COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #3: The Gift of Trees

The following post is the third of my COVID-19 updates, written for the participants in our parish's Bible Study sessions. 

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"He is like a tree planted near springs of water, that yields its fruit in season; its leaves never wither; whatever he does prospers" [Ps 1:3].

So consumed are we by this virus, this microscopic molecule that defines so much of our lives today, I thought it would be good to step away from it, if only for a while, and turn our attention to another, more benign, of God's creatures.

Galaxies Galore in One Tiny Slice of Our Sky

The universe is filled with wondrous objects, everything from interstellar dust to clusters of galaxies, but God's greatest creative act was life itself. As revealed in Genesis, at the pinnacle of God's creation is man: 

"Let us make man in our own image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over cattle according to their kinds, and every living thing that creeps upon the ground according to its kind' [Gen 1:26].

But before He created sea life and birds and the beasts of the earth, before He created man and woman, on the third day God created a very different kind of life, a lifeform without which the rest of His living creation could not exist. God created the plants and the trees:

"Let the earth put forth vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind upon the earth" [Gen 1:11]

It was no accident, then that man and woman were first placed in a garden. There they were nourished by the fruit of the garden's many trees and there, too, they ate the fruit of the one tree forbidden to them:

"And out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil" [Gen 2:9].

We won't dwell on that first, original sin here, except to affirm that it wasn't the fault of the tree. Indeed, as non-sentient creatures trees are inherently faultless. 

It's hard to dislike trees. They live such long and elevated lives that they project an air of quiet stateliness. If you've read any of J.R.R. Tolkien's books, you will know he had a special fondness for trees. Of course, there are his Ents, the wise, rootless tree herders who come to the aid of civilization as it fights the forces of destruction. But I've always thought the outcry of the hobbit Sam Gamgee in the concluding scenes of Tolkien's trilogy mirrored the author's own sorrow over the sacrificial destruction of trees by modern man:

"They've cut it down!" cried Sam. "They've cut down the Party Tree!" He pointed to where the tree had stood under which Bilbo had made his farewell speech. It was lying lopped and dead in the field. As if this were the last straw Sam burst into tears.

Trees offer us a sign of hope. Their very presence seems to restrain the powers of desolation. Deserts and other empty places, treeless places, have never attracted me. I can imagine no more unpleasant place than the Sahara Desert or the appropriately named Death Valley.

In the books of Exodus and Numbers, God leads the Israelites into the desert. This wilderness is no Eden, but rather a place of trial that tests their faith and readies them for their entrance into the Promised Land. Jesus, too, in preparation for His public ministry and all that will follow, is led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit, a place of desolation, where He encounters the temptations of Satan. One senses that the evil one is quite at home in such places.

Jesus in the Wilderness

I, too, was once led into the desert, but by the United States Navy. As a young pilot, about to join a squadron destined for service in the Vietnam conflict, I was required to complete a course in survival, evasion, resistance and escape (SERE) to prepare me for the possibility of capture by our nation's enemies. Conducted in Southern California's high desert it taught me many excellent survival skills. It also reaffirmed my determination to avoid capture and my dislike of deserts. But deserts are not the only desolate, treeless places. Consider, for example, the island nation of Iceland.

I've been to Iceland only twice, both just brief stopovers. On my first visit, in the summer of 1965, our U.S. Navy transport plane landed at what was then Keflavik Naval Air Station to refuel. We had only a few hours on the ground, but that was long enough to convince me that Iceland was a barren, forbidding looking place. I wasn't sure why until we took off and could view the landscape from above. That's when it hit me: I saw no trees. Indeed, most of the surface was hardened lava and rock, all craggy and stark and seemingly lifeless. As a 21-year-old, I had never met an Icelander so I wondered what kind of people would call this desolate island home. I assumed these descendants of the Vikings were hardy, practical folks who probably considered themselves slightly superior to the rest of humanity. Today, 55 years later, I've still never met an Icelander, at least not up close and personal, so my prejudice remains.

