Like many avid readers I tend to make all sorts of marks and comments and underlinings in the books I read. And if I decide that something an author writes is particularly interesting and worth revisiting, I often jot down the page number along with a brief comment on the inside front cover of the book. This saves me from having to search the book later trying to find those wise but often too well-hidden words.
Book
collectors, of course, despise people like me because every mark, every scribble I make devalues the book in the collectors' market. They prefer perfect books, books that have been hermetically sealed and stored in climate controlled safes. I recall one collector who, after pulling a book from a shelf in my den, opened it gingerly and then sneered, "Oh...you're a reader." Readers, you see, deface books, so in the mind of the book collector the only thing lower is a book-burner. This particular gentleman was especially displeased because the book in question was a first edition of Robert Frost's poetry. The way I figure it, old Robert probably wanted his poetry to be read and reread. (As you can see by the photos I've included here, my books are not treated particularly well.)
On another occasion, in an out of the way used and rare book shop in rural New England, I came across a volume of poetry I had long been searching for and, despite the rather steep price, decided to purchase it. The book was in near-perfect condition
and had obviously never been read since its pages were uncut (or "unopened" as the bibliophile would say). As I handed the book to the owner, I unthinkingly said, "Well, I guess the first thing I'll have to do is get out the scissors and cut these pages." His reaction was swift and nasty. He snatched the book from my hands, glared at me, and literally snarled..."Why would you want to do something like that?" Recognizing my mistake -- as a haunter of old book shops I have encountered these people many times -- I smiled and said, "Just kidding. The book's perfect just as it is." Judging by his expression, I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me; but he relented and let me buy the book. Of course, as soon as I got home, I found the scissors.
...but I digress. My intention here today was to offer you a few of those interesting comments that I've come across during the course of my reading.
Not long ago I listened to a Jesuit theologian who, in his enthusiasm for the humanity of Jesus, seemed to believe that Jesus' divinity could not have been manifested in any way during His human life on earth. According to him, Jesus would come to understand His true identity only in His death, only after the Resurrection. Anything else, you see, would somehow lessen His humanity. To justify this belief this theologian was forced to deny the truth (the literal truth) of much of the Gospel. For example, the 12-year-old Jesus certainly didn't say what Luke has Him saying about being in His Father's house. Nor did Jesus walk on water, or really know in advance about His passion and death, or experience the temptations of Satan in the desert. And Thomas certainly never said, "My Lord and my God." Indeed, those of us who listened to this man could not get him to identify a single miracle in the gospels that actually happened. Oh, yes, and he doesn't believe that angels exist. Makes you wonder why anyone who thought this way would ever read the Gospels. After all, what's left to believe?
Anyway, as I considered this novel (but all too common and acceptable these days) take on Scripture, I recalled something that the great 20th century theologian, Jacques Maritain, wrote near the end of his life:
"No one, however, has to look very far to marvel at the resources of human foolishness, and to understand that foolishness and theological faith can certainly keep house in the same brain, and hold a dialogue there -- as everyone is doing now with everybody else -- even though such contact is likely to prove unhealthy for the latter." [Jacques Maritain,
The Peasant of Garonne, 1968, p. 2]
And that's the problem. When such foolishness interacts with faith, faith always suffers as a result. But, then, I'm no theologian, so what do I know?
And this thought led me to another book on the shelf, one by another 20th century theologian (and a different sort of Jesuit), the late Henri de Lubac. In his humility, this respected theologian wrote:
"The unsophisticated reader of the Gospels, unfamiliar with the details of the historical, social, political and religious circumstances of the little Jewish, Galilean world in which Jesus lived, is perhaps in a better position to understand the heart of the Gospel than many a scholarly specialist. The latter, even if he is a believer, often has great difficulty seeing in what way precisely the message of Jesus, wholly rooted as it is in this particular locality, is of a supreme universality." [Henri de Lubac,
More Paradoxes, 2002, p. 11]
There you have it, a theologian who actually believes Scripture wasn't written just for scholars. And, yes, unlike the other theologian I refer to above, I find myself in full agreement with Pope Benedict XVI, who, writing of Jesus and His relationship with the Father [Jn 1:18], gives us a glimpse into the humanity and divinity of Jesus:
"It is in Jesus that the promise of the new prophet is fulfilled. What was true of Moses only in fragmentary form has now been realized in the person of Jesus. He lives before the face of God, not just as a friend, but as a Son; he lives in the most intimate unity with the Father...Jesus' teaching is not the product of human learning, of whatever kind. It originates from immediate contact with the Father, from 'face-to-face' dialogue -- from the vision of the one who rests close to the Father's heart." [ Pope Benedict XVI,
Jesus of Nazareth, 2007, p. 6-7]
Later in this same book, Pope Benedict takes "liberal scholarship" and all the odd speculation that accompanies it to task for viewing Jesus' baptism as a sort of
Aha moment, a "vocational experience" when Jesus comes to a realization of His identity and His mission (p. 23) . Challenging this, the pope goes on to state that the Gospels
"enable us to recognize the intrinsic unity of the trajectory stretching from the first moment of his life to the Cross and the Resurrection. Jesus does not appear in the role of a human genius subject to emotional upheavals, who sometimes fails and sometimes succeeds. If that were the case he would remain just an individual who lives long ago and so would be separated from us by an unbridgeable gulf. Instead, he stands before us as the 'beloved Son.'" [Pope Benedict XVI,
Jesus of Nazareth, p. 24]
More later...right now I have things to do.
God's peace..
Pope John Paul II Beatification Website: As you probably know, Pope Benedict XVI will beatify his predecessor, Pope John Paul II, on May 1 of this year. I would love to go to Rome for the beatification, but I expect the hotel and related prices will be through the roof, putting it well outside our meager budget. Much better to visit Rome during the off-season when both the prices and the crowds are way down. 
Cause of Jacques and Raïssa Maritain. A beatification cause that I wasn't aware of is that of Jacques Maritain (1882-1973) and his wife Raïssa (1883-1960). Maritian, one of the preeminent Catholic philosophers of the twentieth century, was raised a Protestant but was strongly influenced by the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas. Raïssa, both a philosopher and a poet, was raised a Jew in a Russian-Ukranian family. She emigrated to France and met Maritain while studying at the Sorbonne. Both she and her husband converted to Catholicism in 1906, two years after their marriage.Their cause is being promoted as an example to the faithful of a holy marriage. The below video provides an overview of the cause for this couple's beatification.
