Q: What could men learn from Christ, the ultimate man, in terms of developing masculinity?
Esolen: The first thing they could learn is not to be embarrassed by their manhood. It is holy! It has been created by God, and for a reason.
Then they might notice that Jesus is not the cute boyfriend that many of our churches make him out to be, the one who never goes too far -- forgive me if that is a little coarse.
Jesus loves women, as all good men must; Jesus obeys his mother at Cana; but Jesus does not hang around the skirts of women; he speaks gently, but as a man speaks gently, and when he rebukes, he rebukes forthrightly and clearly, as a man.
His closest comrades are men, though they are not necessarily the people he loves best in the world. He organizes them into a battalion of sacrifice.
He is remarkably sparing in his praise of them; certainly, as is the case with many good and wise men, he is much more desirous that they should come to know him than that they should feel comfortable about themselves.
From his apostles he seems to prefer the love that accompanies apprehension of the truth, rather than love born of his own affectionate actions toward them.
In fact, they respond to him as men often respond: They admire and follow with all the greater loyalty the man who rebukes them for, of all things, being frightened when it appears their ship will capsize in the stormy Sea of Galilee!
Men can learn from Jesus to seek the company of other men, at least in part for the sake of women, and certainly for the sake of the village, the nation, the Church and the world.
They can learn that there are two ways at least in which man is not meant to be alone: He needs the complementary virtues of woman, and he needs other men.
Currently preparing to fulfill the 76 requests, mostly from seminarians, that have come in during the past week for a free copy of The Thrill of the Chaste (the offer is good for priests, religious, and those preparing for vows). At this rate, the 50 copies that a very generous Dawn Patrol reader donated, plus the copies I already had on hand, should be depleted within a few days or so.
If the requests keep coming in at this rate, I may need to hold out in hope of another donation. For now, I'll continue to fulfill them, whether it be from my own means or with outside support. It is a joy to be able to get the book to vowed (or to-be-vowed) clergy and religious who believe it will help them in their ministry.
On the first leg of my two-flight trip to South Bend, Ind., to speak at Notre Dame's Edith Stein Project conference, a little girl of about seven took the window seat next to me while her mother and older brother, who looked to be eight or nine, sat in the row behind. I offered to move to accommodate them, but the mom said it wasn't necessary.
Her daughter agreed emphatically. "My brother and I don't get along," she said, with the brutal simplicity that reminded me of J.M. Barrie's writing in Peter Pan that children are "gay and innocent and heartless."
The girl was adorable—whip-smart and ditzy at the same time—utterly foiling my plans to doze during the 80-minute flight by keeping me engaged at tic-tac-toe, Hangman (my idea, as scrawling "O"'s to her "X"s got tiresome), and Sudoku (at which she was much better than I, though we both would have done better with a pencil than a pen).
When I told her I was an author, she asked what my book was about. That gave me pause, as I never before had to explain The Thrill of the Chaste to someone young enough to legitimately tote a stuffed bunny rabbit.
"It's, um, for women who want to get married but haven't met their husband yet," I said. "Sometimes they get lonely, and my message is that they shouldn't focus on what they're missing. Instead, while they're waiting to meet the right one, they should do things that make them happy, like make new friends, learn hobbies, and enjoy life ..."
She chimed in, "Like, if you've always wanted to go to Italy, you should go to Italy!"
"Yes, that's exactly right!" I exclaimed, utterly bemused.
How did that little girl know that my number one travel wish right now is to visit Rome?
GUEST POST: Georgetown pays for 'Feministing' NARAL speaker ... in more ways than one
A guest post by CAITLIN BARR
At the nation’s oldest Jesuit university, it can be a rough life for serious Catholic students. In my almost three years at Georgetown, I have seen a number of events that contradict my beloved University’s Jesuit and Catholic identity. Just last year, H*yas for Choice, a pro-choice group that does not receive funding, was permitted to host an event with Catholics for a Free Choice in one of the school’s historic buildings. At this event, a Georgetown faculty member made a number of offensive statements. Earlier this year, many pro-life Catholic students were surprised and angered by the Law Center’s decision to begin funding internships with Planned Parenthood. Other events that tip-toe along the line between acceptable and heretical are “gender liberation week,” the Vagina Monologues and “choice week.” Tuesday’s talk by chief editor of Feministing.com Jessica Valenti was, for me, the proverbial straw.
Valenti’s blog is pro-choice, pro-promiscuity, openly anti-Catholic, vulgar, petty and, frankly, downright cruel on occasion. Valenti has worked with a number of pro-choice organizations, including NARAL (she is the longtime webmistress of the its blog, Bush v. Choice) and Planned Parenthood and her "experience" in the field is certainly clear from her posts in which she rails against the pro-life movement, or should I say the "anti-choice," or "forced-pregnancy" movement.
Although Ann, a woman who frequently posts to Valenti’s blog, is the most rabidly anti-Catholic of the bunch, Jessica too disrespects our current pope and supports schismatic groups such as Roman Catholic Womenpriests, who arrange the invalid ordination of women to the priesthood.
As a university student, I respect diversity of opinions and the importance of substantive, constructive debate. But inviting Jessica Valenti to speak at Georgetown is a little bit like inviting Yasser Arafat to speak at a synagogue and paying him to do so. It just doesn’t make sense, and can only harm the Catholic mission of the university.
At the talk, the administration required that the student announcing Valenti make a disclaimer, stating that the views expressed do not represent the views of the school. This disclaimer was met with peals of laughter from most of the audience, and Valenti expressed her surprise at being considered a controversial speaker. Although her talk was filled with pro-abortion sentiments and derision of abstinence education and even virgins, Valenti deftly side-stepped questions from board members of Right to Life and Catholic Daughters.
For those students who love Georgetown not in spite of its Catholic identity, but because of it, speakers such as Valenti take away from our respect for and trust in our administration. These events also detract from our college experience that is enriched by more positive events that are consistent with a Catholic identity such as Life Week, Jesuit Heritage Week, and Father Thomas King’s late-night Mass.
Note to Kenrick-Glennon seminarians and other priests, seminarians, and religious (no lay folk, sorry) taking me up on the free Thrill offer: Please keep those requests coming! A generous Dawn Patrol reader has told me he will finance the purchase of 50 more books for the cause.
Patum Peperium's Father M today reviews the book I gave him last fall:
Not so very long ago, when the very first Virginia leaves were turning yellow but it was still very warm outside, I had the opportunity to meet Dawn Eden for a cup of coffee at the little sidewalk cafe next door to the church. Fresh from her lecture tour in England and Ireland, she had the opportunity to rootle around through some Dublin bookstalls and found a great treasure: The Life of Hilaire Belloc by Robert Speaight.
As he notes, the book is in some ways more timely now than it was when I gave it to him:
The solutions offered by the wise Mr. Belloc to problems personal or international are still as relevant today as they were when he was a student at John Henry Newman's Oratory School: Faith and prayer. The Faith, for instance, of Catholics that will band us together so that we may not be intimidated by such events as the kidnapping and murder of the Bishop of Mosul and the fervent prayer that the infidel may also come to believe in the One True Church.