In September of 2012, I visited Iceland once again, this time in the company of Diane. This visit, too, was brief; all of it spent in the terminal. The first leg of our Iceland Air flight took us from Orlando to Keflavik, now a major civilian airport. After a 90-minute wait, we changed planes for the flight to our ultimate destination, London's Gatwick Airport. As we took off, only moments after sunrise, Diane, who had been looking out the window, turned to me and said, "You know what?" I simply replied, "Yes, there are no trees." She laughed, "That's exactly what I was going to say."

Icelandic Landscape

Actually, Iceland is not completely devoid of trees. But, according to friends who have spent more than a few hours there, you have to look for them. One repeated an old Icelandic saying, which has become a common line fed to tourists: "In Iceland if you see three trees together, you're in a forest." In truth, there are a couple of actual forests, although the trees tend to be rather stunted; for example, birch trees that rarely exceed 15 feet in height. For me it's all very sad, and I could never live in such a place, a place where trees are rare.

I suppose I've always enjoyed the presence of trees, these most magnificent of God's rooted creatures. When I was a boy I climbed many trees, especially one of the Japanese maples in our suburban New York front yard.  I often stretched out comfortably on its branches for an hour or so, to avoid life's distractions, or to read a book, or just to observe the goings on in our quiet neighborhood. 

Our front yard was also home to a large weeping willow, another target of opportunity for my climbing skills. Sadly, my parents were forced to remove that tree because its thirsty roots broke into our home's water pipes. 

And what can be more inviting to a 10-year-old boy than a trail leading into a forest? My friends and I would occasionally bicycle several miles to a local woodland called Saxon Woods and spend the day playing imaginative games amidst the trees.

When we lived on Cape Cod, I often took our children to visit a tree we called, "the greatest tree in the world." A European Weeping Beech, it's branches form a magnificent canopy, stretching  haphazardly in all directions. It is a very special tree and, were it permitted, would be a marvelous climbing tree. But aware of its age and fragility, we simply enjoy its shade, surrounded by its presence.

Weeping Beech - Yarmouth Port, Cape Cod

   

Under the Canopy

Let me assure you, though, I am not a tree-hugger and never experienced the urge to embrace any of those perfectly formed climbing trees. Even as a child, I realized that trees, while certainly living creature, lacked awareness of their existence and of mine. People are free to hug trees if they like, even talk to them, but to expect a response...well, that's nothing but a cry for help. As a wise Baptist farmer once said to me, "Don't talk to the garden; talk with the Gardener." Trees, created by God, the cosmic Gardener, deserve our attention, if not our hugs, both for their beauty and their utility.

That utility can be intentional, like the sawed boards I often turned into bookcases, or accidental, like the dead beech recalled by the poet, Wendell Barry:

the great hollow-trunked beech,
a landmark I love to return to,
its leaves gold-lit on the silver
branches in the fall: blown down
after a hundred years of standing,
a footbridge over the stream;

Its beauty destroyed by death, the beech continued to serve other creatures. In Sacred Scripture, too, we find trees blessed for their utility. Indeed, a tree becomes a key element of hospitality during a divine visit to the patriarch Abraham and his wife, Sarah:

"The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oak of Mamre, as he sat in the entrance of his tent, while the day was growing hot. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them, and bowing to the round, he said, 'Sir, if it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let some water be brought, that you may bathe your feet, and then rest under the tree'" [Gen 18:1-4].

Abraham and God Under the Oak

In Isaiah we encounter the tree's utility, both for good and for evil purpose. Of the idolatrous woodcutter, Isaiah writes:

"He goes out to cut down cedars, takes a holm tree or an oak. He picks out for himself trees of the forest, plants a fir, and the rain makes it grow. It is used for fuel: with some of the wood he warms himself; makes a fire and bakes bread...Half of it he burns in the fire, on its embers he roasts meat; he eats the roast and is full. He warms himself and says, 'Ah! I am warm! I see the flames!' The rest of it he makes into a god, an image to worship and adore. He prays to it and says, 'Help me! You are my god!' They do not know, do not understand; their eyes are too clouded to see, their minds, to perceive" [Is 44:14-18].

