"As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame; / [ . . . ] Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: / Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; / Selves -- goes itself; 'myself' it speaks and spells, / Crying 'What I do is me; for that I came'." --Gerard Manley Hopkins

21 May 2020

On St. Alphonsus Rodriguez

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On St. Alphonsus Rodriguez

In honour of
St. Alphonsus Rodriguez
Laybrother of the Society of Jesus

Honour is flashed off exploit, so we say;
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield
Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.

Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.

We crave glory in action, to be seen as victors, crowned with the laurel or the oak and hailed in the streets (or on the Internet).  If we die for a cause, we hope to be immortalized in song and story.  It’s human nature, to want to do brave deeds and to be rewarded for our doing, and we are diligent to reward our heroes.

Gerard Manley Hopkins recognizes this in the first five lines of his sonnet in honor of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez: it’s the warrior’s exploits that we say give off the fire of glory; his “scarred flesh” and “scored shield” should record his deeds as worthy and keep them in memory.  However, he seems to be not completely confident, the phrase “so we say” suggesting that perhaps the assertion is at least open to question:  we say that glory “flames off exploit,” but is this always the case?  Yes, he asserts with confidence, the scars of Christ do indeed bring Him glory, but the scars of the martyrs only “may” do so; it is not a certainty.  

Why his hesitancy to assign this glory to the martyrs? Because there is a kind of battle men engage in that no one sees.  Some martyrs die very public deaths for Christ, their “gashed flesh” a testament to their faith, but “the war within” is unseen and unsung, however intense it may be.  This warrior of the heart carries no tangible sword, wears no steel armor, makes no resounding battle-cry, even  in the “fiercest fray.”  Certainly the world neither sees his scars nor rewards his victories.

But God sees.  The God who created the earth itself with its most immense features – mountains, continents; the God who created the most delicate details of nature – the incremental growth of a tree, the veins of a violet . . . this God sees the inner conflict.  And He cares: He “crowds career with conquest”; He gives victory in these battles, even when they last a lifetime, “years and years” while little else goes on in the world and the warrior merely watches a door which is never challenged.

It was said, Hopkins told his friend Robert Bridges, that Alphonsus Rodriguez was often "bedeviled by evil spirits," but also "much favored by God" with visions of heavenly light.   By all accounts, Alphonsus (1533-1617) had a difficult life.  Recalled from school to take over the family’s thriving textile business in his early 20s, he lost his mother, wife, and daughter in the space of three years, had to sell the business and move into his sister’s home, and then lost his son.  He desired to join the Jesuits but was rejected because of his poor education; at last he was taken in as a lay brother (a lay brother cannot study for the priesthood).  For some 45 years he “watched the door” at the Jesuit college in Majorca, his duties simple and seemingly mundane:  open the door to visitors, take messages, run errands, and distribute alms.

Throughout this time, he was continually beset with inner temptations – the nature of which I have not found described – which drove him to continual prayer.  Perhaps these were temptations to despair and discouragement (look at the losses he endured and his lowly status), perhaps a critical spirit, perhaps far worse.  But they were temptations known only to himself and the few priests in whom he would have confided, as his spiritual director and confessors.

Yet he became a beloved inspiration to the students of the college, who often sought him out for advice and consolation, and who spoke of him with loving admiration throughout their lives; and he became the patron saint of Majorca, where he was known for his love for all – rich, poor, black, white, slave, free.  And those to whom he confessed his temptations chose him to preach sermons to the priests at their meals on feast days because of his good works, done in the faith and prayer that led to his holiness.

He pursued holiness in the midst of temptations by, as he described it, “taking the sweet for the bitter and the bitter for the sweet.”  He would imagine himself before the crucified Lord and consider how much he was loved, how much Christ suffered for him, and that his love for the Lord should lead him to accept his own suffering as a sharing in Christ’s – thus leading the bitterness of suffering to become sweet for Christ’s sake.  At the same time, the world’s sweets – its esteem and pleasures – became bitter in the light of Christ’s love.  This meditation, he wrote, would help his “whole heart [to be] centered solely on God.”  And when the bell rang at the door, he would envision God awaiting entrance and call out, “I’m coming, Lord!” 

Alphonsus’ struggles only became widely known among the Jesuits after his death.  And so Hopkins celebrates, gives honor to, the one whose battle was not seen and honored by the world or even by most of those close to him, and does so in a way to encourage all of us who endure such private struggles.  God, he says, “could crowd career with conquest” – give victories enough to “crowd” one’s entire life – no matter who else sees, gives victories as great as any in literal battles to those who suffer in heart and soul.  Nothing happened while Alphonsus watched the door – no wars, no plagues, no suppressions – just endless errands run and messages delivered . . . but the battle raged and God gave victory throughout the years.

What remarkable encouragement, to be reminded that the world’s honor is not what we need to seek, or our own honor at all.  We should seek the honor of the Lord we serve; after all, the honor we give to Christ and His martyrs is for His sake, not theirs.  But if there are no outward deeds of heroism to be done that may earn outward honor for Him, there are heroic deeds aplenty to accomplish in the depths of our own hearts as we pursue holiness.  And if only our very closest counselors ever know of the struggle, yet God knows and He is pleased with us when we turn to Him in our need and in our gratefulness, so that He may give the victory.

