This is so cool . . .
That I just had to post it right away.
Andy Serkis is Screwtape! Not on film, unfortunately, but on the radio. It’s due in October.
You can go to YouTube and find the embed code. So spread the word!
Archive for Christian Writers
May They Rest in Peace
It’s been over a month since I last posted here and a great deal has happened. I spent November 15-22 at the SFO General Chapter in Hungary as an observer and documentary filmmaker . . . and attended the closing celebrations for the centenary of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. It was the experience of a lifetime. More about all that later.
I was delayed for an extra night in Paris, because of the airline being unable to find my reservation. As soon as I got home on November 23, I had a call from my mom telling me my Uncle Joe had died.
It wasn’t really unexpected, because he had been ill for some time. But it was a hard blow all the same. He had served in the Air Force like my dad and had been a resident for the past few years at the Iowa Veteran’s home. He continued to attend our family holiday gatherings and was faithful in attending Mass at our parish church until he became too ill to go out. He was one of the most warm-hearted men I knew and a devoted father to his children and stepchildren. I was also named after him; my full name is Lori Josephine. He was the one member of our family who could never remember how old he was. But we can. He died at the age of 79.
I went home immediately for the funeral, and to be with my family for an extended Thanksgiving vacation. Joe’s funeral Mass was at St. Mary’s Church. He got full military honors and the blowing of Taps when he was buried at the Veterans’ Home on November 26.
I was actually delayed another whole day in getting back to New York because of bad weather, finally arriving on December 2, and had to immediately set about making up all my lost work time. That was 10 days ago.
Today as I was finally sitting down to work on my blog, I got some more sad news: sad news for the whole Fordham University staff, students and alumni: Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J., longtime professor at the university and a brilliant and renowned theologian, died today in the Fordham infirmary at the age of 90.
I wasn’t privileged to have taken any classes with Cardinal Dulles while I was enrolled at Fordham for my graduate studies (1994-2001), but I did have a chance to listen to him speak on C.S. Lewis, 2 or 3 years ago, at a very crowded hall at the Lincoln Center campus. He was already very frail, but what a mind and soul! He got a tremendous ovation; the love and respect that flowed to him were palpable.
Cardinal Dulles had a most unusual path to the priesthood. The son of John Foster Dulles, who eventually became U.S. Secretary of State, he attended Harvard Law School before joining the Navy during World War II. He began life in a Presbyterian, became an agnostic in his late teens, then converted to Catholicism in his twenties. In 1946, he joined the Jesuits. After his priestly ordination in 1956, he taught at Woodstock College and the Catholic University of America; he became Professor of Religion and Society at Fordham in 1988. John Paul II, in recognition of his great contributions to theology, named him a cardinal, but he asked to be dispensed from becoming a bishop because of his advanced age.
I was very moved to learn that Pope Benedict XVI met privately with the ailing Cardinal at St. Joseph’s Seminary in Dunwoodie during his trip to New York this past April; the Holy Father addressed him not as “Your Eminence,” but — something that undoubtedly meant more to him — as “Herr Professor.”
Whispers in the Loggia has a great deal more about him here.
And there is a wonderful biographical interview on video here.
One more little anecdote that shows how much the Cardinal was the life and soul of Fordham: as a graduate student it often seemed to me that I had my own branch of Fordham library going at home with the large number of books I had checked out, not just for my dissertation, but on many other subjects I was interested in. In fact, I really went overboard, checking out books I didn’t have time to read. Once when I was at the circulation desk renewing my books, the student in charge said, “Wow — you’re the only person who has more books out than Cardinal Dulles!” Evidently they were keeping track there, and were proud of his record. I will freely confess than I managed to read less than half the books I checked out, so I am sure I didn’t real more books than he did. At any rate, I’m certain that checking out more books was the only thing I could ever have beaten that brilliant man at!
May he and my uncle Joe and all the faithful departed rest in peace.
Pope Paul VI in the Words of his Successor
I am now continuing with my promise to put up more about Pope John Paul I. I don’t think that I could do better than to begin my commemoration of these two months that mark the 30th anniversary of his election and death than by posting his homily on the death of Pope Paul VI, who died 30 years ago this month, on Agust 6, 1978. Patriarch Luciani gave this homily at the memorial Mass in the basilica of San Marco in Venice on August 9. This beautiful homily acquires a special significance in light of the fact that less than three weeks later, Luciani himself was asked to take on the task of governing the Church in its “universal dimensions” when he was elected Pope John Paul I.
What is particularly moving to me about this homily is Luciani’s just judgment of Pope Paul’s work for the Church, his compassionate understanding of his personality, and the stress that the Pope’s job is often to suffer. In his first Angelus talk, in fact, on that unforgettable day after his election, on August 27, 1978, Papa Luciani said, “In the fifteen years of his pontificate, this Pope showed not only me but the whole world how to love, how to serve, and how to work and suffer for the Church of Christ.” No, the Smiling Pope was not blind to the suffering of his job. But neither was he overwhelmed by it, as some have said.
