,” I’m totally missing the point. Giving up wine means nothing if I am not thereby trying to embrace Jesus, and remember that he is the “True Vine” and the true source of our joy.

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Speaking of joy –

Here is a fascinating article on all the “Church Teachings that Pope Francis Has Changed” in the last year.

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source: theprogressivecatholicvoice.blogspot.com
(I love that blog title…)

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Apparently House Speaker John Boehner has just invited Pope Francis to speak to a joint session of Congress.

House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, also a Catholic, joined the speaker in his invitation.

“Whether inspired by St. Francis of Assisi, who cared for all of God’s creation, or by St. Joseph, protector of the church,” Pelosi said, “Pope Francis has lived his values and upheld his promise to be a moral force, to protect the poor and the needy, to serve as a champion of the less fortunate, and to promote love and understanding among faiths and nations.” (ABC News)

Do you ever get the feeling some people don’t know what they’re asking for?

… “Whether inspired by Moses, who cared for God’s Law, or by David, protector of the Chosen People,” Head of the Pharisees said, “Jesus has lived his values and upheld his promise to be a moral force, to protect the Temple, to serve as the champion of his oppressed people, and to overthrow the Romans…”

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Speaking of Romans –

Tomorrow is the Ides of March!

Sadly, it’s a Saturday, and so my sophomores and I will have to assassinate the dictator on Monday.

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“Et tu, Brute?”

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A great reflection to read during lent by Leah Libresco over at Patheos: “What Do We Choose Instead of Light? [Pope Francis Bookclub]”

A taste:

When I choose against the light, it usually doesn’t feel like I’m picking darkness, but security or simplicity.  There’s an attraction in having everything settled, even if it’s being settled for the worse (“I can’t count on anyone” “People just don’t like me” “I’ll never get along with her” etc).  I sometimes prefer to circumscribe my relationships and my options, even if I might accidentally be throwing out a positive outcome.

And this has me written all over it:

But, in order to be a better person, I have to be a little comfortable being unsettled and in progress.

I hate being uncomfortable. I don’t know if this has always been true about me, but it is becoming increasingly true. It’s not so much that I go out of my way to sin or do bad things, it’s more that I can’t be bothered to change my habits or (God forbid) go out of my comfort zone to do the right thing.

Maybe this longing for comfort comes with age?

I appreciate little things more now. I LOVE sleep. And good food. And good drinks. And conversations, and sitting on the couch and reading, and sleeping in, and talking-on-the-phone-only-with-people-I-talk-to-all-the-time-so-it’s-not-awkward.

But this longing for comfort is a big occasion of sin for me, because I allow it to eclipse any desire to change, to reach out, to push myself.

Lent is a good time to consider these things.

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Ms. Libresco’s words remind me of one of my favorite prayers, by Pierre Tielhard de Chardin:

Patient Trust

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability—
and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;
your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,
let them shape themselves, without undue haste.
Don’t try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
that his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
in suspense and incomplete.

– See more at: http://www.ignatianspirituality.com/8078/prayer-of-theilhard-de-chardin/#sthash.5N5ZO8CE.dpuf

“Accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.”

So difficult – especially, I think, for young adults as we try to figure out “who we are supposed to be,” what our “vocation” is, et cetera.

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Lastly, a shout out to two of my friends and fellow graduates of the University of Dallas: Molly O’Connor and Kaitlyn Willy who just started a wonderful project called Spiritual Uprising:

Spiritual Uprising aims to inspire and renew your creative and spiritual sides by providing a monthly retreat in the form of an e-magazine, blog, and weekly newsletter. (via tumblr site)

Check it out!

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source: spiritualuprising.tumblr.com

up-ministries.org

Forgiving the Unforgivable

I am sure you have seen the recent interview with Adam Lanza’s father in the New Yorker, or at least summaries of it from other news sources.

Adam Lanza is the young man responsible for the 2012 shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. He killed six workers and twenty little children. He had already killed his mother and later, he committed suicide.

Many sources are saying that Peter Lanza, Adam’s father, says that he wishes his son had never been born.

I can’t even imagine the amount of pain that would cause a parent to say such words about his own child.

Some people are very angry with the father for saying this: “If he turned out this way, it’s probably your fault! You’re the parent!” Others, however, seem gratified: “Even his own father admits how horrible he was.”

It’s a statement that reaches into the heart of existence and of sin. I do not know if human beings ever have the right to say it.

But I guess the first thing that jumped to my mind when I read Peter Lanza’s words were the words of Jesus Christ just before he was betrayed by his friend Judas:

The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had never been born. (cf. Mark 14:21 and Matthew 26:24, emphasis added)

Those words always make me shudder.

It’s hard to imagine Our Lord, the one who made us, saying that about anyone. But He does. He did. It has always bothered me.