Scripture also offers us symbolic trees as metaphors of something greater. One of the briefest of psalms uses the olive tree to describe the family of the righteous man:

"Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your home, your children like young olive plants around your table. Just so will the man be blessed who fears the Lord" [Ps 128:3-4].

There are dozens, probably hundreds, of other Old Testament references to trees, far too many to include here. But let me refer you to chapter four of the Book of Jonah, in which God uses a tree to teach His reluctant prophet a lesson in humility and the love of God. It's worth a read.

Jesus frequently referred to trees in His teaching; for example, when He described the Kingdom:

"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed which a man took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches" [Mt 13:31-32].

Jesus called on the tree, too, when teaching the apostles of their role in the Church:

"I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower...I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing" [Jn 15:1,5].

And perhaps most fittingly and most gloriously, Jesus was nailed to the dead remnant of a tree. He died on that tree, raised up for all to see, making it the universal symbol of our Christian faith. We celebrate that tree, that Holy Cross, every time we bless ourselves and others with its sign. We honor the tiniest pieces of that tree, protecting them in reliquaries spread throughout the world. The Cross is, in a very real sense, the Tree of Life, the Tree of Eternal Life.

As Christians, indeed and human beings, we should praise and thank God for the goodness of all His creation. Take a moment to turn to the Book of the Prophet Daniel and read the beautiful prayer of blessing by Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego as they stood in the fiery furnace in the Presence of God. It is a prayer echoed by all of creation. [See Dan 3:51-90]

This is a good lesson for us today, as we huddle in our homes, separated from others, wondering when it will end. But even now we can walk through our neighborhoods and see Gods creative goodness spread out all around us. Savor it. Breathe it in. Thank God for it.   

World War One Redux

In a recent post, Tree Hugging, I mentioned World War One during a discussion of the poet, Joyce Kilmer, who died in combat during that war. And then yesterday evening I happened to catch a report on the historical ignorance of many young Americans. The reporter had asked a sampling of high school and college students a few seemingly simple questions, among them: When did World War One take place? and Whom did the United States fight in World War One? According to the reporter, a significant majority could not answer either question accurately. He said if they came within five or ten years on the first question he gave them credit, and he did the same on the second question if they could name just one of the enemy combatants. By the way, he asked similar questions about World War Two, sadly with similar results. How did Edmund Burke put it? “Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.”(Burke, by the way, was the first to say this, long before similar words were uttered by the philosopher, George Santayana, who often gets the credit.) All of this got me thinking once again about this surprising war. I call it "surprising" because at the time it seemed to take so much of the world by surprise.

Over the top: Into the Valley of Death

Have you thought much about World War One lately? After all, last year we celebrated, if I may use that word, the centennial of the start of that war in August 1914. And for the next three years many books and articles addressing the war and its causes and consequences will doubtless appear. Some will be written by authors bent on viewing the past through the filters of their present-day ideologies. But I expect a good number will be written by historians and others who will make a sincere effort to uncover and present the truth about the conflict and those who took part.

Irish Troops in the Trenches: Somme

Over the years I've actually collected quite a few books on World War One, and during the past few months I've been reading (and rereading) a few of them. Of course, Barbara Tuchman's award-winning history, The Guns of August (1962), tells the dramatic story of the months immediately prior to World War One. As I recall I first read the book during my last week of freedom before entering the U. S. Naval Academy in June 1963. 

In the Trenches: the Living among the Dead

David Fromkin's 2004 book, Europe's Last Summer, also addresses the period leading up to the war, although the author offers a different and perhaps more controversial explanation of its causes. And while I don't necessarily agree with all of Fromkin's conclusions, he does present an interesting case. 

I also found Joseph Persico's book on the war's climatic ending, Eleventh Month, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Hour (2004), a fascinating read. This book fills a historical void by describing the final day of the war in remarkable detail. 