It also should be noted that Luciani supported and defended the Pope’s decision to release the encyclical Humanae Vitae in spite of the majority opinion of the papal commission on birth control. Luciani himself had hoped for a change. But he always resolutely defended the decision. Popularity, he stresses here, is not the Pope’s aim. I should add that there have been false things written about John Paul I’s possible plans in regard to artificial contraception as Pope, and I hope to address them in a subsequent post.
The homily was translated from the printed Italian version, but the last paragraph of it was an addition to the text that was later reported, probably taken from the video or audio tape of the event.
“I WILL BE CALLED PAUL”
“By what name do you wish to be called?” he was asked fifteen years ago at the end of the conclave. He said: “I will be called Paul.” Those who knew him would have sworn to us that this would be the name he would choose. Cardinal Montini had always been a passionate lover of the writings, the life, and the dynamic energy of the great Apostle of the Gentiles. And he lived his “Pauline quality” fully and to the last. Last June 29, he spoke of the fifteen years of his pontificate, and he made his own the words that Saint Paul, also near his end, had written to Timothy, “I have preserved and defended the faith” (2 Tim. 4:7). That the faith should be preserved and defended was the first point of his program. In his coronation address, on June 30, 1963, he had declared: “We will defend the Holy Church from the errors in doctrine and morals, which, from within and from without her borders, threaten her integrity and dim her beauty.”
St. Paul had written to the Galatians: “If an angel from heaven should preach to you a Gospel not in accord with the one we have delivered to you, let a curse be upon him.” (Gal. 1:8). In our day we might think of culture, being modern, and being up-to-date, as “angels,” and these are all things which Pope Paul cared about very deeply. But when they appeared to him to be contrary to the Gospel and to sound doctrine, he said no inflexibly. It is enough to mention Humanae Vitae, his “Creed of the People of God,” the position that he took in regard to the Dutch catechism, and his clear affirmation of the existence of the devil. Some people have said that Humanae Vitae was suicide for Paul VI, the collapse of his popularity, and the beginning of savage criticism. Yes, in a certain sense, but he had foreseen it and again, along with St. Paul, he said to himself: “Who would you say I am trying to please at this point — man or God? . . . If I were trying to win man’s approval, I would surely not be serving Christ” (Gal. 1:10).
St. Paul had also said of himself: “I have been crucified with Christ” (Gal. 2:19). Paul VI confided: “Perhaps the Lord has called me to this (pontifical) service, not indeed because I had any aptitude for it, or so that I might govern the Church and save her from her present difficulties, but so that I might suffer something for the Church, and that it might be clear that He, and no one else, guides her and saves her.” He has also said, “The Pope has the difficulties that come first of all from his own human weakness, which, at every moment, is faced with, and almost in conflict with, the enormous and immeasurable weight of his duties and responsibilities.” At times that can even become agony.
The Corinthians made the following evaluation of Paul: “His letters are severe and forceful, but when he is here in person, he is unimpressive and his word makes no great impact.” (2 Cor. 10:10). We have all seen Paul VI on television or in photographs embracing Patriarch Athenagoras: he looked like a little child, disappearing between the arms of a giant with an imposing beard. Even when he spoke, his voice was rather somber; rarely did it reveal the conviction and enthusiasm that were boiling inside him. But his thought! But his writings! These were truly clear, penetrating, profound, and sometimes finely sculpted. “Today the peoples in hunger,” he has written, for example, “are making a dramatic appeal to the peoples blessed with abundance. The Church shudders at this cry of anguish and calls on each one to give a loving response of charity to his brother’s cry for help.” Development, yes, but the full development “of every man and of the whole man.” “Every man,” and not only the fortunate class, “the whole man,” meaning that man must have the means to develop and progress, not only in the economic dimension, but also in the moral, spiritual, and religious dimensions. “To do more, know more, and have more, in order to be more” (Popularum Progressio, nos. 3, 13, 34, 6).
But St. Paul was above all the Apostle of the Gentiles, of those who then were considered outsiders to the Jews. He fought for them, in spite of the perplexity of the other apostles, and he traveled and suffered so much on their behalf. He wrote: “Five times at the hands of the Jews I received forty lashes less one, three times I was beaten with rods; I was stoned once, shipwrecked three times; I passed a day and a night on the sea. I traveled continually.” (2 Cor. 11:24-26). Like him, Paul VI has traveled 80,000 miles by air: Palestine, India, the headquarters of the United Nations, Fatima, Turkey, Colombia, Africa, and the Far East, have been the principal stages of his travels. All of these travels, perhaps, have not obtained any conversions, but they have created a feeling that the Church is close to the peoples of the world and their problems.
