Refuge


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Tuesday, 1 February, 2012 Thinking Too Much

**Be warned: herein lies amateur (and probably uninformed) philosophy/theology. Use of long and/or technical words does guarantee knowledge or even a clue. I am writing this largely to work out my own thinking. Read at your own risk.**

I think I’ve said this before, but I have many opportunities, both because of where I live and my particular place of work, to rub shoulders with students and alumni of the JP II Institute at Catholic University.

My own education (college-wise) was at the hands of a Great Books program; my philosophical preferences are rooted in Plato and the ancients; my religious preferences are Catholic and  Benedictine in outlook; my cultural preferences are traditional and Anglophile.

Today, I listened to a couple of JP II Institute/CUA types hold forth on “sexual difference.” The very term sets my teeth on edge and I would like to know where it originates. It does not, as far as I know, originate in Catholic teaching nor do I recall it from any philosophy I have read.

Anyway, the topic of “sexual difference” was under discussion in the context of the broader need for catechesis (of Catholics, primarily) on the Church’s teaching on marriage, and both of the two speaker spoke of “sexual difference” as something that modern day Catholics (and society in general) need to be persuaded of or argued into acknowledging.

This seems to me to undermine Catholic teaching on human beings, male and female and their relationship to God. It seems to me that “sexual difference” is axiomatic, both in Catholic teaching but also in reality. It simply is. To try to argue its truth is to undermine that fundamental point and to veer (as did both the people I listened to today) into the realm of defining sexual difference by conglomeration of biology and gender roles. By way of illustration: the way I understand Church teaching (and reality) is this:  even if the male speaker in today’s conversation altered his way of dressing, his name, his role within his family, and underwent “gender reassignment” surgery, he would not be female. He would still be a (badly-mangled) man. No surgery, clothing, activity, or role can change a man into a woman.

It strikes me as a very poor method of catechesis to begin by trying to argue axioms.  And it seems to me that trying to argue the existence of men and women as different ways of being human is to almost certainly stray into dualism (whereby human beings are not considered to be ensouled bodies, but some sort of uneasy hybrid of the material and spiritual.)

Much more disturbing to me (here take note: potential heresy alert as I venture into theological waters) is the implication I often hear from JPII types that being male or female makes a difference in how one relates to God. I cannot point out any specific danger in this implication, but it riles me on two fronts.

One, I think it fails to account for the vast, vast, vast gap between human beings and God. Sexual difference seems like a big deal to us because we can see the shared human nature of men and women very clearly- the similarities illuminate sexual difference. But we cannot see God clearly and we often (per Scripture) have difficulty acknowledging the vast gap between ourselves and God. Whatever difference being a man or being a woman might make in relationship with God must be infinitesimally small compared to the greater issue of being human in relation to the Divine.

Two, this assertion that men and women do or should relate differently to God because of their sex flies very much in the face of my own lived experience. I relate to God first and foremost as follower of St. Benedict. He, a man, relates to God in the way that most makes sense and comes most naturally to me. I cannot relate to God easily as a follower of St. Francis, nor St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, nor St. Therese of Liseaux, nor Theresa of Avila, etc, etc, etc.  It seems clear to me that my “spiritual personality,” anyway, is not related to my sex.


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Tuesday, 6 December, 2011 Belated New Roman Missal Reax

I was going to wait until Thursday (when I will have been to Mass in English once more) to post some thoughts on the new translation of the Roman Missal, but here it is Tuesday and I’m scrounging for blog fodder.

This past weekend involved a surprise party (I was surprised), and I ended up at the “last chance” Mass on Sunday evening at a Traditionalist-leaning downtown church.

I will say that the new translation has lengthened that Mass (no music and oftentimes a speed-talking celebrant) from 35 minutes to a more respectable 50.

It was a mixed experience (for lack of a better adjective.)

On the one hand, some parts of the Mass in English that formerly set up a constant low level discord with the Latin in the back of my mind are wholly corrected, which I think is a great improvement. And I almost laughed out loud inappropriately at the “May the Lord accept the sacrifice” response, because the new translation is literally what I have had to restrain myself from saying  for years.

But the change is disconcerting, too, for various reasons.

The Crescat made the point a while back that is it perhaps easier to say memorized responses automatically, with an empty or distracted mind. That is true enough, but I find that memorization frees the mind to meditate on the meaning of the words and not the “mechanics” or effort of saying them, so in that way, even a good change can be an obstacle.

The mechanics of speaking the prayers was most difficult in the prayers where only a single line or a few words had been altered in the new translation and those alterations changed the rhythm in which the prayer was said. Where the changes don’t alter the rhythm, the whole congregation, myself included, did a bit better saying the responses.

Some of the prayers where only a line or two was re-translated were also a bit wince-inducing to me, because the rest of the old shoddy translation of the prayer was left intact, so the effect of a line or two of accurate translation was kind of like small, bright, annoying clean spots on a dirty floor.

The priest used Eucharistic Prayer III, which is, funnily enough, the Eucharistic Prayer I am most familiar with in Latin. (The pastor of my elementary and middle school years had a distinct preference for it.) The changes to the Eucharistic Prayers (and Collects and Secrets) are more extensive than the changes to the people’s responses and it was interesting to hear the new translation more fully on display.

But, boy, was it a mixed bag.

Some words and phrases were so parallel to the Latin, so Latin-esque, as to be distracting to me. (“In a similar way” during the consecration set “simili modo” ricocheting around in my mind.) And some phrases were just un-English and clunky and some were very English (” give kind admittance into your kingdom”) without violating the Latin*.

Very uneven overall was my first impression, but still generally an improvement.

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*(The very English bits set me to wondering why we don’t just use a sanitized version of the first Anglican translations of the prayers – rather like the ages old English words of the “Our Father” and the response “Thanks be to God” – instead of this translate and re-translate business. I know, I know, theology, controversy, Protestants, etc.)