No, that's not the new double-dutch rosary—it's my parish priest, Monsignor Edward J. Filardi, and friend Conrad DeWitt chivalrously applying their Boy Scout skills to detangling a 1960s beaded chain that I was giving away. I brought the necklace along with other jewelry left over from my Holy Saturday giveaway to my friend Nohad's place, where she hosted a beautiful Easter dinner Sunday evening for some of the parish's young adults. It is a real gift when people bring friends together for dinner parties.
That's me in the purple, with (from left) Alice, Conrad (blinking, alas), Monsignor, Alice's husband Matt, and Nohad. Matt is holding the prize dessert of the evening—a chocolate-bunny peanut-butter cheesecake brought by Monsignor, donated by a parishioner. A few minutes later, that poor bunny was decimated—and delicious. Matt is a fill-in altar server at the parish and so was part of the inspiration for my Holy Thursday post in praise of angelic acolytes.
After untangling the necklace, Monsignor tried it on. It actually looked really cool with his collar—reminding me of this classic clip on the "Joey Bishop Show," after Sammy Davis Jr. convinced Joey along with Regis Philbin to let his tailor restyle them in the latest threads and psychedelic bling.
Mailing free copies of The Thrill of the Chaste today to twelve clergy, religious, and seminarians who wrote during the past week to take me up on my free offer (a total of 14 have put in requests so far). I still have plenty of copies left and can always order more, so please keep those requests coming! About half of the requests are now coming from seminarians, including three at Conception Seminary in rural Missouri, one at Notre Dame in New Orleans, two at the Theological College in Washington, D.C., and one at Kenrick-Glennon in St. Louis, Mo.
Tour of the Chaste coming to Notre Dame, Connecticut, and beyond
Here's the latest list of my upcoming talks on The Thrill of the Chaste. Copies of my books will be available at each appearance, and I'm always happy to sign any that you may already have as well. (And also pose for photos, natch; here I am after my February 29 talk at St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Parish in Spring Hill, Fla., with the wonderful Deacon Bob and Geri Anderson.) For more information on any of these dates, contact me via e-mail or my online contact form.
March 28
Edith Stein Project 2008 Conference, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Ind., 1 p.m. Register online.
“We’re a soulless society. When I’m talking about the soul to people, they look at me like I’m nuts. But there has been a longtime manipulation of people who want to make money to dumb down the American society and rob us of the curiosity of our souls.”
— Larry Salander, from James Panero's fascinating New York feature on the art gallerist's fall, "An Old Master in Ruins." (Link contains four-letter words.)
My order of 35 author's copies of The Thrill of the Chaste arrived today, and just in time, as three seminarians from Conception Seminary College wrote today to take me up on my offer of a free copy of my book (in English or Spanish) to any priest, member of a religious order, or seminarian who requests it. I think that and the request today from a Kenrick-Glennon seminarian raises the total number of takers to twelve since I first made the offer less than two weeks ago.
It turns out that the chairman of Conception's Philosophy Department, Dr. Christopher Anadale, tipped off the seminary's chapter of Phi Sigma Tau (a philosophy honor society) to my offer. Many thanks to Dr. Anadale, and I hope his recommendation leads to still more requests. It is a joy for me to have the opportunity to send my book to those who are vowed or will be vowed in service to the Church. If you qualify and would like a copy of The Thrill, please e-mail me (you can use my online contact form).
"When I was a little guy, just a little while before my fourth birthday, I wrote my first words in crayon: "I love you God". I know this only because I saw the piece of paper in a scrapbook at my mother's house the last time I visited there, and the page was duly annotated in the lower corner in my mother's handwriting, noting the date and the fact that these were my first written words.
"Seeing the page brought me both a smile and tears: even then, when I was so small and simple, I knew something was there. Somewhere along the way, things became complicated and confusing for me, but, I suppose, I always had hope, deeply buried in there. I became lost in the dusky wood, but only to myself; Someone who loves me found me there and brought me out."
— Fallen Sparrow, from the final installment in his "Regio Disimilitudinis" autobiographical series, "Learning to Love." Do read the whole entry—it ends on a heartbreakingly beautiful note.
"Having been condemned to death, I have reflected a long time on the value of life. And I discovered that behind the origin of the ideology of hatred, violence and death is the discrimination against Israel. Everyone has the right to exist except for the Jewish state and its inhabitants. Today, Israel is the paradigm of the right to life."
— Magdi Allam, the Muslim-born journalist who received death threats from Hamas over his vocal support of Israel, and who was baptized by the Pope last night. Reuters has more on his conversion.
I marked Holy Saturday with a combination of purgation and fellowship, inviting friends to come over and take my unwanted books, clothing, jewelry, records, CDs, and magazines. Mark Gauvreau Judge captured a few minutes of it for posterity, including my modeling a long-ago borrowed Soupy Sales hat (which, despite my claims of donating it to the Smithsonian, I am mailing back to its original owner):
As you can see, Todd Seavey—aka "Tom," the atheist of Chapter 18 of The Thrill of the Chaste—was there, visiting from his home in New York City. When he took the opportunity to go through my giveaway boxes, he asked, to my surprise, if he could see the Chesterton books that I was offering. Unfortunately, they had already been taken.
Not wanting to miss the opportunity to share Chesterton with him, I pulled a copy of Heretics off my bookshelf and offered it to him—never mind that it was the first U.S. edition, from 1905. He took it and said he would read it. I know he will—as I say in my book, he is honest, as ethics are important to him. Please pray that God's light and truth will shine upon him.
(I notice that Todd's blog on this Easter Sunday has something beautiful and unexpected: After marking a "Month Without God" in which he honored Christopher Hitchens and other atheists, he risks incurring the wrath of his compatriots by noting that "religion sometimes has beneficial social effects" and praising Pope John Paul II.)
Since I mention in the video that I saw the performers of the folk-music satire "A Mighty Wind" live, here's a bonus Easter treat from the film: the reunited Mitch and Mickey (Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara) performing "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow":
The following entry, written at the time of my reception into the Church, was reprinted in The Best Catholic Writing 2007 (Loyola Press):
Caravaggio, The Entombment (click on picture for larger image)
Just before 8 p.m. last night, I arrived at St. Patrick's Old Cathedral, on Mott Street in lower Manhattan, for the annual "Way of the Cross" procession through downtown.
The event was organized by Geoff Gentile, one-half of the RCIA team at the Church of Our Saviour. He's in his 20s, and most of the 80 or so people who showed up on that rainy evening looked to be in their 20s and 30s. The crew included at least one priest, a St. Joseph's seminarian, and a Franciscan friar.
Speaking of the rain, I had bought an umbrella on the way to the meeting place, but right at the point when we did our first Station there outside the old St. Patrick's, the rain stopped. A good sign.
