Thursday, October 29, 2020

Why I Love Blessed Chiara Badano So Much!



I probably have a better rapport with Chiara Luce Badano than any other saint (besides Mary). More and more I feel like she's just kind of "around," and I'm hanging out with her. Of course, I ask her to pray for a lot of things. I don't think I've asked for a miracle; I just pray for many concerns (my own and those of others) where her intercession remains hidden, although I believe that she does intercede and that she is great and deeply inserted within the heart of Jesus.

There are some saints that I listen to, primarily - which is not to say that I "hear voices," but rather that I learn from their teachings and the counsel they gave during their lives. Irenaeus, Augustine, Basel, Gregory Nazianzen, Benedict, and Bernard; Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure; Ignatius, Francis De Sales, Therese, Padre Pio, Edith Stein, Oscar Romero, John Paul II (although I talk to him a lot too). Then there are saints who I ask to pray for me, but the relationship (at least on my end) is a bit "formal," with requests that have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And that's understandable. They lived hundreds of years ago and they have churches and places of pilgrimage named after them all over the world. They are awe-inspiring.

But Chiara Luce is like a kid sister (she is younger than me - she would be 49 years old if she were alive in this world today). Earlier today I called her my "adopted" kid sister, but it was really more like she "adopted" me. In fact, she is awesome in a way that inspires me, all the more because she seems so accessible and also so intent on helping me move forward.

It seems easy to "communicate with" Chiara Luce in prayer from within myself. I sometimes just think of her in certain situations and say, "help me out here," as if she were standing right next to me. Sometimes (like when I'm doing something dumb, or being stubborn or irascible) I can almost see and feel her gaze of concern, full of compassion and patience but also with an unspoken serene firmness that says "you-know-that-eventually-you're-going-to-have-to-admit-that-you're-wrong." 

Chiaretta has a simple heart. (Her friends called her “Chiaretta.” Sometimes I do too, when I ask her for help. But I never met her in this present life - not many people did.) She left no treatises and not many words, although the few we have are precious. I have posted in past years some of the beautiful (astonishing) things she said in the end, in the face of so much pain, before her death from osteosarcoma 30 years ago this month. But lately, I have been moved much by something she often said during her short life: “We have to love everybody.”

That may sound prosaic. But I can't even get through one day living this way, actually loving everybody that I have to deal with all day. It's humbling. But Chiara never gets down on me about it. She helps me to realize and remember that this is how I want to live.

There are many ways she can help us, many things she can pray for. She can pray for our children and our families; for "young people," certainly (that's her special assignment), but also for all the suffering people we know - especially people who have cancer with all of their grueling struggles. She's been through cancer and all it entails, and - again - it was not that long ago. She's also close to shut-ins and people with chronic pain; people whose lives are derailed by illness (young, middle aged or old).

I think she has a special understanding and a special compassion for those (like me) who suffer from mental illness. When she was in the hospital, she gave her time and her companionship to another woman suffering from depression (even though Chiara herself was in great pain and in need of rest). When she was younger, she once told her mother not to speak harshly about the drug addicts. "They are the lepers of our time," she said.

There's another reason why I am moved to open my soul to her. She was known in life to be an exceptionally good listener. She gave time to her friends, listened to their problems and doubts, and took things into her heart. She once said that she didn't speak much to people about Jesus, but just tried to be a living witness and instrument of His love.

Chiara Luce never condemns me. She is never harsh.

Yet I have to be honest: in a certain way the whole witness of her life scares me out of my wits. (And she knows that too.) Her life makes it so clear that this "Jesus" thing is really real; its not a mind game. It means tossing it all up and following Him wherever He leads me. Scared? I don't think I even understand what it means to surrender everything, to become (an instrument of) His Love, letting go of my own ever-conniving self-interest. I feel overwhelmed. I can't even begin to get it inside my head.

In so many ways I'm just so plain old fashioned selfish.

Chiara Luce knows all about the limits of the human self. She knows how hard it is to abandon everything to God. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she struggled, she "wrestled with God" before she could accept it. Then she offered her pain for those who feel abandoned in their suffering. 

She wanted so much to be in solidarity with those who experience the loneliness of this horrible affliction and of all afflictions. She wanted to find Jesus and follow Him there, in the depth of His cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" She was a "regular kid" and she followed Jesus all the way to the end, to the depths of suffering and humiliation. 

Maybe this is why I love her so much. No matter how much I screw up or feel like I'm just a piece of garbage, I know she's there, she understands, she won't push me away. No matter how bad it gets, I can be sure that there's always someone to "go through it" with me. 

Of course, it's God Himself who stays with us, as He revealed in Jesus. The saints help us to encounter that presence of Jesus by their being united with Him and "going through it" with us, to embody that closeness even more. Chiara is eight years younger than me, and she died in 1990! She's from "today." That's why I love photos of her - they bring it home that saints are not from another planet; they're human, like Jesus is human. Chiara helps me realize that I'm not alone. She says, "we'll get through this" - I'm sure it's deeper, but this is what strikes me personally. She certainly has room in her heart for everybody. You should ask her to intercede for you, for whatever you need, but especially for help to bear pain and suffering, and to grow in the love of God.

Ask her to pray for you. And expect miracles. "Little" miracles, lots of those. Of course we hope for at least one more big miracle to complete the canonization process.

Below is an unofficial (i.e. non-liturgical) English translation of the Collect for her particular feast day in her home diocese and, I would think, for people all over the world who participate in the Focolare movement. We can all hope that God's grace will indeed "transform deeply our soul," beginning with an attraction to this light of love, and giving us the desire and the will to live with this serene trust.