Historian Margaret MacMillan wrote about the Paris peace talks of 1919 and the resulting Treaty of Versailles which, instead of ensuring World War One was "the war to end all wars" actually set the stage for the even greater destruction of World War Two. Her book, Paris 1919, gives the reader a front-row seat at the six months of talks that set that stage for another century of conflict that remains with us today. 

J.R.R. Tolkien and the Trenches of World War One

And for fans of J.R.R. Tolkien, I recommend John Garth's Tolkien and the Great War (2003). Garth looks to Tolkien's combat service during World War One to uncover the roots of his famous trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. A young Army lieutenant, Tolkien managed to survive the Somme, a horrendous battle that took the lives of two of his closest friends, along with 300,000 others on both sides. Garth makes a strong case that Tolkien's subsequent writings were greatly influenced by his wartime experiences in which he witnessed first-hand the war's devastation. Another book on a related subject is Joseph Loconte's A Hobbit, A Wardrobe, and a Great War in which the author examines the influence of World War One on the writings of both Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. I have not yet read this book, so I really can't comment on it, but from the reviews I've read, it sounds interesting. I expect it will eventually find its way into my library.

Maurice Baring

But the books I have enjoyed the most are those written by contemporaries, especially those who played an active role in the war. One of my literary heroes, a man too often overlooked, is Maurice Baring. Novelist, poet, playwright, diplomat, world traveler and travel writer, and a close friend of G. K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc, Baring led a most remarkable and adventurous life. During the war he was a ground officer assigned to the staff of the legendary Boom Trenchard (aka, 1st Viscount Hugh Trenchard) who was busy in France creating the Royal Flying Corps. Closely associated with those early combat aviators, Baring wrote a wonderful book based on his diaries and describing his experiences: R.F.C.  H.Q.  1914-1918. For anyone interested in the early days of military aviation, it's a must read. If you'd like to know more about Baring the man, I suggest reading his fascinating autobiography, The Puppet Show of Memory. He's one of those people you wish you had known.

H. H. Munro ("Saki")

Another of the tragic casualties of World War One was H. H. Munro, the author of so many marvelously funny short stories who wrote under the pen name of Saki. Like Joyce Kilmer, Munro would not accept an officer's commission but decided to enter the Army as a common soldier, even though his age would normally exempt him from service. And like Kilmer he too was killed by a German sniper. Munro was 43 when he entered the Army and 45 when he died. Although I recommend anything written by Munro, I especially enjoyed his short novel, When William Came. Published in 1913, a year before the start of the war, it's a bit of a fantasy describing an authoritarian occupation of Great Britain after it loses a war to Germany. In writing the novel Munro makes the case that in a world where evil exists the best way to ensure peace is to be prepared for war. 

And lastly, about 30 years ago, while nosing about in a now-defunct local bookstore in Harwich on Cape Cod (Staten Hook Books), I came across several copies of the monthly publication, Current History. First published in 1914 by the New York Times, it is still published today but by a private publisher. Anyway, I found a dozen copies dating from 1915 through 1920 and purchased them all at a dollar apiece. Each issue consists of about 200 pages of articles, commentary, photographs, and political cartoons on the war, its causes, and its aftermath. The issues covering the peace talks and the formation of the League of Nations are particularly fascinating and include complete speeches and commentary by many of the actual participants. I was also intrigued by the articles covering the revolution in Russia as it was happening. Just to give you an idea of the content of these monthlies, I've included a few covers (below) from 1917 and 1919. (Click each to enlarge.)

Laudato Si -- The Pope Speaks

A few days ago, early, before the Florida sun burned too hot, Maddie and I took our usual morning walk. Maddie is our little Bichon Frise (that's a dog for all you cat lovers), and she and I walk together twice daily. The length of these walks varies -- sometimes a mile, sometimes two miles, sometimes more -- and so too does the direction. I usually let Maddie decide which way to turn as we depart the driveway. It's the least I can do for this loving creature who spends so much of her life obeying others.