Another type of closeness — or better rapprochement — that Paul VI has sought, is that of contacts with governments that profess themselves atheist. A sensitive point, this: the Pope has been criticized on it by some. Undoubtedly, there was a risk. But a limited and calculated risk. Limited, because he did not give way on principles, on the basis of the Gospel saying iota unum aut unum apex non praeteribit a lege [not the smallest letter of the law, nor the smallest part of a letter, shall be done away with] (Mt. 7:18). Calculated, because, although with sometimes slender hope, he sought the advantage of religion. There is the problem of so many Catholics living under persecuting governments: the Pope really must send them bishops or try to obtain for them a few crumbs of religious liberty. The atheists themselves are a problem: there are so many, so many; can the Church shut itself off from them? St. Paul had written “I have made myself all things to all men, in order to save at least some of them.” (I Cor: 9:22). Why then, not admire the courage of a Pope who takes risks? When Pius VII was negotiating the concordat with Napoleon, he had open opponents even among the cardinals. “Negotiate with that criminal!” they said. “And sweep away from their dioceses all the old bishops, many of whom can be considered martyrs for the faith! And put in their place the bishops that the First Consul wants!” Pius VII, with anguish in his heart, asked the old bishops to suffer, or made them suffer, not only for the Church, but also from the Church; he made to the First Consul all the concessions that were morally legitimate in order to have, in return, tremendous advantages for religion. Naturally, the happy outcome of the negotiations were not seen immediately, but with time. History runs its course and repeats itself. So does the history of the Church.
In the patriarchal archives, there still exist some letters exchanged between Patriarch Roncalli and the deputy Secretary of State Montini. The Pope, Roncalli writes in one, wants a certain priest in Rome: granting this is a heavy sacrifice for Venice, but I am granting it, because in the Church “we must see broad and far.” Thank you, Montini answered him; thank you for the priest you gave up, and for the “broad and far.”
My brothers and sisters, no man is perfect; even Paul VI, who we mourn so deeply, may perhaps have done some things imperfectly. It seems to me, however, that, very cultured as a man, exemplary as a priest, as Pope he truly saw “broad and far.”
All of us must lift our gaze beyond every boundary and all work in a truly evangelical spirit, beyond every limit, with the Church of Christ, in universal dimensions.
Translated by Lori Pieper
From Albino Luciani, Opera Omnia, 8:584-86.
This is a photo of the event John Paul mentioned in that same Angelus talk, when Paul VI, in a prophetic gesture, “invested’ him with the papal stole in front of the Basilica of San Marco, on September 16, 1972. He said, laughing, “I have never turned so red!”
The Battle in the Movie Theaters
I haven’t forgotten my promise to write about the “revolution in cinema,” by which I mean the Christian revolution: the fact that Hollywood is now realizing the actual numbers of its Christian audience and is now trying to respond. Above all, I mean the recent explosion in Christian-themed fantasy epics on the big screen, including The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia. Very much a reason to celebrate, though most of the films weren’t actually made by Christians. But this may soon change. This is one of the reasons Act One (of which I am a proud graduate) trains Christians for the movies is so that WE can get our own stories up on the big screen.
Not only this, but the cultural war between believers and atheists is going to heat up with this December’s release of The Golden Compass, the first of the three projected films based on Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. Pullman makes no secret of his hatred for Christian fantasy as written by Lewis and others, and his trilogy is directed toward the need to fight the “oppressivness” of religious belief. Meantime, more Chronicles of Narnia are coming to the screen, not to mention the final two Harry Potter films. The next couple of years are going to be interesting ones at the box office!
But there are some Christians who don’t realize what weapons we need in this war and why. They retreat into their Bibles while continuing to condemn most Christian fantasy literature for paganism, witchcraft, magic, and not having a scriptural quote in every line so people will know that the books are Christian. J. K. Rowling’s insistence that she is a Christian and even that she is writing about her own struggle with faith mean nothing to them. Or else they will make comparisons — Tolkien good, Rowling bad — based on nothing more than the fact that Tolkien has had a Christian label for years, and no one knows that much about Rowling’s beliefs — at least they didn’t when she first started writing.
Here is a wonderful post by an author who points out that one of the most basic problems some Christians have in reading fantasy literature is their lack of knowledge of ancient and medieval Christian symbolism and literature. Rowling, like other Christian fantasy writers, is working from a very rich tradition, which many of the evangelical side — and sadly, many Catholics as well — are ignorant of. They don’t even begin to know how to recognize the allusions in the books. And they simply refuse to open themselves up to knowledge.
This is only a taste of what I want to write. Now that I’ve completed the book, I should have time to explore the subject of the revolution in cinema at greater length — hopefully soon.
The Potterdammerung
Or “The Twilight of the Potter.” That’s irresistible title people are using for what seems like the end of the Potter era. I finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows two weeks ago — I held off until July 23, two days after its release, to buy my copy — and read it all at one gulp.