Father of infinite goodness,
who through the merits of your Son
and the gift of the Spirit
have set alight with love Blessed Chiara Badano,
transform deeply our soul
so that, following her example,
we too become capable
of always doing Your holy will
with serene trust.
Through Our Lord Jesus Christ your Son,
who lives and reigns with you
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God forever and ever,
Amen.

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

She's Now Fourteen "Going-On-Jojo"

Josefina Janaro turned 14 years old yesterday... which proves (as much as anything I have ever experienced) that time is just...weird. 

Human beings have always measured the passage of time, and today we do it with an almost-insane degree of precision. In one sense, time is unambiguously empirical both for ordinary common sense (morning, afternoon, evening, night - over and over and over) and for refined scientific study, which can count on the overall remarkable consistency of the astronomical movements and various relational positions of the third-rock-from-the-sun and the big fireball itself. Even the irregularities are "regular" and can be incorporated into our measurements with a bit of fine tuning (e.g. "leap day" every four years).

In the world, time is reliably incremental, objective, even boring to the "observer" who measures it. But within the experience of the human person, within relationships, within life and history, time is beguiling, uneven, unpredictable, and seems to defy the quantities we use to measure it. Maybe it has to do with the fact that human beings exist in time and are subject to the passage of time in many respects, but not entirely: intelligence, freedom, personhood, relationships, and the acts, events, experience, and memories that flow from them are "embedded" in empirical time but also "go beyond" its boundaries.

"Stop it, JJ," says the reader. "I came here to see cute pictures of Josefina, not to read your philosophical ramblings!" Fair enough. Here's a collage of cute pictures from various moments during the past 14 years:

Of course, you want to know about these pictures. That will require me to reintroduce the phenomenon of "time" to the conversation, at least in a more colloquial sense (while also remarking on the unique qualities of what might be called "Jojo Time").

First the collage: (1) Top left, Josefina near the end of 2006, while still in the hospital. Look at those big eyes and chubby cheeks! (2) Top middle, John Paul with Jojo, the squirmy worm, Spring 2008. (3) Top right, "Papa" (my Dad) opening Father's Day gifts with "assistance" from his youngest granddaughter, June 2012. (4) Bottom left, Daddy hanging out with Jojo - actually it's Jojo keeping me company and cheering me up - in early 2015. (5) Bottom middle, which is two pictures (with Mommy / with Daddy) from Josefina's first Irish Dance recital, looking lovely in her special dance outfit, May 2019 - just note, I'm around 5'10"-ish (the old spine has shrunk a bit, and I'm leaning slightly, so call it 5'9") and I weigh *cough-cough-cough* pounds, so you can see the proportions; it's clear that Jojo's still small in size (though not small in personality, and never has been!). (6) Bottom right, a beautiful bridesmaid for her sister-in-law at John Paul and Emily Janaro's wedding (John Paul, who had just turned 11 in the "top middle" picture), August 2020.

These pictures correspond to moments of time and events that span 14 years, according to clocks and calendars and the earth's orbit. But they also correspond to a depth of reality beyond all measure, to gifts of life and love that "begin" in time, but are destined to grow to a fulfillment that endures. They pass through some very difficult experiences too - sufferings that I believe have shaped my faith, but that are not easy to think about and that have left me a little traumatized, with some measure of unease about what the future may bring. Still, I know that "God is good, all the time" and I pray to see this more and have greater confidence in Him. Because the Father's love is real, and it constitutes the meaning of my life.

My family is an ongoing, convincing sign of that love - not because they're perfect or they always make me "feel good," or because everything is easy. Oh my, no! (You know I love you all, fam.❤). Rather, it's because in the provocations and struggles (and the many joys too) of life with these people, in my bond with them and my responsibilities toward them, I can only be true to myself and to my vocation by praying to the Lord with all my heart and imploring Him to lead me and sustain me. And even with my own sins, incoherence, and many weaknesses, I see the evidence of His presence and mercy, moment by moment, so that I can continue on this mysterious road of time, step by step, in the company of those entrusted to me (and those to whom I have been entrusted).

The face of each person in our family is precious to me. The littlest of the faces, of course, has had a particular impact, not only because she is "the baby" but also because I have seen an awful lot of her face throughout her childhood. We have spent a lot of "time" together, as her growing up has coincided with the period since my "retirement" from the classroom.

Really, Josefina has always operated according to her own special "timing." In the beginning it took an unexpected, sometimes frightening, exhausting, and very long period of time for her to get started living like a normal baby. We had four kids under the age of 10 when we were expecting Josefina to be born in December 2006.

Instead she came - much to everyone's surprise - on October 26 (some seven weeks premature) with immediate serious health issues due to her undeveloped intestinal tract. I baptized her as soon as she was born, and then she was transported to Fairfax Hospital for emergency surgery, where the neonatologists amazingly connected her intestinal tract, using surgical techniques that were truly marvelous. She was then put into an incubator with a intravenous feeding tube, and given her place in the "NICU" (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). 

We were told that when the operation healed and she began digesting normally, we could bring her home. At first they gave us a daunting estimate of about three weeks, which sounded like a long time. Anyone who has had a baby in NICU knows how stressful even a few days can be. But we had no idea of the marathon that lay ahead of us. Josefina kept having setbacks. The weeks turned into months. In March she needed another emergency surgery. There were some scary moments. There were further setbacks, infections, and breathing complications. My mother-in-law came from California to take care of the house and kids while Eileen drove every day to Fairfax to be with Josefina (I was still working full time teaching at my school). I went to the hospital as often as I could and took videos so that the other children could see their sister. 