An egret

On this particular morning Maddie turned left and led me to a pond about a quarter-mile from our home. It is, of course, an artificial pond, one placed purposely alongside our street which bisects an executive golf course. Our retirement community, The Villages, has kindly placed several benches there so one can sit quietly and watch the waterbirds or listen to the song birds. And so I sat while Maddie engaged in her life's work of sniffing every blade of grass she encounters.

Because it was so early, barely past sunrise, few humans or canines were up and about. Maddie and I could, therefore, more fully appreciate the remarkable beauty and quiet sounds of God's creation. No golf carts, no garbage trucks, no landscapers with their pick-ups and trailers, no handymen hammering, no unnatural noises, just the sound of Maddie quietly sniffing and the plaintive cooing of a mourning dove perched above me in a small magnolia tree. At the edge of the pond, just a few yards from my bench, two great egrets stood motionless, solemnly watching the antics of an anhinga or "snake-bird" that tirelessly dove again and again into the calm waters. Across the pond a family of five black-bellied whistling ducks waddled through the grass toward the opposite shore.

Whistling Ducks

Sitting on that bench in that quiet time of the day, I couldn't help but consider how well man and nature seem to have come together here. Indeed, The Villages has become a virtual bird sanctuary. I have seen herons, egrets and ibises of all sizes and colors, eagles, osprey, and hawks of every kind, flocks of white pelicans, many varieties of songbirds, and, of course, the ubiquitous mockingbird. They all seem to thrive here. We also have alligators, but they tend to avoid all but the stupidest of humans.

Anyway, as I sat, not so much watching and listening as absorbing my surroundings, I couldn't help but think of Pope Francis and his first encyclical, Laudato Si. My immediate setting, while not as wildly pristine as a rain forest in New Guinea or the deep woods of Canada, was certainly not repellant. What were once farmers' fields filled with watermelons, and pastures in which horses and cattle grazed, are now well cared-for neighborhoods. Ponds and green space abound, as do the large live oak trees so common in this part of Florida. I found myself thinking that this transformation of the land from agrarian use to human habitat was not necessarily a step backward. As Christians we understand that man is also a part of creation; indeed, as revealed in Genesis, we are the very pinnacle of God's creative work. This places an awesome responsibility on us: to accept that creation is God's doing, that He "owns" it, and that we are called to be good stewards of all that He has given us.

For those of you who haven't read Laudato Si, and I assume that includes many of you, let me say that it's not a quick and easy read. The encyclical is long -- more than 40,000 words -- and I expect many copies will sit unread on a lot of bookshelves or computer hard drives. I managed to make my way through it, but spent an entire evening doing so. To digest its contents fully I will need to read it again much more slowly. My comments here, then, simply reflect my own first impressions.

When a pope speaks, people listen. But far too many listen less to the pope and more to their own biases and ideological preconceptions. We see this in the range of reactions (including mine) arising in response to what Pope Francis had to say.

Those who pitch their tents among the extreme environmentalists of the far left concentrate their praise on the pope's concern for what he calls the “present ecological crisis” abetted by a "throwaway culture" that contributes greatly to the earth's environmental deterioration. But many of these same folks -- at least those who years ago made the ideological transition from a failed Marxism to green environmentalism -- ignore the Gospel of Creation that forms the foundation of the pope's thinking on humanity's relationship with the earth. In other words, his environmentalism is fine, but why on earth did he have to inject it with God and Jesus Christ and the Gospel and Creation and all that other religious stuff? And so they simply ignore the latter and focus on the former.

Opposed to the environmentalists we hear the complaints of those critics who believe the pope has been co-opted either by far left socialists who blame capitalism for all the world's ills or by "wacko greens" who believe the earth would be a far better place without humanity. For these critics there is no environmental crisis, and even if there were, technology and the free market would solve any ecological problems that might arise. Because some, but certainly not all, of these people are believing Christians they find themselves conflicted by the pope's encyclical and its deep religious roots. They manage to resolve the conflict, appeasing themselves by saying that Pope Francis is, after all, not speaking ex cathedra. Indeed, for them Laudato Si is just the word of a man, not the Word of God, so they really don't have to accept this particular papal teaching. Most, therefore, will simply ignore everything the pope has to say.