For those who have yet to read it, you have a treat in store. It is a glorious book and in many ways a profound one, a fitting close to an epic story. Yes there are SPOILERS below, but out of consideration for you, I’ll try not to make them too heavy.
For the rest of us: Now that we have read through the last thrilling chapter, drunk to the last drop the bitterness of death and experienced to its fullest the joy of resurrection, we can finally reflect on the Harry Potter series as a whole.
I came to the series somewhat later than many people. I had heard a bit about it here and there, and was intrigued, but since I was spending most of my time from 1997-2001 working on my dissertation and every spare minute working on a screenplay of my own, I did almost no outside reading. When the movie version of The Sorcerer’s Stone came out late in 2001 I went to see it — and immediately went out and bought every book in the series that had been published to that date. I loved them. As time went on, though, I was beginning to feel a little frustrated because the vast story, the incredible number of characters and the overwhelming mythology of this created world threatened to burst the bounds even of J.K. Rowling’s prodigious imagination. I was beginning to think she had taken on much more than she could actually handle. I felt that many of the story arcs and characters were ignored or dropped (my favorite character, Remus Lupin was criminally underused after his first appearance in Book III, at least until the last book), and it was becoming harder and harder to keep track of all the mysteries, clues, and revelations.
Something that I frequently missed in Rowling’s work was the sense of wonder, of transcendence that can be found so frequently in Lewis and Tolkien. Since the magic was a completely accepted and routine part of the everyday lives of most of the characters, there was little sense of wonder about it. But every now and again, the magic hinted at something profound. For instance, the Mirror of Erised in Book I, and especially the learning of the Patronus charm, again in Book III — another reason it is my favorite book in the series.
But for the most part, this last book paid off beautifully. Over time, I have become more and more pleased with improvement in Rowling’s writing. In this last book, she shows a greater sense of wonder or at least her ability to describe it.
For instance, Harry’s first sight of the beautiful silver doe.
Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but at her inexplicable familiarity. He felt that he had been waiting for her to come, but that he had forgotten, until this moment, that they had arranged to meet. . . . He knew, he would have staked his life on it, that she had come for him, and him alone. (p. 566).
Or this:
While [Fleur's] radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everyone it fell upon. Ginny and Gabriel, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look at all as if he had ever met Fenrir Greyback. (p. 144).
Of course, there is no reason why Rowling’s strengths should be exactly the same as Lewis’ or Tolkien’s. She may not have been consciously reaching for the same level of wonderment. But her own strengths are dazzling. In particular, her creation of character, gift for dialogue, and attention to the moral realm are outstanding.
Above all this, the plot threads and character arcs that are resolved in this final book point to some strong over-arching Christian themes.
As far as I can tell, most of the young fans on places like Mugglenet.com seem to be oblivious to them. Just as Lewis wished, and as I’m sure Rowling herself wished. But they will still be affected by them. Whenever they are faced in the future with the task of forgiving a seemingly unforgivable enemy, they can think of Harry and Professor Snape. When the need to have compassion for those it seems impossible to have compassion on, they can think of Voldemort. When they need to realize that we are all sinners, they can think of Dumbledore — yes, even Dumbledore.
And then there are Harry’s final actions in the book, which I must not spoil — but they illustrate the center of the Christian faith in a moving and profound way. Even to say that much really gives it away. I was very moved this past weekend, listening to the ‘Pottercast” on i-Tunes, which came out almost immediately after the book’s release, in which a roomful of fans debated the book’s finale. How many of them, knowingly or not, grasped that theme of voluntary sacrifice, thought about it at length, and loved it. This is an overwhelming reason to be glad the books were written. (You can check out the podcast here or on i-Tunes).
Even many secular commentators are now getting the drift. For ages, the media has seen fit to ignore the actual Christian content of the books, while putting forward every Christian “Harry Hater” as an example of the usual Christian approach to fantasy literature. Few of them seemed aware that Rowling herself is a Christian.
The first secular review of the final book that I heard was on NPR, and it said that about halfway through the book, “the overwhelming religious allegory begins,” or something like that. If you’ve read or heard such a commentary. I hope you’ll share it.
Last night (finally) I went to see the movie version of Order of the Phoenix. This was the only book of the series that I have so far read only once (largely because I read it in a library copy rather than buying it). I had forgotten a great many of the details of that installment. It was really something to see this after reading the final book, and watching it onscreen, particularly a powerful moment at the end between Harry and Voldemort, I realized how much the story’s themes tend overwhelming in the same direction of moral and spiritual growth, of resisting evil inside yourself, and above all, of forgiveness.
This is a good occasion to reflect on what can only be described as a revolution in cinema that has taken place in the last few years. But that will have to wait for my next post.