She finally came home on May 16, 2007, almost seven months after she was born. At that point she was just over ten pounds. It took a few years for her digestion to become completely reliable, and she grew somewhat slowly (though not in a way that was of any medical concern). When I began this blog she was four years old, and there were plenty of funny stories about her in the early years that you can still read in the archives.

And now she is 14 years old, which is hard to believe. She is still small for her age, with one foot in the "world of kids" and the other foot in the "world of adolescents." But Jojo is growing up at her own pace (in "Jojo time"), and she is doing very well. The only thing we know from the other four kids is that every kid is different. And the world is also becoming a very different place from what it was even a few years ago. We know we need to keep praying, asking God to lead us, and trusting His goodness no matter what. It's very humbling to be a parent.

Time is a strange phenomenon. When you're middle-aged (or "upper-middle-aged"), the years can seem to go by with very little to distinguish them. I think of 2006 as being "pretty recent." But seen from the perspective of my kids, what they have experienced, and how they have grown up, I realize that it was also "a long time ago." Our perspective on time seems to vary (especially in the way we remember it) according to the experiences we have had in a given period of time, or what facets of our experience we reflect upon. But I'm getting philosophical again...

Okay, here are a few more pictures.

Here we have: (1) Jojo in Spring 2008 again - such a shrimp! (2) Jojo wearing "the lamby" costume in the Fall of 2011. (3) Jojo from Easter Sunday 2017. (4) Another view of the bridesmaid of 2020. Dimples are a consistent feature.😉

We love you, Josefina! Happy Birthday! What a precious gift you are to us and to everyone who knows you.

Sunday, October 25, 2020

The Art of Autumn

We have not yet had really good colors this Fall, though I'm sure the best is yet to come. Meanwhile I have taken the opportunity to "anticipate" (and, perhaps, exaggerate) some Autumn brightness with a few works of Digital Art:




Saturday, October 24, 2020

"San Lorenzo" of the Americas

On the sixth anniversary of his death (and - he would probably want me to add - his future feast day😉), I cannot think of a better way to remember the gigantic (in many senses of that term) figure of Lorenzo Albacete than to reproduce here the rambling tribute I wrote on the day of his funeral in 2014.

I'm not saying it was that great of a tribute, but I thought it would be appropriate to follow the lead of the Master and just "shamelessly plagiarize"... and as anyone who tries to write knows, you end up plagiarizing yourself all the time, whether you realize it or not. So rather than spend hours writing something that might not even be as good as this original, I shall take advantage of what I already have and recycle it!

The title above is a spoof he might appreciate, but it's also ironic, probably in ways that haven't occurred to me. But I do know that, on the one hand, Lorenzo jokingly campaigned for his "cause" while still alive. Regarding the much more streamlined process for canonizations in recent years, he quipped, "It's great. The more they lower the standards, the better the chances are for me!" Yes, he was always joking, but his humor was an expression of joy. And it wasn't a cheap joy, but a joy that prevailed in the face of much suffering.

I can't describe it without reducing it to a cliché. The best way to get a sense of Father Albacete now is to watch videos of his many presentations or read his writings (which are being collected, edited, and published). Visit the website dedicated to him for all the links: the Albacete Forum.

Here is my thing, reproduced below. If you can't see it, or it's too tiny to read, just click HERE and it will take you to the original post.






Friday, October 23, 2020

I Unite Myself Wholly to You...

O God, I give thanks to You. 

How amazing is the design of Your wisdom for the human race. You have willed to manifest and glorify the Mystery of who You are by pouring Yourself out and becoming one of us. You dwell among us and give Yourself up entirely for each and all of us. 

You reveal that the Absolute Being is Absolute Love, and You offer that Love to each of us. In your wisdom you shape the hearts of each of us, fashioning us to be Your companions, making us capable of giving and receiving love and then placing Yourself in the midst of us so that we might love You and be loved by You and be transformed into Your likeness.

O Jesus help me.
All I can do is offer everything to You.
You have created me for Yourself.
My heart desires You,
and yet how often do I even think of what I do?
I am resolved to do the best I can.
I am resolved to seek Your will and to do Your will,
because Your will is Love,
and it will always be what will enlarge my soul,
and make me truly free,
because I am made for Love.

I have been entrusted to Your Love,
ever since the day when You claimed me as Your own;
in spoken word and water and the Spirit,
I was born anew,
a child of the Father, 
inserted into the history of Love's ultimate gift,
anointed as a witness to hope.

I encounter You in worship,
in the precious faces of my brothers and sisters
who walk with me on this journey toward You,
in the welcoming words of Your forgiveness,
and especially in the Bread of Life given each day,
You, body and blood, salvation, become our food.

Jesus, I need You.
Come and nourish me, be my sustenance.
I embrace You and I unite myself wholly to You,
with my small love and all my incoherence, 
my wounds, my fears, my hesitations, my need for healing,
but also with all my confidence in Your presence and Your Love.

Never permit me to be separated from You.

I abandon myself completely to You,
and to Your plan for my life.
I know there is weakness and resistance in me
that I do not know how to overcome.
I know there are ways I must grow that I do not understand.
I know that my life is a mystery 
hidden in Your wisdom and goodness.

O Jesus, I offer everything to You.
Convert me.
Change me.
Open my heart to the Love You give me in this moment.
Carry my soul.
Give me, in Your Infinite Mercy, the willing heart
that loves You in the way You long for me to love You.
I am hindered from the freedom for which I have been made,
the freedom to live as the image and grow as the likeness of God.
And so I abandon myself entirely to Your Mercy.
For You have loved me first,
so that - by the power of Your Love - I might love You
and receive You in giving myself to 
You.

