Romano Guardini and Wendell Berry

Earlier this week, as I wrapped up a mini-course on Ecclesiology, I showed the participants a half-hour film from EWTN, The Prophet of Lake Como. The film focuses on Fr. Romano Guardini (1885-1968) one of great theological and philosophical minds of the 20th century. The film reflects his thoughts on how technology impacts our lives as human beings, as well as our relationships with God, with each other, with the Church, and with God's gift of the natural world.

Guardini’s father, a wholesaler, moved his family from Italy to Germany for business reasons when his young son was only a year old. The young Guardini attended German schools and eventually became a German citizen. He spent virtually all of his professional life teaching in universities in Berlin, Tübingen, and Munich. World War II, of course, intervened and in 1939 the Nazis ousted Guardini from his teaching position in Berlin. Apparently they were upset because of his criticism of Nazi mythology related to Jesus Christ. As a result Guardini ended up spending much of the war with a friend, another priest who was pastor of a parish in Mooshausen. 

Guardini, however, became even more influential after the war, and his work and thought had a significant effect on the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council and can be recognized in many of the Council's documents. His influence continued long after the Council. Indeed, Pope Benedict XVI called Guardini a “great figure, a Christian interpreter of the world and of his time.”

I learned about Romano Guardini years ago when I first read some of his works, especially his, Letters from Lake Como, The End of the Modern World, and The Lord. The first, a rather brief book written in the form of letters to a "Dear Friend" reflect Guardini's insights arising from his visit to family in the Lake Como area. He wrote of the impact of technology on both humanity and the natural world. When I first read the book, I was stunned to realize it was written 100 years ago, first published in 1925, because it seemed to address many of the issues facing humanity today. After reading the letters it was easy to conclude that Guardini was a true prophetic voice pointing to our post-modern world of rapid technological change and addressing how to live amidst it all as faithful Christians. One of the wonderful aspects of the book is noting how Guardini's understanding changes over time as he considers the issues that occupy his thoughts.

And then, yesterday, I discovered that another prophetic voice, that of the Kentucky philosopher, poet, and novelist, Wendell Berry, would speak no more. Berry died in his home at the age of 92. Like Guardini, Berry clearly saw the effects of technology on the human spirit and spent much of his life encouraging his readers to respond in ways he believed would preserve both the natural world and our humanity. 

I've read and enjoyed Berry's poetry and a few of his books, and found myself wondering why some conservatives dismiss him as if he were simply a resurgent hippie who resists change. Such comments usually come from a breed of economic conservatives who assume technological and industrial growth are always positive. That's a shame because Berry has much to teach those who read him. 

I certainly don't agree with all of Berry's thought, but also believe his voice is one that should be heard and not suppressed. He considered himself a Christian, a pacifist, and an environmentalist. Although a bit eccentric in his theology and his politics, he certainly took the Gospel seriously. I suspect Berry never read Romano Guardini, and that suspicion causes me to wonder how Guardini's thought might have altered Berry's worldview. Another question without an answer.

And so, today, I will pray for the soul of Wendell Berry. As a postscript it's good to know that Fr. Romano Guardini is now a Servant of God and his beatification process has begun, thanks to the Archdiocese of Munich and Freising. We should pray for that as well. 

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.   

Summer Reading

Even though I'm officially retired, life still slows down for me during the summer months. Many of our parishioners are "snowbirds" who head north to their summer homes under the mistaken belief that it will be better somewhere else than it is in Florida...Not! It's always better in Florida, even in the summer months. Anyway, this seasonal migration typically means fewer demands on my time. For example, the two Bible Study sessions I facilitate at the parish go on summer hiatus. The upshot? I have more time for leisure activities, especially reading.

During the past few months I've purchased a number of books and set them aside for my summer reading. Most of you who check out this blog regularly -- at least as regularly as I write in it -- probably don't give a hoot about my reading habits. But I make this list more for myself than for anyone else. By posting the titles here I turn this reading list into a public promise, one I will more likely fulfill. You see, with the addition in my life of more leisure time I can get a wee bit lazy. When I plop my slightly overweight body into my comfortable easy chair each evening, I might opt to watch a rerun of American Pickers instead of reading Augustine. And so, the list.

First, some general non-fiction titles...

Permanent Things, Ed. by Andrew A. Tadie & Michael H. McDonald; Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1995. A collection of essays about some of the 20th century's greatest minds, true conservatives such as T. S. Eliot, G. K. Chesterton, Russell Kirk, C. S. Lewis, etc.

Small Is Beautiful, by E. F. Schumacher; Harper Perennial, 1973. Subtitled, "Economics as if People Mattered", this is one of more influential books of the 20th century. I simply never got around to reading it, although a few years back I read the author's A Guide for the Perplexed and thoroughly enjoyed it. I'm particularly interested to see how this economist's thoughts mesh with the distributist ideas championed by Chesterton and Belloc.

