When you fast, do not put on gloomy faces, like the hypocrites do. "Today God asks us also for a rather special mortification which we offer up cheerfully . . ." (Francis Fernandez).
Those are hard words, knowing I'll be cringing by 8:45 a.m. with hunger stabs. I'll try to keep them in mind. May all of us have a blessed Lent.
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Russ Baker wrote to me with regard to yesterday's post about his new book. He agreed to let me cut-and-paste it here. So, for the record: "Before you draw any conclusions on what you have heard about Family of Secrets, I urge you to read it. Brief radio interviews and reviews from newspaper writers are no substitute for examining the material–and the documentation–yourself. I address the religion issue with details and an inside source. Also, Jeb adopted Catholicism then ran for office from Florida, where that helped him with the Cuban vote. No inconsistency there. For W, evangelical Christianity was the ticket in Texas. Poppy was slow to embrace the advice, and suffered in 1992."
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Due to Octavia's First Confession last night, I'm pressed for time this morning, so I offer something From the Notebooks.
From 2003:
Sunday morning. Spent Friday evening and all day Saturday in Detroit. My niece, Christina, asked me to be her sponsor in confirmation. A truly shocking pick. In twelve years, it's the first time anyone in my wife's family has ever asked me to do anything like that and, of all Marie's nieces and nephews, Christina always annoyed me the most and my disposition toward her showed it.
That being said, Christina stopped annoying me about two years ago, and the last few times I was around her, I was downright impressed–good looks, gracious athleticism, kindly disposition–and went out of my way to tell her parents that she was growing into a fine young woman (no flattery there; strictly the truth). Still, her selection was surprising. In fact, I remember Stan (her father) telling a group of adults at a dinner table last Fall that Christina was struggling hard to determine who to ask as her sponsor. I jokingly said to everyone, “I'm hoping to get the nod,” like the way I do whenever a Supreme Court Justice position opens up.
The confirmation Mass was held at a small Slavic church called “Saints Cyril and Methodius." The Slavic Saints. My Catholic faith had been going through a small crisis lately, triggered by the lukewarm Catholicism that seems to surround my parish, along with spikes of heresy driven into the midst of our Masses (“St. Tammy”–a newly-baptized adult–“Pray for us”) by our peculiar priest and others.
The Mass at SS Cyril and Methodius was probably the most beautiful Mass I'd ever attended. The church is decorated with plenty of icons and statues (prayer aids). The teenage choir was stunningly good (singing a combination of chants, hymns in Latin, and other things, using violins and electric guitar and simple percussion instruments–in short, bringing modern instruments to traditional music in a truly inspiring (wretched word) way). The parish used eight altar boys, including a little four-year-old guy who just followed the others around with his hands clasped together. The priest insisted on strict orthodoxy and reverence–no gum-chewing, kneel briefly at the altar to receive the Host, reading the Gospel from a high pulpit. The Bishop's homily was forceful, succinct, and uncompromising in its message.
During Holy Week, I had prayed for the gift of compunction (penthos), but didn't receive them (if I did, they were scattered and somewhat forced). In this setting, the tears flowed naturally–for sins of anger I committed on Easter and all my other ugly sins, when contrasted with the holy beauty laid out before for me in this Mass. I also marveled at how it was brought to me by an adolescent girl that annoyed me intensely as a child–more evidence of my thorough wrongheadedness and warped heart, contrasted with the truth and goodness laid out in the little church of Saints Cyril and Methodius.
In any event, my faith received a resurgence, and for that I am thankful. I distrust any feelings in my heart at this point, so I'm not sure I even trust the resurgence. For now, I am resolving to keep my eyes on the path immediately in front of me and to go about my life quietly. That's all I trust of myself any more. And that's probably a good thing.