Jesus, I trust in You.

Thursday, October 22, 2020

Saint John Paul II Rescued Us When We Were Drowning

I belong to the generation that spanned the entire pontificate of the man we now know as Saint John Paul II. Even now, I speak about "Pope Benedict" and "Pope Francis," but when I say the Pope I mean John Paul II.

In fact, for our generation he was always more than "just a Pope." Through him, Jesus grabbed hold of our minds and hearts. We went from being confused and weak to being renewed with an intense and vital faith. John Paul II evangelized and catechized us. He showed us the face of Jesus.

It was a face we desperately needed to see.

Growing up in the 1970s was very difficult, and few of us came through unscathed. We were the children of the 60s, of all the upheaval and reevaluation that opened up in those times as the last rotting support beams of what had once been the edifice of the "modern world" gave way in dramatic fashion.

And when those last walls fell we found ourselves surrounded by fascinating and terrifying instruments for exercising power over the material world -- power to communicate and learn, to build and heal in remarkable ways, power to move from one place to another, power to manipulate our own bodies, power to shape our imaginations and those of others and to foster great illusions, power to expand our horizons and also to widen vastly the scope of self-indulgence and self-deception, power that opened up whole new categories of subtle psychological and emotional manipulation and violence, power for greater empathy and solidarity with others and also to destroy ourselves, one another, and our environment. All of this power was within the reach of our emerging personalities and freedom... a freedom that shivered in the winds of this strange new world, seemingly boundless but with no sense of direction, no idea which way to move or where to go.

So we experimented. We played with these powers like toys. We found good things and had beautiful experiences. We also did violence to ourselves and to one another; even as we worried about unspeakable weapons of mass destruction, we committed innumerable atrocities on a smaller scale, leaving a wreckage of interpersonal relationships that so many of us are still not ready to face.

Catholic Christians in the developed world in the 70s faced the same disorientation as the wider culture. The Church in the time of Saint Paul VI was heroic, but she was enduring a kind of martyrdom. Hers was a mysterious and hidden witness (for those of us who lacked the faith to perceive it at the time). It was a seed plunging deep into the earth, destined to bear tremendous fruit, but at that time far below the horizon of those of us who were thrown into the wild, primal seas of the new culture of power. We were desperate for a way to survive.

The amazing new world of possibilities and urges and speed and images was like a great flood. We couldn't direct it. We hardly knew what to do as it engulfed us. We had become lightheaded and out of focus, choking beneath the waves, dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

I can't adequately express what John Paul II did not only for me but for our entire generation.

People have to understand: we were drowning, DROWNING, and he rescued us.

He showed us that we were human beings, and that following Jesus was the way to find our true selves. He held up to our gaze the image of Christ, the greatness of Christ. He convinced us that Christ could give meaning to our lives, that Christ was stronger than all the forces raging around us and within us.

With Christ, we could find the way to live in the midst of the flood, and even to walk on the water.

The Lord used Saint John Paul II to rescue us from a deluge that was carrying away our sense of identity, our human dignity, our confidence in God. He showed us anew the face of Jesus, and proclaimed that Jesus was more than adequate to the upheaval of the times. John Paul II convinced us - by the depth of his teaching and by the witness of his own transformed humanity - that we didn't need to be afraid. That is why my generation loves him so much, and why we will never forget him.

Wednesday, October 21, 2020

若望 強 看守者 "The Rectification of Names" (sort of...?)

.
"The Rectification of Names" (sort of...?)

若望 (John, my proper name in Chinese)

å¼·  (the term "Qiang" means "strong," sounds like "John")

看守者 (the term "Kanshouzhe" means "watchman" - ["Janaro" = "door guard"] )

My Chinese name is "Watchman Strong" (with surname first), but it sounds better to take the shorter term for a surname, result in this name: 

å¼·  çœ‹å®ˆè€… (Qiang Kanshouzhe)

Add my Christian name at the beginning and I am "John Qiang Kanshouzhe," è‹¥æœ› å¼· 看守者 ... I don't know if any of this is correct!

若望 強 看守者 "John Qiang Kanshouzhe" (pronounced "Chong Kan-show-je," or something like that?)

----------------------------------------

So what is the point of all of this linguistic speculation? Not much. One way to begin to understand a language (not just to "translate" but try to perceive its inner genius) is to "play around with it." In relation to the Chinese language, I have the aptitude of a baby. Indeed, I'm a baby who is curious and reckless and who has some very powerful toys.

In the global village, many of us are "babies" in more ways than we know. We are playing around with world, and it would be helpful if there were more "adults" here to guide us and keep us out of trouble. As I've noted before, the "global village" is not a quaint metaphor. It's a kind of paradox with its "enormous proximity." It's a dangerous place, where we must be very careful before we pick quarrels.

This year we have learned that it doesn't take much to paralyze the village. I hope we don't need to be reminded that it would be very easy to burn the whole thing down.

But... getting back to Chinese...

I am aware of the irony of playing around with one of history's oldest languages. But the Internet serves up characters, pronunciation, even images of calligraphy (that's my "name" in Chinese script at the top). I have titled this post (ironically) with an invocation of one of the basic concerns of Confucius: the need to call things by their right names.

In a global multimedia "conversation," this is a great challenge. Imagery is more than ever a "language" of its own: easily manipulated, but also possessed of the capacity to cut through elaborate and entrenched rationalizations and recall human beings to basic truths, and perhaps even present new things.