Of course there have been other reactions to the encyclical, some favorable and some not. I suspect many of the initial batch of pundits simply reacted to the out of context snippets that appeared in the secular media. Honestly, because my initial exposure to the encyclical was in the form of leaked excerpts, my preconceived notions led me to some erroneous first impressions. There's no need to include them here.

I'm certainly not qualified to discuss every aspect of the encyclical. Like all of us I have my opinions, but I'm not a climatologist and cannot address the science on which Pope Francis relies heavily. The question many Catholics have already asked me is, "Do I have to accept everything the pope says in his encyclical?" I suppose the only correct answer is, "It depends."

When it comes to the science behind climate change and the pope's proposed public policy responses, an informed Catholic might disagree so long as that disagreement is based on a firm foundation. Given the continued debate within the scientific community on the causes and direction of climate change, I believe one might reasonably disagree with the pope on these issues. As for how society should respond, the pope himself recognizes that others might differ with him. After all, if history has shown us one thing it's that science is not static, and future advances in technology might well enable new and better approaches to the use of natural resources and the protection of the environment.

Unfortunately, too many people will focus on the more controversial aspects of the encyclical, elements that might well be overcome by future events, and ignore the crucial theological and moral underpinnings.

It's important to realize that papal concern for the environment did not begin with Pope Francis. Indeed, many of his concerns have been expressed by his predecessors and other Catholic thinkers. He begins by quoting his namesake, St. Francis of Assisi, whose Canticle of the Creatures calls the earth "our Sister Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us,”. Indeed, that same canticle gives the encyclical its name. 

Continuing his introductory comments Pope Francis refers to Pope Saint John XXIII's 1963 encyclical, Pacem in Terris, to Pope Paul VI's frequent references to humanity's poor environmental stewardship, to the ecological concerns expressed by Pope Saint John Paul II in several of his encyclicals, and to Pope Benedict XVI's demand that as Christians we openly recognize how our irresponsible behavior has damaged the environment. Pope Francis also quotes the Ecumenical Patriarch of the Orthodox Church, Bartholomew I of Constantinople, who has often addressed humanity's "sins against creation." In Bartholomew's words, “to commit a crime against the natural world is a sin against ourselves and a sin against God.”

In other words, the current pontiff's concerns are nothing new. As I read the encyclical I couldn't help but think of the late Jesuit theologian, Romano Guardini (1985-1968), who has had such a significant influence on my own thinking. Guardini was a prolific writer, but the theme of  two of his books in particular seem to resonate with Pope Francis: Letters from Lake Como (1926) and The End of the Modern World (1956). It wasn't until today that I discovered Pope Francis had spent years studying Guardini and his work. To summarize Guardini's thought, he believed the modern world had been transformed in a way that encouraged enmity between humanity and nature. Instead of living within God's creation and nurturing it as a good steward, modern man has decided he must control or master it.

Such themes are also evident in the writings of Feodor Dostoevsky,  J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis and others who recognized that both unchecked capitalism and radical Marxism suffer from a common materialism that attempts to excise religion from the human spirit. For example, reading the encyclical, I'm reminded of the words of Dostoevsky's monk in the Brothers Karamazov:

"Love all God's creation, the whole and every grain of sand init. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals,love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you willperceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, youwill begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come atlast to love the whole world with an all-embracing love. Love theanimals: God has given them the rudiments of thought and joyuntroubled. Do not trouble it, don't harass them, don't deprive themof their happiness, don't work against God's intent. Man, do not prideyourself on superiority to the animals; they are without sin, and you,with your greatness, defile the earth by your appearance on it, andleave the traces of your foulness after you -- alas, it is true ofalmost every one of us! Love children especially, for they too aresinless like the angels; they live to soften and purify our heartsand, as it were, to guide us."