Over the course of four hours, as we did the 14 Stations, we walked through the Lower East Side and the East and West Village — as far east as Tompkins Square Park, as far west as Washington Street, and as far north as Union Square Park. Wherever we went, the wooden cross went first, lifted high by one of the men. A few other participants carried tall torches, which also served to relight walkers' candles. Many walkers carried palm leaves; a few palm leaves were also draped around the cross.
We did the Stations mostly outside churches — Catholic ones — including a Latino church, a Polish one (St. Stanislaus), and one that I think was Slovenian (St. Cyril's). The diversity of ethnic churches within a few square miles was a beautiful reminder of Catholicism's universality.
We did most of the other Stations at parks. At Union Square, we found ourselves beneath a stunning statue on a high pedestal of Mary holding the baby Jesus, with John the Baptist standing by. (I cannot find any mention of this online and would love it if someone could tell me more about it.) I've walked by that spot numerous times , mostly during the years before I was a Christian, and I don't recall ever noticing it before. It's a mysterious reminder of Jesus and His Mother, placed in one of the city's most famously anti-Christian locations (which has hosted countless communist and socialist protests over the years).
We also did one Station, the second, at a place where thousands of innocent people had been killed. It was at Margaret Sanger Square, at the side of Planned Parenthood of New York City's headquarters.
As we walked, we usually sang — "Ave Maria" (a chant, not the song), "Were You There," "Misericordias Domini," "Ubi Caritas," "Salve Regina," "Our Father," and the like.
I was reminded that the Protestants have nearly all the best songs. No Fanny Crosby tunes wafted through the cool evening air, neither was there "And Can It Be" or "Amazing Grace."
We walked past posters for Madonna's tour, which is called "Confessions." We sang praises to God in Latin as we passed shops with names like The Shape of Lies. We chanted about the Lamb of God when we walked past the satanic-themed Slaughtered Lamb Pub. We sang "Ave Marie" all the way down Christopher Street, past the homosexual cruisers and the display windows of leather and chains.
We also walked past Weinstein dormitory, where I lived for four years when I went to New York University during the late 1980s. We went through the streets where I had been so unhappy as a college student, suffering from depression and believing that if there were a God, He didn't care about me. We proceeded within 100 feet of where a fresh-faced college student handed me a pocket Gideons New Testament back then, which I held onto over the years even though I didn't read it much, and which I finally began reading in earnest in 1999, weeks before I received my long-desired faith.
I felt sad for a moment as I wished I'd learned the beauty of the Church in college and saved myself years of wandering in the wilderness. But then I thought that God must have known what he was doing. Perhaps if I'd entered the Church back then, I wouldn't have had a strong enough foundation to cleave to it. Also, my relationships with some of my family members have deepened since that time; loved ones accept my conversion, who might have distanced themselves from me had I converted back then,
As the procession wound its way through the Village, our songs echoing through the night, I had the distinct feeling that we were bringing salt and light. That, and an unmistable sword.
I had a mental image which had also come to me when I had my First Communion, that I think I got from Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. It's an image of the globe sheathed in darkness, but every so often a patch of light breaks through. It's like patches of new, healed skin emerging on a leper — and the healing keeps leading to more healing.
It felt so radical to take back the streets with song and prayer. We weren't blocking anyone, nor accosting anyone. All we were doing was being a living witness to Jesus' love and lordship.
I loved it, and I was so thankful to be part of a Church that would witness so boldly, peacefully, and powerfully. I want to pray outside abortion clinics now. I want to do processions everywhere.
People on the street had the predictable reactions. One young drunk asked us what we were doing; when someone told him, he said, "It is a Good Friday!" Another young man made a big show of saying, "I'm not with these guys, I have nothing to do with these guys, " as we passed by. A young, fashionable-looking woman eating in a restaurant put her fork down and turned her head to the window , mystified by the parade. Another woman, a bit older (40 is old for the Village), stopped as we passed her and smiled with apparent approval.
After singing and chanting our way down Christopher Street, we did the 12th Station at St. Veronica's Church on Christopher Street, across from the Archives building, where Monica Lewinsky lives. Then we walked to St. Vincent's Hospital, to observe the 13th Station at the Wall of Hope and Remembrance, where families and friends of 9/11 victims placed missing posters during the weeks following the attacks.
As midnight approached, we did the final station at St. Joseph's on Sixth Avenue and Washington Place. I had been there before; the church donates its basement to the local charity Caring Community, to prepare meals that are delivered to the elderly and shut-ins.
After the last prayer was said, one of the participants, a young man who had sung in a fine tenor voice, called out, "And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it."
I had been thinking of the same verse, John 1:5.
The darkness didn't know what hit it last night. But come Easter morning, the sun will shine brighter there in lower Manhattan — and everywhere.
At Holy Thursday Mass last night—my second since being received into the Church—I was struck by the absurdity of it all.
I don't mean absurd as in ludicrous; I mean as in credo quia absurdum—"I believe because it is absurd," or, as Tertullian actually wrote, prorsus credibile est, quia ineptum est, "It is immediately credible because it is impossible." But absurdum, the popular take on Tertullian's phrase, is more accurate to what I felt, because it means "out of tune," and what struck me was how out of tune the Mass was with everything our fallen humanity causes us to believe about the world and our place in it.
To realize that absurdity is a beautiful feeling, one I would like to have at every Mass, but rarely do I gain the perspective I had last night. I think it came through as a result of the majesty of the liturgy and presentation during the celebration at my parish church, St. Stephen Martyr in Washington, D.C., with its five priests (two visiting); Dominican deacon; small, all-male army of altar servers, and Gregorian-chant choir.
Lately I have been struck by the angelic aspect of the role of the altar servers' role—for example, how one stands on each side of the priest or deacon, bearing a candle, as the Gospel is read, emulating the cherubim around the Holy of Holies ... for the Gospel is, in a mystical way, the Real Presence. Tonight that image was brought home in other ways as well, such as the way, prior to the Gospel, one altar server escorted each lector to and from the altar and stood beside her as she read, like a Guardian Angel.
The most affecting image for me was that of the priest, at Mass's end, holding out the ciborium as he processed up and down the aisles toward the altar of repose, while an altar server walked backwards in front of him, swinging incense to make fragrant the way of the Blessed Sacrament.
As I watched them proceed, the sense of love was overwhelming, flowing in a sort of procession, or, rather, circumcession—the love of the Father for Jesus, the love of Jesus for the Father and for me, the love of the Bride of Christ—that is, the Church, as embodied in the priest—for the Bridegroom. ... It feels strange to write about it now—already, I feel a sort of embarrassed distance from it, the way one feels when one wakes from a dream and is mystified upon realizing that the events that made such sense with dream logic are so disconnected in actuality. Yet, in that moment, everything in that procession of love did make sense. The Real Presence of Love Itself, at least, was real, even if everything around it was analogical. Praestet fides supplementum sensuum defectui.