We must learn to use the language of multimedia wisely. Perhaps the Chinese have something to teach us, with their highly refined pictographic literature. Here, I have tossed around word-characters fed to me by AI translation technology. I was told that å¼· means "strong" but I was not told why. Written Chinese is not a language of abstract signs, rules, and grammatical constructions. It is a language of illustrations, that conveys levels of meaning, metaphors, and beauty in a different way.

The illustrations are stylized from centuries of use, but mastering the styles permits one not only to understand but also "to see" basic images associated with the concepts, drawn (at least remotely) from the experience of reality.

As we become less literate in the West (and we are becoming poorer readers and writers, even as we are surrounded by phonetic words), we also are adopting elements of (a still very primitive) pictoral writing. The emoji (😉) is a very long way from the rich, evocative Chinese pictogram. Am I correct in thinking that there is a connection nonetheless?

I don't yet "see" the pictoral construction in å¼· (is it an "arm" combined with a "person"?) but I wonder if "💪👤" could develop toward something like this in the future.

An interestic point: verbally diverse Asian languages can be written down using the same pictography. Though they have often developed their own variations, rooted in the Chinese styles.

Now that I have done my usual bit of overthinking, I want to remember again that all this was done "for fun," and it has that value if nothing else. If it all turns out to be foolish, it was only some foolish fun. It ain't nuthin like language theory, ok?😉

-----------------------------------------

Other variations:

ジョン (John, Japanese)

요한  (John, Korean)

-----------------------------------------

Evidence for my "research":

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Thirty Years Ago: From Bitterness to Joy

I have been looking back at the (handwritten) journal I was keeping 30 years ago. 

It was sort of a "proto-Blog," even though I couldn't have imagined in those days anything like what we can do now with blogs. It was my "writing workshop," I suppose, but I knew that no one else was reading it. Well... at least not yet! Given that I was planning on (dreaming about) becoming a Great Man "in the future" - this was half my lifetime ago - I probably had at least a subconscious expection that this journal would be of interest "to posterity." 

And it seems that my pompous subconscious was right, in a way: "posterity" is interested, and is reading the never-really-meant-to-be-private journals. Here I am, my posterior self, thirty years later (and "here you are," if you're reading this now). Anyway, here is a page that represents what I'm finding in the old journal, at the end of the month of October in the year One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety (yes, that's 1990):


Hmmm. It seems that  Autumn always comes "late" to the DC-Maryland-Virginia area (I lived in Arlington, Virginia in those days). 

Edith Stein quotations have lost none of their vividness.

Television was "raising the kids" in 1990. The Box was indeed at its height. Cable was booming with new networks, and everyone had VCRs and at least one membership card to a video rental store. Of course, by 1990 we also had personal computers in our homes. They were planted on desks, and looked like bulky microwave ovens. They were useful for documents and data, but they weren't much fun. In those days, the television and the computer occupied two entirely separate worlds, and there was no reason to imagine that that would ever change. As for phones... well, they were your house, securely plugged into the wall.

TV was king. In a few months, Americans would get to watch their first "live war." Thanks to CNN, the bombing of Baghdad was brought into our living rooms like a football game. They even designed a eye-catching logo for "the Gulf War." TV was shaping all of us. It was defining the stories with its images. Upstart cable stations and poor quality homemade video tapes hinted at the possibility of "new media," but not much....

What about John Janaro in 1990? I was doing well in graduate school. "But I am not happy. I am not content. I am not satisfied." I was 27 and I thought that "all things [were] bitter on the tongue."

For all that has happened in the past thirty years — even with the ironic realization that the brilliant and promising future that stretched before me in 1990 ended up being the academic-and-human-trainwreck that 
happened to me (and that continues) in 2020 — still, I would not describe my life today as "bitter on the tongue." No. Not at all!

It is a great life. 

Things are not bitter. Arduous and difficult, yes. But not bitter. It is a great thing to be alive, and to have hope for each day. At the root of me, beneath whatever complaints, frustrations, problems and pains, there is gratitude. 

It is not some facile emotion. It is a stubborn disposition, and it's not something I feel like I can "take credit for" (if anything, it has grown in spite of my all my fears and impatience and petulance). I am grateful for this gratitude, this joy. I could make a long list of what I'm grateful for, but it would only scratch the surface of something about my life that I don't really understand (and that I can't take for granted, but must recall myself to it as best as I can, I must live it, I want to live it). 

I think it has to do with a deeper awareness of "belonging" to the ultimate Mystery, and a stronger conviction that this Mystery is a Someone who loves me. I can rediscover gratitude and joy, rediscover my true self, when I remember that I have a loving Father, and that I am his child, and that the long journey of this life is leading me home.

Perhaps in some ways I've grown younger with the passing of years.

Monday, October 19, 2020

In Memory of a Friend

In Memory of a Friend

"He didn't seem like he was depressed and was always smiling. This is shocking" (Anon).


A bright autumn day
colors
crisp
sunlight flashing on the windows.
A clear day, blue with painted hues of leaf.

I stood strong and tall
in the breezy wind
and felt life once again
like great power
from my head flowing down through me.

With large strides
I passed over the fields
drinking fountains of expansive air.

And with the red sun playing on my head,
I burst through the door
but her face was bloodless white.
I stopped, and suddenly
the October air froze on my skin.

She searched my face
with a gaze of shiny wet cheeks
and spoke your name,
and this single word
had a weight
that said everything.

Sparks of fire enkindled my bones,
spreading all over and through me,
with warm rivers flowing out from my eyes.

And the sun flickered in the shadows.