Similar phrases come to mind: “Well, you’re God! You created him! You knew this was going to happen!” And on the other hand: “But he is your creation. How can you regret someone you yourself made?”

Jesus forgives those who are killing him on the cross (Luke 23:34) and when he confronts Judas in the garden, he calls him “friend” (Matthew 26:50). I am sure he did not use this term sarcastically–he always spoke the truth. Judas was his friend.

Despite everything, Jesus was reminding Judas of their true relationship and Judas’ true identity. The Gospel of Luke adds that Jesus also reminds Judas of his freedom–that he is choosing to perform an action: “Do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” (Luke 22:48)

Likewise, when Jesus says it would be better “for that man”–for Judas–if he had never been born, this must also be true. Judas’ crime is so terrible that–for Judas, from his perspective–it would have been better never to have lived at all. This choice has made his life such a privation–has emptied his life of so much (all?) of its goodness–that a lack of living would have been better. Death would be better.

Perhaps that is true of Adam Lanza as well.

Jesus does not say it would be better for Judas never to have been created, or that He (as God) regretted creating him.

But there is a terrible truth in His words. There are things worse than death. Apparently betrayal of this magnitude is one of them.

Or killing children–which seems to me a similar kind of betrayal. The betrayal of innocent human persons. For Christ was the most innocent of all.

But I do not think Peter Lanza has the last word concerning his son. I think, ultimately, the last word resides with the victims and their parents–many of whom have actually forgiven Adam Lanza.

The thing about forgiveness is that it is the most radical kind of love. Love says, “It is good that you exist.” Forgiveness says, “Despite what you have done, it is still good that you exist.

Forgiveness locates a person’s identity not even in his chosen sins, but rather in his status as a child of God.

Which is why, with Hans Urs von Balthasar, we are not only permitted to hope but indeed ought to hope “that all men be saved.”

7 Quick Takes Friday (3/7/14)

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My twin sister is coming to visit me for the next week! I am so excited! Perhaps I will bring her in for show-and-tell at school…

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Something to meditate upon during Lent.

Whatever your views on the violence in Syria or what is happening between Russia and Ukraine, I think this video is very beautiful and very powerful. So often we take for granted that certain parts of the world are experiencing violence–in some vague, other-worldly kind of way. But what if it were happening here? Or what if it were happening in a country we don’t usually think of as war-torn?

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Here are some samples of my students’ recent work on Julius Caesar. The assignment was to draw a cartoon of Act 1, Scene 3.

(Click them to enlarge)

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source: One of my students drew this! See the lightning storm? And all the crazy prophetic events happening on the upper right? And Casca freaking out in the bottom left? So, so good.
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source: Another student! Here are the strange, prophetic signs in much more detail. Caesar will notice all of these and decide whether or not he wants to go to work on the Ides of March…
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source: Another student! A very nice summary of the discussion taking place between Casca and Cassius.

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Speaking of old, classic literature that was written such a long time ago in weird language I don’t understand and which cannot possibly be “relevant” to my life now, Ms. Shea…

A UD student has a wonderful article over at Public Discourse: “A Rational Defense of the Humanities” by Antonio Sosa.

A taste or two:

Here, Sosa summarizes not only the arguments of scholars like Rebecca Schuman, but also of some of my own beloved high school sophomores who grumble about having to plod through Shakespeare:

More than being simply obsolete, the thought of previous times is thus seen as unintelligible and hence inaccessible in any meaningful way; only the thought of the present, of our time and our concerns, is intelligible and hence only the thought of the present can be studied seriously. In other words, the study of humanistic thought is ideological by definition. (Sosa, via Public Discourse)

And, further:

By this line of reasoning, Macbeth, for example, cannot guide us with respect to the problem of tyranny. Macbeth cannot teach us what is always true concerning the problem of tyranny as it is found in disparate moments across human history, but only what was true relative to a particular moment in history, i.e., Shakespeare’s moment.

On the basis of this view, the study of Macbeth should indeed be neglected in favor of more contemporary works. Or, if it is to be read, it should be studied in light of the recognition that the value of what it has to teach is obsolete. (Ibid)

Okay, I should stop before quoting you the whole article, but one last quote that reminds me a lot of G. K. Chesterton’s “democracy of the dead”:

If the greatest works of literature cannot emancipate man from his historical parochialism, then the greatest works of literature are merely the greatest statements of historical parochialism. Rather than study literature in order to acquire breadth of perspective, and so learn to distinguish the ephemeral problems that concern certain men at certain places from the fundamental problems that concern man everywhere and always, we would study literature to become further confirmed in the views to which our particular time has predisposed us. (Ibid… GO READ IT)

And this is the narrow, limiting sort of “broad-minded” English class I would like to eradicate from the face of the earth.