I'm delighted to have received five takers so far—two diocesan priests (one in Nebraska, the other in Washington state); a Jesuit priest in Beirut, Lebanon; a Benedictine monk in Pennsylvania, and a Marianist Brother in Missouri. Please keep those requests coming; just e-mail me (you can use my online contact form) and include your mailing address. If you qualify but have already purchased a copy for yourself, I will be happy to send you a copy to give away.
Update, because someone asked: This offer holds for seminarians as well.
Please note: Since I am paying for these books, I am accepting requests only from priests or religious themselves, not parishioners requesting it for their priests. That way, I have assurance that the recipients wish to receive them.
Crucifixus est dei filius; non pudet, quia pudendum est. Et mortuus est dei filius; credibile prorsus est, quia ineptum est. Et sepultus resurrexit; certum est, quia impossibile.
"The Son of God was crucified: I am not ashamed—because it is shameful. The Son of God died: it is immediately credible—because it is silly. He was buried, and rose again: it is certain—because it is impossible."
While I have no problem with women who choose to go into sex work, I have to admit that I do have a problem with men who purchase sex. Perhaps that comment is going to get me attacked, but I’ll stick to it: I don’t think that it’s immoral or wrong to sell sex or to work in the sex industry. I do think that men who buy sex are committing a moral wrong. Sex work is not a morally clear issue, and no, we most certainly do not all agree that buying sex is nothing more than a fun roll in the sheets without any ethical or moral strings attached.
She also writes in the same post:
Now, if Spitz and his wife had a deal where he could sleep with as many other people as he wanted, fine.
Since Jill has been known to read this blog, I would like to invite her to comment below to explain why she believes it is not morally wrong to sell sex, but it is morally wrong for a man to buy sex. (I ask this question using her own terms. She is speaking of morality, not what should or should not be legal, and she specifies it is wrong for a man to buy sex, leaving the question open with regard to a woman.)
I am particularly interested to know from her why, if a married man who has "a deal" with his wife may legitimately have sex with as many other people as he likes, it is wrong for him to pay money for his adulteries. What intrinsic value does the sex act contain that differentiates it from any other activity for which a man might hire a woman? Why is it any different from, to paraphrase Benjamin Braddock in "The Graduate," "shaking hands"?
All are invited to comment. Normal rules of civility apply—no ad hominems toward Jill, me, or any other commenter, please, on penalty of banning. With that in mind, commenters from Feministe and other blogs are welcome.
Tour of the Chaste coming to Notre Dame, Connecticut, and beyond
Here's the latest list of my upcoming talks on The Thrill of the Chaste. Copies of my books will be available at each appearance, and I'm always happy to sign any that you may already have as well. (That's me doing the honors at St. Frances Xavier Cabrini parish in Florida, right.) For more information on any of these dates, contact me via e-mail or my online contact form.
March 28
Edith Stein Project 2008 Conference, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Ind., 1 p.m. Register online.
New York magazine's profile of Bette Midler on the eve of the debut of her Vegas spectacular offers this tantalizing news:
As a welcome-to-Vegas gift, and perhaps in an effort to negate the effects of such cultural slumming, Midler's husband bought her the entire Penguin Classics Library. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in her dressing quarters is stuffed with several hundred of the 1,082 titles. "I'm such a cheese,” she says, averting her eyes bashfully as though she were trying explain a Star Wars action-figure collection. "I'm reading Chesterton right now. The Man Who Was Thursday. I thought I'd start light."
If my experience is anything to go by, I'd say Miss (now Mrs.) M is in for an adventure.
Lately I have been blessed to get to know several men who are in recovery from alcohol or drug addiction. Three are Catholics, a fourth is Anglican, and all feel some tension between their lively, orthodox faith and the Unitarian bent of modern-day twelve-step programs, yet they press on towards the upward call.
Each of these men has touched me strongly with the grace he has received. It seems to me that Christians in recovery are a particularly powerful sign to the world, and especially to those living chastely, because they defy the culture's lie that says joy is impossible when the opportunity to satisfy one's most all-consuming desire is removed.
One of them, Fallen Sparrow, writing in the latest installment of his recent autobiographical series, uses words that speak to me personally, even though the only kind of recovery I have experienced is that from an unchaste life:
The process of recovering, of looking up in hope, is one of waking up. To live entails becoming more fully alive; it is not ever a place of stasis. The hangover morning response to the simple greeting "How are you?", which is, "I'm alive," is in fact a lie; one is simply either coming alive or going to sleep, constantly in motion.
Several years into this process, I have finally begun to accept that I will not, in my time on Earth, be complete or self-sufficient. It is not the repression of desire that leads to completion or fulfillment; it is only in growing in our humanity that we will do so.
I will continue to grow in desire, I hope: in fact, my desires are infinite. In the old life, there was not enough booze or sex or laughter or song to sustain me, even through one night. There still will not be, should I try to seek it out today, yet I know that there is hope for fulfillment in the future: if I am hungry, I can eat, and if tired, I can rest. I am given those little fulfillments here, now, so that I might have faith in the fulfillment of great things in the world to come.
It is a matter, then, not of choosing not to love or thinking oneself unlovable, but rather in placing the weight of desire upon that which can sustain it, and of learning how to love.
In a similar vein, Mark Gauvreau Judge gives an incarnational perspective on the twelve steps in a video tribute to Father Ed Dowling, the Jesuit who was a friend of the real-life Bill W.:
I wish I could remember where I read or heard, very recently, that God became anonymous, so to speak—that is, a nobody—so that I might have my name written in Heaven.
As the end of Lent approaches, I realize I have too many things, so am having a "free store" party this Saturday afternoon.
Here's what I've managed to set aside so far, including stacks of rock-history books, all my Lenny Bruce tomes, Monty Python- and Second City-related publications (including Jack Mathews' The Battle for Brazil), cassettes of Peter Cook and Julian & Sandy, dozens of Peanuts paperbacks, dress purses, clothes, a few power pop CDs, etc. The autographed Tom Stoppard and Carl Perkins items have been claimed, but the autographed Rutles CD and Terry Teachout Reader remain. Still to hit the pile is some costume jewelry, many more rock magazines, LPs and 45s, and probably a few more books, dress purses, articles of clothing, etc.
(Yes, I did attempt to read the Luigi Guissani book that's on top, but can comprehend him only in small doses, e.g. the little quotes they publish in Magnificat from time to time.)
I believe I've invited all my pals who would be interested in taking my things. However, if you're a personal friend whom I've overlooked (perhaps out of a mistaken assumption that you don't want more books), please drop me an e-mail and I'll send you an invite, as I'm quite eager to make more living space. Sorry, but can invite only personal friends or friends of friends.
My friend Drusilla writes in an e-mail (published with permission):
Caros todos -
I just finished reviewing a series of German emails. They're spam - mostly advertisements for Viagra and similar drugs. Perhaps it's because I'm on so much pain medicine but it suddenly struck me that something was very bizarre about them. They all went on in rather graphic detail about how they would enhance a man's experience. Most of them promised a man that he would be able to have sex like an animal be all sorts of other things. And, at the same time, there was a great deal of assurance that all would be sent in discreet packaging.