              --in memoriam, jp, +october 17, 2005

Saturday, October 17, 2020

The Strange New Joy of Ignatius of Antioch

We have all heard about the early Christians who were persecuted by being "thrown to the lions" during the games in Imperial Rome. It may seem like a cliché to us so many centuries later. 

The second century texts of Saint Ignatius of Antioch, however, speak about this tortuous and humiliating death with strange eloquence, long before anyone in the world had imagined that such a terrible fate could be embraced with heroism, much less longed-for as the crown of life. Yet as his condemnation drew closer, Ignatius wrote letters to the churches in Asia Minor and to Rome where he was destined to meet his earthly end. Before the year 110, he wrote about this "new thing" called martyrdom in astonishing terms. 

What gave a human being the audacity to say that when he was killed and shamed by those who hated him - when his body was torn apart by lions - "then, I shall become a man"...?

Something new had happened in the world: Jesus Christ had died on the cross, and was risen.

Death had been overcome. And in these days so soon after the era of the New Testament, Ignatius was vividly aware that this victory over death revealed the meaning of life. We have been made in God's image and destined to his glory through Jesus, the Father's Son, who took flesh in the womb of a virgin and made his dwelling with us. 

Ignatius bore witness to these very specific events as the central events of history, "mysteries...wrought in the stillness of God": Mary's virginity, Jesus's birth, his saving death... actual events that happened to a real man only very recently, and known only to a few people on the face of the earth. Ignatius bore witness in his final days, as a man condemned to death, that all of it happened, that it was all true, that it changed everything.

Thus, he could exhort Christians then and now to rejoice in God and share this new life with all the world: "You all are fellow travelers, God-bearers and temple-bearers, Christ-bearers and bearers of holiness, with the commandments of Jesus Christ for festal attire... But pray unceasingly also for the rest of men, for they offer ground for hoping that they may be converted and win their way to God. Give them an opportunity therefore, at least by your conduct, of becoming your disciples. Meet their angry outbursts with your own gentleness, their boastfulness with your humility, their revilings with your prayers, their error with your constancy in the faith, their harshness with your meekness; and beware of trying to match their example. Let us prove ourselves their brothers through courtesy" (to Ephesians, chs 9, 10).

This love - bearing witness to the redeeming love of Jesus on the cross - changes life and changes death. The ardent metaphors of Ignatius of Antioch in the face of martyrdom express this love:

"Allow me to be eaten by the beasts, which are my way of reaching to God. I am God’s wheat, and I am to be ground by the teeth of wild beasts, so that I may become the pure bread of Christ" (to Romans).

The same spirit, the same willingness, the same love endures today. For two thousand years, people have given their lives: people from all over the earth, from every historical period, from the multitude of nations, the most diverse ethnic groups and cultures, men and women, young and old, from every occupation, every social class. They have given their lives, totally, willingly, passionately, with immense love, not for an ideology or a worldview or an emotional sentiment, but for a man ... 

Jesus Christ.

There is nothing in all of history that compares to this testimony of so many, through the ages - all the devotion and human vitality of witnesses who gave freely and are still remembered and celebrated to this day - all for the love of this man, Jesus Christ.

This man, our brother, is God-with-us.

So we have reason to rejoice, to share that joy, and to love everyone in the hope that they too will find this joy, that they will find God who loves them, for whom they have been made.

Friday, October 16, 2020

Reality is an Event That Proceeds From An OTHER

Some texts from Msgr Giussani in our recent reading:

"Recognizing reality as deriving from the mystery should be familiar to reason, because precisely in recognizing what is real, just as it is, as God wanted it to be, rather than reduced, flattened out, without depth, we find a correspondence with the needs of our heart, and our innate capacity for reason and affectivity is fully realized. 

"For reason, owing to its own very original dynamic, cannot fulfill itself unless it recognizes that reality is rooted in mystery. Human reason reaches its apex, and so is truly reason, when it recognizes things for what they are, and things as they proceed from an Other."

In fact, this proceeding-from-an-Other means that everything that exists is constituted as an event. "The dynamic of event describes every instant of life: the flower in the field ‘which the Father clothes better than Solomon’ is an event; the ‘bird that falls’ and the heavenly Father knows it, ‘is an event;’ ‘the hairs on your head are numbered’ - they are an event. 

"Even heaven and earth, which have existed for a million centuries, are an event: an event that still occurs as something new, since their explanation is inexhaustible. To glimpse something greater in the relationship with everything means that the relationship itself is event.”

~Luigi Giussani

Thursday, October 15, 2020

Teresa of Avila: "Fulfill God's Will in Us"

"We can only learn to know ourselves and do what we can: namely, surrender our will and fulfill God's will in us" (Saint Teresa of Avila).

Here is today's "Collect Prayer" for Teresa's feast day:



Wednesday, October 14, 2020

War and Peace and Japanese Cartoons Everywhere

For many decades now, it seems that Japanese cartoons and animated series are everywhere. This is, in part, attributable to their creative and vivid storytelling, innovative design, hard work, and clever marketing.

But there's more to it than that.

Anime treats in certain ways some of the concerns of my "East Asian Studies Project" (that I described in a previous post, HERE). It emerges against the backdrop of the pervasively influential (and in some ways traumatic) "invasion" of East Asia by Western ideas, influences, and power over the past century and a half. 

In the throes of its own cultural crisis and change, the West flooded this region of ancient interconnected (yet often mutually hostile) societies and cultures with a spectacular mashup of the whole Western heritage: the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

Japan was affected in a very particular way by what I have called the "East-West collision" of the 19th and 20th centuries. Therefore, it's useful to view the Anime phenomenon in the larger context of the historical conditions from which it arose. 