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Here is G. K. Chesterton’s “democracy of the dead” quote for you to ponder and enjoy:

Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man’s opinion, even if he is our father. (Chesterton, “The Ethics of Elfland,”Orthodoxy)

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About my last post: If I Could Teach One Thing About Writing…

What I find really interesting is that so often, posts I spend a lot of time and labor over do not seem to resonate with people as much as posts (like that one) that I wrote rather quickly and did not revise or change very much. I wonder why that is.

It is true in my songwriting, too. I  find that a song I write in 10 minutes is usually better appreciated by most people than a song I begin, and stop, and begin again months (or years) later and finally finish after a lot of agonizing.

Hemingway
“Write drunk, edit sober.” – Hemingway

I wonder if that phenomena has to do with what Flannery says about “the truth being in you.”

Now, don’t tell my students this, but…

maybe too much editing and revising is a bad thing sometimes. Because then you rethink what you want to say, and you worry about “the message” you are sending, and you can be tempted to ignore whatever truth has miraculously bubbled up to the surface of your page without you really realizing it.

Of course, this would be contra to Hemingway’s dictum: “Write drunk, edit sober” or this interesting take on the art of writing:

Interviewer: How much rewriting do you do?
Hemingway: It depends. I rewrote the ending of Farewell to Arms, the last page of it, 39 times before I was satisfied.
Interviewer: Was there some technical problem there? What was it that had stumped you?
Hemingway: Getting the words right.
(Ernest Hemingway, “The Art of Fiction,” The Paris ReviewInterview, 1956)

Source: http://grammar.about.com/od/advicefromthepros/a/rewritequotes.htm

What do you think? Does revising sometimes inhibit the art of writing– or is it, as Hemingway seems to claim, itself the art of writing?

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And this is a PERFECT ending to a 7 Quick Takes Friday in Lent, especially for someone who spent a little too much time in Louisiana:

Is it okay to eat alligator during Fridays of Lent? Does alligator count as fish or as meat?

Archbishop_Gregory_Aymonds_letter_in_response_to_a_request_to_eat_alligator_on_a_Friday_in_Lent_Credit_Archdiocese_of_New_Orleans_CNA500x320_US_Catholic_News_2_15_13
Archbishop Gregory Amond’s Letter in response to a special request. Diocese of New Orleans.
source: Catholic News Agency

Read it all here.

Happy Lenten Friday! Enjoy your alligator!

If I could Teach One Thing About Writing…

… this is what it would be. I don’t know how I can really teach this, or rather, impart it. I do not know even if I have grasped this myself really.

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to discover a meaning in what you write than to impose one? Nothing you write will lack meaning because the meaning is in you.” – Flannery O’Connor

source: theatalantic.com
source: theatalantic.com

I had a conversation the other day with someone asking my opinion about Ayn Rand. Suppressing an (involuntary) shudder, I replied that if you’re vocation is propaganda, go into advertising, not novel-writing.

But Ms. Rand is just an extreme example of what most bad writers do. They come at a work with an “idea” they wish to impart– a “meaning”– or, much worse, a “moral“. You see this especially in bad fiction, but also in bad essay writing where the essay is supposed to be concerned with drawing out the meaning of a poem or work, and instead imposes a meaning upon it like a straightjacket.

You hear it in the worst English classes: “water means baptism, renewal. the sun means energy, new life. green always means X, and red Y, and this that, and blah blah blah….”

I want to tell my students: life just isn’t like that. Stop trying to impose your own patterns on it and let the God of all patterns show you His strange and forever-suprising designs. They might not be what you think. And if He doesn’t show them to you, so be it. It is okay. You don’t have to know.

It’s better to say, “I don’t know” than to pretend like you do.

Even in essay writing. Even in English class.

Some of my favorite essays I have ever read express an honest uncertainty– not a cop-out-I’m-too-lazy-to-think-about-anything– but rather a truthful and painful acknowledgement of inadequacy before the truth: “It seems like Dickinson could be saying … although it is possible that she … and ultimately this ambiguity shows the reader that …”

Flannery got it right when it comes to fiction. As much as she was (and is) an opinionated and ornery Southern lady, she was also a humble Christian and knew when to shut her own mouth and let the mystery speak for itself–whatever it meant to say.

The hard thing is literature is like life–and tells us about life. Life, too, is far beyond our silly pattern-making. I know several people (including myself) who love to “discover” patterns in their lives and thus ascribe different meanings and morals and oh now I get its, but these are just silly.

How do I tell you that writing reveals the secret?

It is better–far better– to discover a meaning in your writing, in your reading, in your life than to impose one.

And, as Flannery says, don’t be afraid. Nothing you write–or live– will lack meaning, because the meaning is in you.

There is the Holy Spirit, who “breathes in us sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:26).