The message seems to be become like an animal, behave like an animal but don't let anyone know. Deny your humanity but hide your denial behind a human form.
It's scary, pure madness, totally unfathomable. If being like an animal is so great, why hide it? If it is shameful and must be hidden, why do it?
RightWingNews features part two of its Blogging While Female interview series and it's excellent. Today's guests: Ann Althouse, LaShawn Barber, Emily Zanotti, and Mary Katherine Ham.
Tomorrow is a difficult anniversary for me and I would like to request your prayers. Thanks and God bless.
Also, I've received a date for my second thyroid surgery—it'll be May 27, the day after Memorial Day.
As I mentioned earlier, the tumor that was removed in my first surgery was fully encapsulated, so there is no immediate danger to my health. The second surgery is on the advice of doctors who believe that, since the type of cancer found was multifocal, there is a significant risk it might reoccur. As I am under 40, I will be able to handle the surgery better than if I waited and then needed to have it done later in life. Thankfully, my surgeon did an excellent job the first time around, so I'm not so worried about the second one, though I will of course be glad when it (and the ensuing radioactive iodine treatment) is over.
In which I tell the parishioners of Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church where the resentment I felt upon initially attempting chastity was really coming from—and how it can be overcome. Many thanks to Jonathan Chamblee, coordinator of religious education at the Beech Grove, Ind., church, for making the professional-quality video.
I have a bit of article trouble—I say "that life" when I mean "this life"—but otherwise, I think I kept it together pretty well, considering what was on my mind. The January 24 presentation was my last before going under the knife five days later for a partial thyroidectomy— and, knowing the risks of such an operation, I was afraid the talk might in fact be my last. Holy Name's pastor, Rev. Stanley Pondo, assured me of prayers, which, combined with those of my other friends, family, and blog readers, helped me more than I can say as I went in for the procedure.
Audio of my entire talk is available on Holy Name's Web site—click on my name in the upper right-hand corner of the page.
If you qualify, please e-mail me (you can use my online contact form) and include your mailing address. If you qualify but have already purchased a copy for yourself, I will be happy to send you a copy to give away. This offer stands until or unless I withdraw it.
Royal college warns abortions can lead to mental illness
A major fissure has emerged in medical authorities' longtime wall of silence in the face of numerous studies showing that having an abortion increases a woman's risk of depression and other mental problems. The Times of London has the story.
Today, I received an unsolicited review copy of Signs of the Times: Understanding the Church Since Vatican II, by the late Father Richard W. Gilsdorf (Star of the Bay Press). As my reading pile is already sky-high*, it seems the most charitable thing to do would be to give it to someone who might appreciate it.
So, with the happy knowledge that some priests frequent this blog, I'd like to make the free offer of the book to the first priest who requests it. Just leave a comment here so others know it's taken, and then e-mail me (you can use my online contact form) with your address. If you request, I'll throw in a copy of The Thrill of the Chaste or La aventura de la castidad, whichever you prefer.
UPDATE: Book still available as of 11:06 p.m. Saturday—none of the comments currently below are from takers.
*Currently reading St. Faustina and still more Fulton J. Sheen, then on to Discovering Aquinas; Morality: The Catholic View; The Secret Diary of Elizabeth Leseur ...
As I was opening my mail in the post office today after checking my P.O. box, a woman in her 40s sitting nearby called out, "Excuse me ..."
She was holding up a copy of Barack Obama's latest bestseller, The Audacity of Hope, the title of which comes from a speech by his minister, Jeremiah Wright (the Farrakhan fan who just departed Obama's campaign).
It took me a moment to understand what she was asking, although she spoke clearly enough.
Her father was recovering from an operation, she said, and she wanted to send her parents a book they could share, as they enjoyed reading together. Should she send them the book she had purchased, or Obama's "other book"?
What threw me off at first was that, for some reason, she took it for granted that I knew about Obama's books and could give her an authoritative opinion on which one would make better parental reading.
Not having read either work, but remembering that Obama had, in addition to The Audacity of Hope, written a book about his past—it has been cited in reports of his past drug use and his Muslim heritage—I suggested her parents might prefer his other book (which I now see is Dreams from My Father).
"The one you bought is his campaign book," I said, "so he's trying to sell his plan for the country. His other book, I think, tells the story of his past, so it would make more interesting reading if your parents are reading it together."
She seemed quite happy with the response and said she would go back to the bookstore to make an exchange.
I added with a smile, "You might also want to buy your dad a warm pair of slippers, since he's going to be around the house for a while."
She smiled too and I walked off, my head spinning at the thought that I had recommended any book by Obama ...
When I spoke in Spring Hill, Fla., two weeks ago, I finally had the pleasure of meeting John Brown S.J., whose CompanionofJesus.com is a great repository of knowledge on the spirituality of the Society of Jesus, including the fascinating 1673 work depicting the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius in pictures. (There was another camera pointed at us as well, hence my sideward gaze.)
John first contacted me before I made the decision to become Catholic; he wrote to express support for my blog. I wrote back to him with a question or two, and I now count him as one of those who led me to full communion with the Church.
At my talk at Spring Hill's St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Parish, John, a scholastic (the Jesuit term for seminarian), met a staff member of a local Catholic radio station who was impressed with his New Orleans drawl. The story I heard was that she was eager to have him on the show because a large part of the station's listenership were curious Evangelicals, and, with his twang, she said, "he sounds like a Protestant!"
Would write about Michigan, but must ... get ... sleep. The past two weeks were long, touring and working Le Day Job without a break.
In answer to Charles G. Hill's question, my favorite Beatles song is "There's a Place." It belongs to that time when Lennon and McCartney were a true songwriting team, attempting together to rewrite Goffin and King ("Up on the Roof"), and coming out with a borderline Baroque melodic style that sounded like no one else on Earth. "Yes It Is" is of a piece with it.
When I first saw Jerry LaPointe, the volunteer who manned the book table yesterday afternoon when I gave a talk sponsored by Oakland University Students for Life ...
... I'm sorry to say that, reading the message on the front of his T-shirt—"... Who's your daddy ..."—my first thought was that he hadn't gotten the memo on chastity.
Then I saw the back ...
... and was delighted to discover I was mistaken.
Had a wonderful time giving two talks in the Detroit area—more later.
Just a post before I go: My friend Kevin Walsh reveals that my neighborhood is the center of the world. I can't believe I haven't noticed that plaque in the two and a half months I've lived here.
Off to the Detroit area (see "Tour of the Chaste" below)—back home Friday. Thanks to those who offered prayer in response to the news I mentioned within the "Carolinas on my mind" post below.
"As we have taken the circle as the symbol of reason and madness, we may very well take the cross as the symbol at once of mystery and of health. Buddhism is centripetal, but Christianity is centrifugal: it breaks out. For the circle is perfect and infinite in its nature; but it is fixed for ever in its size; it can never be larger or smaller. But the cross, though it has at its heart a collision and a contradiction, can extend its four arms for ever without altering its shape. Because it has a paradox in its centre it can grow without changing. The circle returns upon itself and is bound. The cross opens its arms to the four winds; it is a signpost for free travellers."