Here I would like to put forth a few observations that are necessarily incomplete and by no means exhaustive (e.g. there is the whole specific story of the development of animation in general, and the way pioneering animators on both sides of the Pacific Ocean mutually influenced one another). I limit myself to the broader sociological view, which is a difficult endeavor when trying to assess the long (and ongoing) Japanese experience of the West in all of its peculiar complexity. Indeed, it is peculiar and complex in ways Westerners never think of.

The crucial point here, obviously, is that for Japan, the "East-West collision" included a war that was unprecedented in its magnitude and destruction.

We now are beginning to have enough "historical distance" from the most intense moments of Japan's 140 year modern relationship with the West to risk moving beyond the partisan narratives of the brutal conflict in the Asian-Pacific "theater" of World War II. Indeed, it is time to sketch a larger perspective that is more fully objective about the multifaceted events that took place in the war. This is not to challenge the established (and undeniable) consensus that the Japanese government and military waged an intolerable and criminally aggressive war of conquest in Asia and the Pacific. Defense against Japanese aggression was in principle necessary and just, and considerable effort went into meeting many of the demands of justice in practice. 

Japan's invasion of China, the brutal attacks by Japanese soldiers against Chinese civilians, and the (at least ferociously disproportionate) preemptive strikes and/or offensive territorial seizures of places under USA or British governance (notwithstanding Japan's stated motives of combatting Western imperialism) all point to the extremely violent and dangerous elements of Japanese militarism in this period. Whether these violent tendencies remain latent in Japan's national identity, manifest themselves in other ways, or might reemerge in revived forms is difficult to predict. Japan's current system of government with its political process has overall responsibility in this area, and - having demonstrated cooperation and good faith for over seven decades - it deserves the corresponding degree of trust from regional and international partners in addressing the violence in its own heritage.

But how did this conflict emerge in the first place? 

After the West's forcing open of Asian markets in the mid-19th century (which launched a cultural revolution in Asia beyond anyone's expectations), Japan's apparently wholesale adoption of Western social forms gave the impression that it had entered "the modern world" (a term still filled with "enchantment" in the West and regarded as an unqualified good). As already noted, however, the West rushed into enagement with East Asia on many levels at this time, thanks in large part to the advances in shipping technology (not least of which was the steam engine) that made unprecedented global interaction possible. The result was that the very different sets of cultural forms of the Western world and East Asia crashed into one another in an experience fraught with mutual misunderstandings, with the West bringing to bear the pressure of its superior material power to impose its structures and patterns in the East. What furthered the traumatic charactor of this imposition was that the West itself was in the midst of a crisis regarding the meaning of its own structures. What was exported to Asian peoples at this time was therefore very much a "mixed bag" of good and bad tendencies of material progress, and conflicting ideas about their significance.

Japanese culture, however, used its genius for adaptability to rapidly integrate the whole Western "package" (and all its good, bad, and ugly aspects) into Japan's own native idealistic renaissance and reinvigorated martial spirit. The result was an admirably dynamic but also inherently unstable and even volatile emerging culture. Not suprisingly, extremists with sweeping visions of grandeur rose to positions of leadership. The drums of war - amplified now by microphones and dispersed everywhere by radio - began to beat.

By the middle of the 20th century, Japanese militarism was using its own "Westernized forces" to pursue a nationalist and regionally imperialist agenda. Ultimately, Japan became first the perpetrator of the horrors of technologically advanced "total warfare" on its neighbors, and then the catastrophic victim of the West's newer, savage, unprecedentedly brutal war technology that brought the Japanese people to a condition of devastation and utter humiliation. Japan has since been excluded from direct participation in the (ongoing) war culture, but it has regenerated on an even larger scale its industrial and financial "success" using Western ideas, and has become an innovator (along the lines of Western development) in engineering, electronics, and digital technology. Today, Japan is "more like us" than ever... or so it appears.

So, is the Japanese identity crisis a "thing of the past"? Has it moved on from wartime defeat and destruction, and decided to embrace "the Western road"? I don't really know the answer to that question. Japan today is hard to fathom. It has possibilities and problems similar to those in the West, but it faces distinctive challenges as well. Anime is an interesting medium for a mature observer to see these various tensions "played out" in diverse ways in a vast imaginative space.

Meanwhile, the real Japan remains enigmatic beneath its Western dress. It is a secular, materialistic, work-obsessed, often-lonely place. Economic assessments of material properity and productivity do not necessarily reflect these cultural factors (at least, not yet). In particular, the Japanese family has become fragmented and the newest generations are shrinking alarmingly under the looming shadow of demographic winter (caused, in part, by yet another, more recent Western imposition: an ideology-of-sterility implemented by a relentless technological invasion of the human ecosystem).

Yet the Japanese have not forgotten their history, their ideals, or their great sense of integrity, and they long for the lost solidarity of their families (which still exercises a defining, even though increasingly impotent, influence on their view of themselves and their own success). 

Also, the Japanese people - who during the war were largely victims of isolation from information, relentless propaganda, and a distorted, manipulated sense of "patriotic duty" - have since tried to embrace non-violence (an approach that also has roots in their tradition). They profess it sincerely, but inwardly there is much complexity and obscurity in their struggle to make this ideal their own. The Japanese are wrestling with what it means for human beings to use physical force against others, in what manner (and when) it may be appropriate or necessary, and what dispositions are required to keep force with the limits of respect for the other person. I think basic intuitions of morality (which we find at the foundations of "natural law" ethics) are being brought into consideration in a manner that has a certain freshness to it, like firm ground rediscovered in the midst of an ongoing overall disintegration. We see examples of Japanese culture today working through these questions and difficulties in original ways, including in the development of new schools of karate and other martial arts. 

