On the Concrete

19 06 2008

Two Reflections on One Anecdote

Pt. I – An attempt at theology

I have done my share of Bishop Williamson-bashing on my blog, but as of yet I have not revealed to you, the reader, my only real one-on-one correspondence with the good schismatic prelate. I was twenty, and looking to drop out of Berkeley to enter a seminary of the Society of St. Pius X. I had written my harrowing story of conversion to then district superior Father Peter Scott, and he had given me the green light to give up all that I had for Jesus and the Church. He had even written me a rather touching letter saying that my past would not negatively effect my future as an SSPX priest, and that I would be welcome into one of their seminaries after a period of discernment, which ended up lasting about a year.
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On the Cult of the Saints

19 06 2008

(As in summer television, I am posting essays that I have written before again because I think they make some good points. Here is one I wrote over a year ago now on the cult of the saints. It was originally posted here.)

Giotto

The postured myths of Byzantines? Ho-hum.
Leave to Cimabue the manner and the gaze
of saints whose sandals never bore their weight,
their very gowns stunned in beatitude-
but if two men kiss at Gethsemane
there should be torchlight and the crush of mobs,
a keen blade raised to glance the soldier’s ear.
Let there be lutes and fiddles to attend
the virgin’s marriage; or, say, at the gate
where Anna and Joachim may sometime meet,
the common stir of the gossip of girls.
Saints in their figured scenes shall stand before
the fur of sheperd’s boots, the dogs and sheep,
and there shall be much fidgeting of gowns
amid old hosannas, the actual heft
and weight of angel wings to brush the ground.

-Morri Creech, “Some Notes on Grace and Gravity”, from the collection, Field Knowledge

 When I was a teenager, I used to collect saints cards like most collected baseball cards. (Though there was a phase of my life in which I collected baseball cards too.) I used to tape them up all over a wall in my room. Think of it as a flat Old Believer iconostasis. Saints’ cards were so cool, and the faces on them extended back millennia, from the Old Testament saints (who could not like St. Raphael?) to Mother Cabrini. Maybe I didn’t pray the prayers on the back of the cards as often as I should have, but these were my heroes and I had them pinned up on my wall like others would pin up pictures of pop music stars or sports heroes. At one time, I must have had fifty or sixty up there.
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