"Somewhere along the line, I started drinking, and sometime after that, I moved to New York. At the time, I couldn't think of a reason why, but, looking back, I see that it was so that I could, in my own small way, set out on my via dolorosa."
Tour of the Chaste coming to Detroit area (tomorrow!), Notre Dame, and beyond
If you're in or around Detroit, hope you can come to one of my first-ever talks in the area tomorrow—both are free and open to the public.
March 13
Oakland University, at the Fireside Lounge in the Oakland Center, Rochester, Michigan, 12-2 p.m. Talk and Q&A will be followed by small-group discussion. Free and open to nonstudents. Sponsored by Students for Life.
(Later that same day:) Our Lady of Refuge, 3750 Commerce Road, Orchard Lake, Michigan, 7 p.m. Free and open to the public. The event is targeted at young adults.
March 28
Edith Stein Project 2008 Conference, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, Ind., 1 p.m. Register online.
"There are, as I say, many reasons to dislike Eliot Spitzer. I, too, hope he goes away, and quickly. The music critic Tim Page, referring to an unpleasant and pretentious college president, observed that he was the sort of chap that gave “pseudo-intellectuality a bad name.” I feel similarly about Eliot Spitzer and hypocrisy. His behavior gives that ambiguous vice a bad name. What’s wrong with Eliot Spitzer is not so much that he praised good things and did bad ones. Most of the items he championed in his various moral campaigns were, when you looked behind the rhetoric, of dubious value. Really, he was a power-hungry, regulation-crazed functionary whose chief sin was to harness the power of the state to destroy his enemies and aggrandize himself. Had he been a little more hypocritical he might have been less dangerous."
My apologies if you've tried to link to an individual entry on this blog during the past week and have found that the link leads to a blank page. I have been having publishing problems for the past week and have written Blogger to no avail. Any advice from fellow Blogger users would be appreciated. (I am not ready to switch blog hosts right now, for lack of time to do the necessary setup.)
Arriving in Charleston, South Carolina, Thursday afternoon, I was met by Annette, a buoyant grandmother easily recognizable by her bright blue scarf bearing the image of the patroness of the Catholic diocese: Our Lady of South Carolina, Our Lady of Joyful Hope.
On the way to the first stop of my Carolinas mini-tour, Pauline Books and Media on downtown King Street, Annette, a volunteer for the diocesan Respect Life office, told me that Planned Parenthood is planning an abortion megamill in Charleston along the lines of its mammoth center in Aurora and the one it is currently building in Denver. They are holding Tupperware-style neighborhood parties to raise funds for the mill, she said.
At the shop, receiving a warm welcome from its proprietors, Daughters of St. Paul, I had a relaxed and very happy time signing books for patrons drifting in and out over the next two hours—including Dawn Patrol readers John, aka JCB3, and MileHiMama—and meeting a couple of Steubenville students who had dropped in for the weekly "SpiritualiTEA." (The tea, held in a beautiful prayer garden tucked away behind the shop, usually draws about thirty to forty students, I was told, but the locals were on spring break.)
I also briefly met Father Stanley Smolenski of the Our Lady of Joyful Hope shrine, who happened to be in the shop when I arrived, but unfortunately I didn’t learn about his remarkable life and ministry until after he left. Had I known more about the meaning of the shrine he initiated (about which you can learn from its Web site, including a slide show) and his own work (which includes, I was later told, being the diocesan exorcist), I would have made an effort to engage him in conversation.
Afterwards, the co-sponsor of my Charleston appearances, diocesan Respect Life director Kathy Schmugge, took me to dinner with her and several others, including the other sponsor, Ben Daniel of the Society of Our Lady of Joyful Hope, and the head of the local Legion of Mary Curia, to dinner at local tourist haven Hyman's Seafood, where I was delighted to find fried okra on the menu.
The Southern hospitality continued at my talk at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, where the crowd was wonderfully attentive and bought up all the available copies of my book. Whenever I speak, I feel it was worth it if one member of the audience seems to be particularly touched by my talk. This time, I was abundantly rewarded with two such reactions, one from a man and the other from a woman, in addition to the many others who thanked me and chatted warmly with me at the book table for about 45 minutes after the lecture and Q&A. All in all, it was a beautiful experience; I could not have been made to feel more welcome or more appreciated.
One of the attendees, Ryckie, offered me possibly the greatest unexpected perk I have received since I began giving talks—a guided tour of Charleston. I gladly accepted and rode around the city with her and a friend of hers the next morning, after spending the night at the home of parishioners from the Church of the Holy Communion, the Anglican church which would be hosting my next set of talks over the weekend. It was the real deal—Ryckie had been a licensed city tour guide before retiring a few years back. As a first-time visitor, I loved getting to see some of city's historic buildings (not to mention getting a taste of melt-in-your mouth fresh pralines at a sweetshop.)
Ryckie dropped me off at Holy Communion, an elegant church completed during Reconstruction, before the noontime Stations of the Cross. I had not experienced much Anglican liturgy and was looking forward to learning more about it on this trip, especially since Holy Communion's pastor, Father Dow Sanderson, had briefed me about the congregation's high level of orthodoxy. Although Holy Communion is part of the local Episcopal diocese, it has a level of fidelity to traditional Anglo-Catholic teachings on a level with (and, in at least one case, surpassing) the breakaway parishes in the Washington area where I live. The simplest way to put it is that they claim to accept pretty much everything that Roman Catholicism teaches—with the notable exception of the celibate priesthood (two of Holy Communion's three priests are married)—and their liturgy is similarly faithful. For example, their Mass is essentially an English-language version of the Tridentine rite.
So, the liturgy of the Stations was "the same but different," as the saying goes—giving me a sort of "Looking-glass world" feeling that was to remain with me for the rest of the weekend. Before then, my only experience of the Catholic/Anglican divide had been on the Catholic side—beginning when, as an unchurched Protestant and the only non-Roman on the 2004 American Chesterton Society tour of England, I heard my fellow tourgoers say with noticeable bitterness practically every time our bus passed an old church, "That used to be ours."
Which is to say, although I immensely enjoyed the company of Holy Communion's priests, deacons, and the nearly 100 other parishioners during my weekend as guest speaker of their Lenten Retreat in the North Carolina mountains, I was not prepared for the feeling of being unable to fully participate in their worship. It was not at all the same as the times since my entrance into the Catholic Church when I have attended services at other Protestant churches or even the Falls Church, a breakaway Anglican parish in Virginia. It was like looking over at the Eastern side of the Berlin Wall. I felt the twin pangs of being unable to receive Holy Communion with the parishioners and at the same time empathizing with their tangible sense of separation from what they call the Roman church.
A lot happened during that weekend, too much for me to go into here. In many ways, it was a Lenten experience in the sense of being purgative—which I hasten to add was due to what was going on with me personally, as the parishioners and their clergy went out of their way to make me feel welcome and appreciated.