Anime is also a forum where imaginary realms visualize these questions, the perplexity involved in them, and the consequences of transgressing the limits of force and indulging in violence. The context of this struggle for understanding and coherence is a story intended to "entertain" but that also moves within a spectrum of "attitudes" ranging from high idealism to deep cynicism. These cartoons (intended for adults) are most interesting when they are neither ideologically didactic nor morbidly aimed at providing vicarious indulgence of the urge for violence as revenge or self-destruction; they are most interesting when they present complex characters in empathy-engaging circumstances that are resolved imperfectly. Thus, imaginary universes with monsters and mythical creatures can simultaneously "entertain" by taking the viewers to a different world, amaze them with rich and original artwork, and mirror something of the viewers' own struggle with issues of the ambivalence and the problematic nature of "using force" in the context of some kind of ideal of non-violence. Anime also can reveal a society still seeking (often in repressed ways) the meaning of its own enduring pain.

This is not surprising, because in Japan the wounds of their last war remain open. The necessary repentance for their own crimes against their Asian neighbors (especially China) is mired in difficulties - not only because of their own pride but also because of China's tumultuous post-war history. 

Moreover, deep down they have not forgotten the (arguably disproportionate) punishment imposed upon them for their own arrogant imperial ambitions, or the massive direct attacks against their civilian population by incendiary bombing, and of course the unprecedented, horrifying liquidation of two cities by nuclear weapons whose damaging after-effects are still unknown. 

All of this was "justified" (according to a coalition led by Western powers) by the need to defeat Japan's extremist militant aggression. But the Allied Powers sought not just any ordinary victory. They were determined to coerce an unconditional surrender not only of Japan's armed forces but of the governance of the whole nation. The Japanese ultimately put their entire country into the hands of a coalition of "United Nations" that included one nation (the Soviet Union) whose leadership had perpetrated far more "crimes against humanity" (including genocide) than were ever dreamed of even by the most monstrous, deluded Japanese practitioners of neo-bushido ideology and its barbarous war crimes in the region.

Imperialist Japan had many foolish dreams regarding the domination of East Asia, and aims that its armies and navy pursued recklessly, without regard for human dignity or human life. But it had at least one instinct rooted in reality, and that was its fear of communist aggression from the north with the intention of establishing Stalinist hegemony in the region. Notwithstanding the arrogance of the Japanese imperialists themselves, this instinctive fear turned out to be eerily "prophetic."

Nevertheless, the Soviet Union played no role in the occupation of post-war Japan itself, in spite of Stalin's gigantic eleventh hour entry into the Pacific War with the Soviet invasion of Manchuria at 12:01 AM on August 9, 1945. The one-and-a-half-million men of the (Soviet) Red Army who poured into China and Korea would, nevertheless, have a decisive impact on the future of those countries. Japan was entrusted entirely to the USA, and was treated with an undeniable generosity and subsequently protected during the Cold War era. 

Over the past 75 years this has appeared to be unalloyed "win-win" situation for both countries, but beneath the surface it remains a complex, ambivalent experience that Japan still wrestles with. Its effects on Japan's sense of pride, honor, national identity, and capacity for an integrally human development are difficult to measure. There has been much good, and yet - as indicated above - all is not well, and scars and malformations abound that hinder in some respects the human and spiritual energies of the people.

It is important to understand all the factors of a wounded perspective that still festers in Japanese society, and to remember that ancient peoples hand down their resentments from generation to generation. Still, this is only one aspect among many conflicting memories evoked by the whole national effort of Westernization, including the rapid influx of often partial and distorted Western ideas. Underlying everything, there remains the serious search for identity that the Japanese people cannot escape, as they are confronted with basic questions underlying all the particular details of their gigantic ancient post-modern dysfunctional Japanese society -- questions about what it means to be human. 

All these considerations are applicable to a lot more things than Anime, but they're part of what these cartoon stories are involved with: pieces of a shattered cosmos of mythology and ancient customs of honor and propriety combined with Western science, the shattered fragments of Western humanism (and the sometimes-distorted shadows of the Christianity that once informed that humanism), and the peculiar historic experience of a complex combination of Western technological violence and Western magnanimity. It's all in the mix, along with the existential drama of living with freedom and aspirations and responsibility for the good that every human being goes through, AND (in Japan the still mostly hidden and mysterious) provocations of the grace of redemption and transfiguration.

In any case, we can't ignore the universe of Anime, and the diverse themes it deals with: from nihilism to the search for deeper identity and moral conviction. It shows us much in particular about the last several generations in East Asia (especially in Japan, where there has been 75 years of often perplexed but persistent soul searching) as they struggle to "re-create" and clarify their identity in the midst of a globalized world order of Western-influenced post-World-War-II technological-power-defined societies. 

We also need to look at why Anime has had such a universal impact on youth culture everywhere as well as the ambivalence of that impact - which sometimes appeals to aimless or bizarre violence and domination, bleak despair, superstitions or vacuous fantasies, but in other instances has some positive elements that revive perennial mythic expressions of good-versus-evil and the drama of human freedom struggling for the good.

In a world of flattened, exhausted imagination dominated by the milieu of materialistic consumption and the absence of the search for meaning and transcendence, the Japanese animated story may be one of the protagonists leading the way (for better or for worse) in the direction of a renewed human fascination with myth and symbolism.

To be continued...