Hope should spring from this realization.  Few of us, in the end, will do great deeds to be memorialized in song; few of us will become well-known martyrs for the faith.  But all of us will battle inner demons: sinful thoughts and desires, discouragement and despair.  While Satan himself may well torment us, even without his harassment there will be plenty to battle.  I find myself so easily leaping to anger, unjustified criticism, guilt true or false, loss of hope.  It is all too easy to give in to these enemies, to dwell on them.

But this is not who I am.  It is who I was, and the patterns reassert themselves when I lose sight of my real identity: a daughter of the King, a servant of the Lord God.  In Him, I am the one who can repent of my sin and seek reconciliation with God and man; I am the one who can offer patient love to one who irritates me; I am the one who sees beauty everywhere, who finds joy in the darkest hours.  I am the one who wakes in the middle of the night with the words “I love you, Father” inexplicably echoing in my mind and heart, and who understands that Christ in me speaks those words – and because I am hidden in Him, cloaked in His love, they are my honest words as well.  

And although too often I am fearfully ensconced in my worldly comfort, I desire to pray with Alphonsus, “Through Your most holy passion and death, I beg of You, Lord, to grant me a most holy life, and a most complete death to all my vices and passions and self-love, and to grant me sight of Your holy faith, hope, and charity."

Certainly, until He returns or I am removed to His presence through death, I will struggle with the sinful and dispiriting patterns of the old man.  But I will struggle:  I will fight the battle and know that victory is already mine – I am made new in Christ who lives in me, and however fiercely the battle rages at times, He is my Champion, and even in this life I may at least begin to see the fruit of refusing to lay down my arms in despair.  No matter what others see or know, I can know that He sees it all, and upholds and strengthens me, and will give me whatever due reward He Himself has earned for me. 

13 January 2020

A Letter to Sir Roger

I wrote to Sir Roger Scruton last September (2018) in order to thank him for Gentle Regrets, his collection of familiar essays.  I present that letter here as a way of telling others to read those essays, and to note his graciousness in the reply he sent.  Since I have not yet made this into a review of the book for others, the specific content of the essays is assumed -- after all, he wrote them!  Still, I think there is enough to suggest, for those who know me at least, why they are worth the reading.  The world is a less rich place today for his loss, and I look forward to reading his work that I have not yet encountered.

Dear Mr. Scruton,

I first encountered your work at The New Atlantis, in the essay "Hiding Behind the Screen," which I regularly assigned to my freshman students for the past several years when I had them write on technology and its ramifications in their lives -- both for its content and as a model for excellence in the craft of writing.  The ones who were capable of reading anything longer than a paragraph were usually moved at least to thoughtfulness, and some, I think, took it to heart.

I have now retired from classroom teaching, in part because I have lost the patience to deal with so many who are indeed hiding behind their screens, from knowledge and wisdom as well as from human contact.  I hope, however, to continue to speak about the value of these out-of-fashion concepts as I have opportunity in new ways.

I have not read as much of your work as I would like, but I wish to especially thank you for Gentle Regrets.  I love the form of the familiar essay, and these moved me in so many ways.  "Roger" vs "Vernon": I have gone by a shortened name all of my professional life, but only because I love my full name and weary of having it continually murdered in spelling and even pronunciation -- your essay made me wonder about deeper motives for this choice and what it says about me and my relationship to both my parents and my writing.  And Sam -- I have had my own Sams, and your wonderfully poignant essay reminded me to appreciate them more fully.  I laughed and cried all through your journey.

The essays on Africa and on your experiences in Europe opened new vistas for this parochial U.S. citizen; I was in Spain for a few weeks in college and otherwise consider it somewhat "broad" of me to have lived in both the Midwest (Kansas, Missouri) and the South (Mississippi and now Tennessee).  And my personal experiences have been, well, family and the academy (graduate degrees and college teaching, the latter mostly in small Christian colleges).  

But I am a lover and teacher of literature, and it is through the honest reflections of writers such as you that I have been able to know more than I happen to live and thus find my horizons widened and my soul, too.

I would never have believed I could love an essay on architecture, but I loved yours and learned so much from it.  Obviously there is a lot of ugliness in the world, and I find it helpful to be able to understand why it is so and what makes up the beauty I love. 

And as a conservative and a Christian, your essays on these remind me of the value of these beliefs in the world as well as in my own life, and show me other angles and perspectives within them to consider; I believe in absolute truths, but must think carefully about the areas of legitimate differences and not take myself as the judge of all, as if I could possibly have all truth about anything in a mere 66 years on this earth.  

In short, this book of essays has challenged me and encouraged me and taught me, and all in a beauty of language I can never hope to achieve (but I can hold it, along with a few other favorites, as a star to reach for).  I thank you for it, and for all the work you have done in writing and in other actions; I thank you for making the world a better place and making at least this reader want to do so as well, however I can.

God bless and keep you.

Dear Professor Impson,

I am so grateful to you for writing in such an appreciative and encouraging way about my work, and especially about Gentle Regrets, which contains things that mean a lot to me. And I very much appreciate your comments concerning ‘Hiding behind the Screen’. A vast and troubling change has occurred, which has cut us off from young people, and cut them off from the past. Just where it will lead I do not know. But it is so good that there are people like you with whom my books communicate. I hope you won't think me impertinent if I draw your attention to a book of stories - Souls in the Twilight - that will be published next month by Beaufort Books in New York. They also publish my novel Notes from Underground, about the old communist Czechoslovakia.
Kindest regards,

Roger Scruton 

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