One experience I can share with you came to me during the Low Mass on Saturday afternoon. I made a Spiritual Communion as the parishioners went up to receive, offering it up for everyone there and in hope of reunion. (When I say I made a Spiritual Communion, I mean that I united my heart with the Eucharist in all the tabernacles of the world, and with the presence of Christ in the church where I was at that moment, as He was very much present in the parishioners' love for Him.)
As I made the Spiritual Communion, feeling that sense of barrenness that I felt on an occasion when, for lack of a state of grace, I was unable to receive at a Catholic Mass, a strange thought occurred to me that is hard to describe.
I know that wherever the Real Presence is, there is Jesus. And I know that Jesus' Presence cannot be divided up; it is not minimized, however small the Host, nor is it any less depending on how many people are present at Mass or how many people comprise the body of the entire Catholic Church.
Yet, in feeling that the Eucharist in the room was lacking—for, the Mass not being celebrated by a Catholic priest, it was not consecrated in such a way that I could receive—I wondered what this lack said for the Holy Communion that I receive at my own parish. Specifically, I had the feeling that the Communion I received in the Church was, in some way, itself lacking—even though I knew on an intellectual level that, Jesus always being Jesus, this could not possibly be so.
The closest I can describe the feeling was that it made me wonder what Communion in my own church would be like if the entire Body of Christ was one. I realized for the first time that it is not only the Anglican Church—and, by extension, the entire body of Protestantism and Eastern Orthodoxy—which is missing something because of the separation. The Catholic Church is missing something too—to put it terribly mildly.
I had a similar feeling later that night after Compline and Benediction. Upon leaving the church, I found myself crying to the parishioners outside, telling them that the experience produced for me the thought that Mary was weeping like Rachel for her separated children.
By that point, my tears had been flowing quite freely for most of the day. They had started after lunch, following my morning talk and Q&A.
The talk had gone very well, along the lines of my Charleston one—and indeed, it was the same talk, Father Sanderson having encouraged me to make all the references to the Catechism and other Catholic writings that I would if I were speaking to my fellow Romans.
I had made the mistake, however, of failing to ask Father Sanderson or another parishioner to pray with me before my lecture—a request I normally make as a rule before each appearance, because the way I make myself so emotionally open puts me in need of spiritual protection. On this day, I was under particular stress, not only because of the Berlin Wall feeling that made the whole weekend so intense, but also because of something I haven't yet revealed to blog readers: I recently learned that I will indeed need a second operation to remove the rest of my thyroid, to be certain that my cancer will not reoccur. I think I was also still recovering from the "Today" show experience, which, although successful (and certainly pleasant, in terms of the way the program's staff treated me), put me through an emotional and spiritual wringer of sorts.
So, even though my talk was very well-received, I stumbled during the Q&A, when a question prompted me to raise an issue about which I am extremely sensitive. In discussing this issue, I shared a story about an action someone I knew had taken that was contrary to Church teachings. The residual resentment that I felt about what this person had done came out as I described it, and I sounded judgmental, not loving at all.
Afterwards, I had a bad feeling that I had marred an otherwise good appearance by venting. The feeling was confirmed when Father Sanderson approached me at the end of lunch and told me in the calmest, most sensitive tones that three attendees of the talk had taken part in an action like the one I had described that had offended me so.
The priest took pains to say that "99.9 percent" of the attendees saw nothing wrong with what I had said, and he even added that my condemnation of the action was theologically correct—a kindness that, while well intended, only made me feel worse, as I remembered to myself Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen's advice: "Win an argument, lose a convert." I felt that, however right I had been, I had approached that particular subject in a self-righteous way when the only proper way to approach it was from a standpoint of mercy and forgiveness.
Walking back to the building where my talk had taken place—and where I was to continue answering questions for another hour—I asked another priest, Father Patrick Allen, if he thought it would be out of line for me to apologize to those assembled. He told me he thought it would be fine. Like Father Sanderson, he was very sensitive to my feelings and did not judge me in any way—which was a good thing, as I was already on the brink of tears.
I finally started crying in the foyer outside the lecture hall, as I shared my feeling of guilt with a youth minister who had befriended me on Facebook during the weeks before my talk. When I cry in front of people, I don't sob—not unless I'm trying to cry and speak at the same time. The tears just start flowing and it seems like they will never stop. I am actually quite the crybaby; that's why I felt St. Maximilian worked a literal miracle for me at the moment of my New York Post firing when, having asked him in advance to keep me from shedding tears in front of the editors, I managed to remain dry-eyed throughout the ordeal.
The youth minister did his best to reassure me, as Father Sanderson had, that my talk had been overall very well received. Again, the kindness only made me feel worse and I just stared at him, mumbling thanks, with my face turned away from the rest of the attendees so that no one else could see the Niagara Falls.
Understandably disturbed by the display, he said to me plaintively, in the sweetest way, "But don't you feel accepted here? Don't you feel that we loved you?"
"Yes," I said, attempting a smile while being even more incapable of stopping the flow. "I do."
Did I mention that I have recently decided I could totally marry an Anglican? If he agreed to raise our kids Catholic, of course. (Anyone from Holy Communion surely would.)
So, I got back up to the podium and, after accepting an unexpected gift from Father Sanderson—a Book of Common Prayer—proceeded to give a mea culpa.
The audience was uniformly supportive—as Father Sanderson and the youth minister had said, they hadn't really noticed that I had said anything wrong. I started to feel better and apologized for crying.
"It's a good thing I didn't wear mascara today," I noted to the parishioners as my tears finally began to let up. "I actually thought of wearing," I added truthfully, "but after riding up with Father Dan, it seemed futile, because I realized I could never have eyelashes as beautiful as his."
At that, the crowd roared. Not knowing Holy Communion's Father Dan Clarke, you will have to trust me that he is a manly man who is known in the parish for being proud of his well-vested appearance in a self-parodying Jack Benny sort of way. A parishioner told me afterward that, when he donned the traditional rose vestments on Laetare Sunday, the line making the rounds, which he found as funny as anyone, was, "Father Dan—pretty in pink."
Many thanks to everyone named above, and to everyone else in the Charleston Diocese and at Holy Communion, all of whom truly did make me feel loved.
With crystal ball in hand, I would also predict that more prominent elected officials with ties to the abortion-rights lobby will be exposed for corruption. This has already happened with Paul Morrison, who, in the wake of scandal, is set to resign his position as Kansas Attorney General, and with New York Governor [Eliot] Spitzer, who is under various investigations for wrongdoing. I believe it will continue because such officials' acceptance of money from abortion-rights groups reflects deep moral failings that cannot help but extend to other areas of their lives and careers.
"For many years I was like most young women and had an immature understanding of marriage and all that it entails. I was (and still am) a romantic and thought that marriage would be a surreal experience where I was madly attached to my husband and would of course be the centre of his universe. Over time I realized that this was an extremely self-centred way of looking at a friendship which would be the cornerstone of marriage. I began to understand that a relationship of this kind needs to take place on different levels.