One gets the sense that Pope Francis has been greatly influenced by the thinking of such men as these, although he certainly has his own ideas on how it relates to the world today.

This post is already too long, so let me wrap it up with my agreements and disagreements. I agree with the pope's concerns about the world's deepening addiction to consumerism, about humanity's elites and their general disregard for the poor and the common good, and about the rise of technocrats and the misuse of science and the technology that flows from it. I also greatly appreciate the pope's focus on the environmental damage that one encounters, especially in the second and third world where the accession of power too often trumps everything else. Finally, we need to be reminded of our own place in God's creation, and of the responsibilities this places on us.

My concerns relate to the pope's belief that there is a scientific consensus about both global warming and its causes. His thinking seems to echo the kind of naive view of science often heard from Al Gore and others like him. Perhaps more importantly, though, the pope also, in seeming contradiction to his own warnings about the rise of technocrats, recommends that we come together globally, applying our technology to the environmental problems facing us. The problem with giving governments or global agencies the power to carry out such a worldwide mandate is that those who wield this power will almost surely misuse it. Even when applied with the best of intentions, such power usually leads to negative unintended consequences that often create a whole new set of problems. Lastly, I had hoped that Pope Francis, following the lead of his predecessors, would use this encyclical to teach his flock about how our faith and morality are affected by these issues plaguing the modern world. Instead, he has given us an encyclical that, at least in part, reminds one of the sort of quasi-political documents produced by committees at the United Nations.

Laudato Si will surely be studied, talked about, and written about for years to come. I trust this study will lead to a clearer understanding of man's place in the world and how best to address the problems we have created for ourselves. In the meantime, once it cools down this afternoon, I intend to take Maddie for another walk, thanking God for her and for all of His creation.

Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, Dragons, Men...oh, yes, and a Wizard and a Hobbit

Sunday afternoon Dear Diane and I sat in the very comfortable seats at one of our many theaters here in The Villages, munched overpriced popcorn, and watched the 3-D version of the latest Hobbit movie, the second of the trilogy. Unlike many Tolkien purists who have criticized the film on pretty much every level, I have to admit I kinda enjoyed it. Let me explain why.

Before watching The Lord of the Rings trilogy, I knew that one can't expect Hollywood to follow any book very closely. Film versions of books will always include unexpected and inexplicable omissions, gratuitous additions, and odd changes. I knew that any movie based on a book that I truly enjoyed will always disappoint. All the producers, directors, screenwriters, and actors just can't help themselves. Overflowing with self-importance, they're certain they can improve any story, particularly one written by an old Oxford academic. And so they refashion the story to suit their own whims and to cater to their concept of what the prevailing marketplace wants. Today's mover-makers are also very taken by all the remarkable and very cool technology that allows them to create worlds and beings that most of us can't even imagine. They create these things simply because they can, resulting in a dumbed-down finished product, a sort of fantasy of a fantasy.

Despite all this I enjoyed the LOTR movies and even purchased a DVD set which I've since watched a few times. I enjoyed them because I sat down knowing I'd be disappointed unless I tried mightily to suppress any expectations based on Tolkien's three volumes. I decided to view the movies as stand-alone stories, divorced from Tolkien's books, and was at least partially successful. I'm sure Diane will agree that I didn't gripe too much about the differences. I tried doing the same with the first Hobbit film, but failed horribly. Overwhelmed by special effects and action scenes that lasted far too long, the story and the characters suffered. I left the theater disappointed.

On Sunday I entered the theater hoping that part two would be an improvement and that I would be less critical. I can honestly sat that I came away far less disappointed than before. I realize that's hardly a rousing endorsement, but it's very difficult to set aside Tolkien's wonderful tale, especially when I've read it many times over the years.

What did I like? The dragon. Smaug was wonderfully depicted, the perfect CGI creature and I truly enjoyed him and his interplay with Bilbo. The film is also visually striking, almost overwhelming in its depiction of the places encountered by Bilbo and the dwarves. Some folks have objected to the CGI versions of the orcs, but I found them perfectly nasty if a bit incompetent in carrying out their evil work. But the good guys are always supposed to be more capable than the bad guys.