"Love is a single reality with different dimensions that are needed or emerge at different times. One dimension is necessary to attract a person to another, but this becomes less necessary over time and especially as one matures. This is eros, or the 'madness' that intoxicates, displaces reason and drives a person powerfully toward another. It is the central theme for movie romances and modern sitcoms.
"But for all its thrills, this dimension is not enough. In fact, on its own it becomes an obstacle to the maturing of the relationship. We see this played out all the time. Love is reduced to its caricature, to the amount of gratification that each can take from it. ...
"The other dimension is the reaching out of one person to the other. It is a love that is, indeed, ecstasy -- not a momentary sensual intoxication but an exodus out of oneself, seeking liberation through giving oneself to the other. It is a journey toward authentic self discovery and happiness. This is played out in different ways: the sharing of hopes, dreams, values, desires, sorrows and disappointments, successes and failures, laughter and tears, and of our sexuality by pleasure giving and childbearing.
"I learned through a long process of maturing that I almost always ignored the second dimension when I thought of marriage and assessed a prospective spouse."
The whole "Today" experience of this past week had a "This Is Your Life" quality for me, starting from when I first saw the number "212-664-4444" show up on my cell phone last Wednesday afternoon.
When I was in fourth grade, living in Texas, I went bananas for "Saturday Night Live." For the next few years, until all the members of the original cast dropped out, that show and "Monty Python's Flying Circus" were my obsession. It was a pretty, ahem, mature show for a child to watch, but I was allowed to stay up as late as I wanted and watch whatever I wanted, and what I wanted was to absorb each edition of SNL straight into my brain so I could reenact it to anyone who would listen in the schoolyard the following Monday.
I tried over and over to make actual contact with the SNL stars, especially my idol Dan Aykroyd. Unfortunately, the three-page letter to Aykroyd that I toiled over for hours only got me a plain 8-by-10 photo, with no autograph. I had better luck with Gilda Radner, receiving two autographed postcards, one of which had a nice personal note. But it was Aykroyd I wanted, and I spent more than one night trying to phone him at the NBC studios, never getting through but leaving messages with a page who probably rolled his eyes upon hearing my plaintive 9-year-old voice over the long-distance line.
So, when I saw NBC's number display on my phone, it registered immediately from a place deeply imprinted on my memory from three decades ago. My first thought was, "Why is NBC calling me?"
More memories of this past Monday to follow—for now, must get sleep ...
Weigh in on 'sexless dating' on the 'Today' Web site
I'm elated to learn from the "Today" Web editor that, until later this morning, the show's main page is featuring a raft of "Thrill of the Chaste"-related items, including an opportunity for readers to weigh in on the question: "Is sexless dating a good idea?"
If the page has changed by the time you see it, you can still contribute to the discussion about "sexless dating" via a link within my article on MSNBC.com—scroll down for the "Related TODAY content" link.
Here I am ten hours ago in the "Today" green room after the show's stylists did my hair and makeup. It's been quite a full day, so I'll turn in early and save the stories for tomorrow evening. In the meantime, there is one thing I would like to share about the "Today" experience.
During the commercial break between the segments of my "Today" appearance, one of the hosts, Natalie Morales, leaned over to her co-host, Hoda Kotb, and told her the show's Web site had gotten a big response to the article I wrote in conjunction with my appearance, which went up the night before. She said the readers were happy that the topic of "sexless dating" ("Today"'s term) was being given a forum. Kotb was impressed.
It reminded me of what Father James Keller, founder of the Christophers, wrote in his classic guide to faith-fueled activism, You Can Change the World. Letter-writing is one of the most powerful things that an individual can do to influence people in power, especially those in the news media, who are always curious to learn what is the word on the street.
Only a tiny percentage of people who read an article, watch a TV show, or listen to a radio show take the trouble to write a letter to the show's producers. Those who work for media outlets realize that each letter they receive potentially represents the views of thousands of consumers.
So, if you'd like to see more faith-friendly views on TV shows like "Today," the thing to do is to write the producers—not just to criticize them, but also to compliment them when they do something positive. I think the compliments are especially important, because if the media outlets are producing something worthwhile, your encouragement will embolden them to continue in that direction. More than that, positive mail provides much-needed backup for producers and editors who are taking creative risks.
This is my personal blog, where you'll find whatever's on my mind. If you'd like to read more specifically about my book and speaking engagements, visit thrillofthechaste.com. There is also a feedback form there (click the "Contact" tab) where you can drop me a line.
In addition to my book's Web site, here are a couple of quick links that may be of interest:
A talk I gave last month at an Indiana church — follow the link and click on my name in the upper right-hand corner of the page.
Also, I want to say thanks again to those who have answered my requests for prayers with regard to my "Today" appearance—they are very much appreciated!
12:00 AM |
Saturday, March 1, 2008
UPDATED WITH NEW DETAILS: NBC's 'Today' show gets The Thrill
UPDATE, 3/1/08: The latest is that I'll be a guest on NBC's "Today" show this Monday, March 3, at 10:30 a.m. EST. However, if you want to be certain of catching my segment, I'd recommend watching from 10 a.m. EST on, as there's always the possibility with live TV that guests might be switched around.
I'm told the interviewer will be Hoda Kotb. Beyond that, as I wrote earlier in this space, I don't know how much I'm allowed to reveal, but rest assured the discussion will center upon issues that figure prominently in The Thrill of the Chaste.
Many, many thanks to those of you who have written to me or commented offering prayers. I really appreciate the prayer support.
[From my original post on 2/27/08:]
The opportunity came completely out of the blue. A "Today" producer heard about me from another author's publicist, who recommended me when the producer mentioned one of the topics for which they were seeking an expert.
Needless to say, my family is excited. I called both of my parents today and it was such a joy to share the news. For my part, I am in a glorious state of shock. This is not what an author expects when her book has been out for a year—even when it is in its sixth printing with translations in Spanish and (coming soon) Polish and Chinese.
Thanks so much to those of you who have supported me and prayed for me, especially those who buoyed me with prayers during my recent thyroid operation. Please keep the prayers coming—I need them for Monday morning!
John first contacted me before I made the decision to become Catholic; he wrote to express support for my blog. I wrote back to him with a question or two, and I now count him as one of those who led me to full communion with the Church.
At the shop, receiving a warm welcome from its proprietors, Daughters of St. Paul, I had a relaxed and very happy time signing books for patrons drifting in and out over the next two hours—including Dawn Patrol readers John, aka JCB3, and MileHiMama—and meeting a couple of Steubenville students who had dropped in for the weekly "SpiritualiTEA." (The tea, held in a beautiful prayer garden tucked away behind the shop, usually draws about thirty to forty students, I was told, but the locals were on spring break.)
. Letter-writing is one of the most powerful things that an individual can do to influence people in power, especially those in the news media, who are always curious to learn what is the word on the street. 