My disappointment centers on the needless changes to the story itself, especially the diminished roles played by Bilbo and Gandalf. Neither seemed to know what they were doing. It was as if they were along for the ride and were simply thrust from one dark crisis to another by a sadistic screenwriter. And the dwarves just didn't look like dwarves. Indeed one was so good looking he attracted the attention of a female elf who was apparently added to the story for a bit of inter-species romance and to demonstrate that females are equal opportunity warriors. In truth the dwarves acted more like the seven dwarves of Snow White fame as they stumbled and bumbled their way through the script. Legolas, his she-warrior sidekick, the elfin king, indeed all the elves we encounter, are not at all very elf-like. They lack any of the ethereal, almost angelic qualities Tolkien attributes to them. They become instead merely super-warriors, and are diminished as a result.

But I can't help it, for I am far too easily amused. I enjoyed all the cool CGI and the 3-D effects, so if you too like that sort of thing, go see the movie. Just don't expect to find very much of J.R.R. Tolkien there.

A Tale of Two Movies

I'll confess at the start: I'm not much of a moviegoer. In any given year I probably go to a movie theater perhaps three or four times. As you might expect Dear Diane is quite the opposite and tries to convince me, usually unsuccessfully, to join her at the movies more often. Every once in a while I succumb. 

Recently, though, as an avid Tolkien fan, I decided I had to see part one of The Hobbit. I had thoroughly enjoyed the three Lord of the Rings films of a few years ago despite their inexplicable changes from Tolkien's trilogy. Why, for example, did the screenwriters decide to have Frodo succeed in his quest when Tolkien allowed him to fail? In the book Gollum and the ring fall to their destruction through what might be described as an act of God. 

And whatever happened to Tom Bombadil, perhaps the most mysterious, surprising and likable character in Tolkien's Middle Earth? I was looking forward to the films' depiction of this rhyming, walking enigma who seemed able to divorce himself from all the evil that surrounded him. All considered, though, the trilogy films were wonderful adaptations of the books.

Happily, Dear Diane agreed to accompany me to see The Hobbit, so we both sat through nearly three hours of amazing special effects, lots of action and suspense, and some fairly good acting. (I'm pretty sure it was only my second 3D movie since I saw Vincent Price's "House of Wax" back in the 1950s.) Once again, as a Tolkien purist I suppose I focused too much on the deviations from Tolkien's book. And I suspect the entire story could be compressed into two films instead of the planned three. But I enjoyed it nevertheless and will no doubt pay to view parts two and three when they're released.

Having sat through The Hobbit with me, Dear Diane asked me to accompany her and some friends to see Les Miserables, another almost three-hour film. I had read the book only once, back in 1961 at the command of my high school English teacher who was always assigning books that had been written originally in languages other than English. As I recall in addition to Hugo's Les Miserables, we read also Alessandro Manzoni's The Betrothed (I Promessi Sposi), and Sigrid Undset's trilogy, Kristin Lavransdatter -- all, of course, in translation. I think he threw in some Austen, Dickens, Hawthorne and Melville as well. Some I enjoyed immensely; others not so much. Les Miserables fell into the latter category probably because it seemed far too dark for my optimistic 17-year-old worldview. 

Time caused me to forget much of the plot and most of the characters of Les Miserables. After all, it's been over 50 years since I read the book and I never had my memory refreshed by seeing the musical. And so as I took my seat I approached the film with few preconceptions -- not quite tabula rasa, but close. If anything, my expectations were fairly low.

I will say only that this film is a magnificent production, perhaps the best film I have seen in years. Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway gave us truly remarkable performances. Despite what some critics have said, I thought Russell Crowe played a believable Javert, the policeman whose interior confusion over law, justice and mercy ultimately led to his self-destruction. Les Miserables is a wonderful story of crime, punishment, injustice, love, repentance, mercy, and redemption. If you see one film this year, make this the one.




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