Beginning at Jerusalem, by Glenn W. Olsen; Ignatius, 2004. Subtitled, "Five Reflections on the History of the Church", the book looks at the Church during five different historical periods and examines how she has maintained her essentials and how she has developed over the centuries.

The Fortunes of Permanence: Culture and Anarchy in an Age of Amnesia, by Roger Kimball; St. Augustine Press, 2012. This book won't be released until the end of June, so I have it on order and hope to receive in in early July. I read a couple of reviews and it sounds interesting.,

Then, some biographies...

Bishop John Carroll

A few months ago, while roaming through a used bookstore, I came across two biographies of members of the Catholic Carroll family of Maryland. Charles Carroll of Carrollton (1737-1832) was a Founding Father and signer of the Declaration of Independence, and his cousin, John Carroll of Baltimore (1735-1815), was the first Catholic bishop and archbishop in the United States. I found the two books leaning against each other on one of the shop's bookshelves.

Charles Carroll of Carrollton, by Ellen Hart Smith; Harvard University Press, 1942.

John Carroll of Baltimore, by Annabelle M. Melville; Charles Scribner's, 1955.

After reading these two books, I intend to see if more recent biographies have been written on these two men, since modern scholarship might well shed additional light on their lives and work.

And some fiction...

Lucifer's Hammer, by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle; Ballantine Books, 1977. For many folks, science fiction is one of those genres they ridicule in public but read in secret. Here, however, I declare openly that I actually enjoy science fiction, certainly not all of it, but the writing of certain authors; for example, Gene Wolfe and Walter M. Miller, Jr. For more than 30 years now several friends, knowing what I enjoy in the genre, have been urging me to read Lucifer's Hammer. So, finally, I bought it and intend to start it this evening.

Charles Williams

All Hallows' Eve, by Charles Williams; Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1948. Charles Williams who, along with C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien, was a member of the famous Inklings, wrote this book not long before he died in 1945. I actually read it, along with Williams' six other supernatural thrillers about 30 years ago. In those days, before the arrival of internet booksellers it was hard to find Williams' novels. And then, one day, while browsing in a Cape Cod bookstore I found all seven, newly reprinted by Eerdmans. I bought them all, read them one after another, and enjoyed each one immensely. I've decided it's time to reread them and will start with All Hallow's Eve because I've always considered it the best of the seven.

Finally some poetry...

Dante's Paradise, trans. by Anthony Esolen; Modern Library Classics, 2007. Dr. Esolen, a professor at Providence College, is one of those remarkable people whose work never fails to educate and delight. I've already read his translation of Dante's Inferno and Purgatory, and now look forward to being lifted up heavenward by his translation of Paradise. And don't neglect Dr. Esolen's other books; they're all wonderful.

Farming, A Hand Book, by Wendell Berry; Counterpoint Press, 1971 (2011). A book of poetry (and a play) by this contemporary, rural American poet whose work, much like the Psalms, always calms me. And that's saying a lot considering I'm so citified and suburbanized.

Use the comment function to share some of your summer reading...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A Christmas List of Books I Haven't Read

Recommending books for others to read can sometimes be a bit problematic. For example, some years ago I posted a list of books for summer reading and received a rather hostile email from someone who began by complaining about the "conservatism" of several of the authors on my list. Then he got to the real point of his email. "How come," he asked, "you listed books only by Catholic authors?" Well, Duh! -- Let's see...I'm a permanent deacon in the Roman Catholic Church, this blog tends to address subjects of interest to Catholics, and that particular list was aimed at Catholic readers who wanted to deepen their theological knowledge. (Actually, one of the authors on the list was David Bentley Hart, an Eastern Orthodox theologian from the University of Virginia. Another author on that list, Robert Alter, is a Jew who published a translation and commentary of The Five Books of Moses.) A few weeks later I received another complaint from a reader who purchased one of the recommended books, but didn't particularly like it. I think he expected me to reimburse him. I answered neither of these emails.

I mention this so you know I won't pay any attention to complaints about the following selection of books.  The titles I have listed below are simply books that have piqued my interest recently. Although I have yet to read any of them, I hope to do so once time and budget permit. Some books are included because I have read others by the same authors and enjoyed them. Some were added simply because their subject matter interests me. In a few instances I have read reviews written by people I trust. And some are "classics" that I have meant to read for years but just never seemed to have the time. In a sense, then, these are all second-hand recommendations, so I suggest you Google the titles and check out a few online reviews before buying. In any event, I seek neither praise nor blame. Save either for the authors.

Here's my list:

Imagination in Place, by Wendell Berry; Counterpoint Press, 2010. Berry, American poet and essayist, social critic and farmer, is a true man of letters. He is the kind of writer who can change minds through the eloquence and passion of his writing. He is a man with whom I occasionally disagree, but always with great difficulty. I look forward to reading this latest collection of essays in which he examines those writers who have helped form his own thought.

Jacques Barzun: Portrait of a Mind, by Michael Murray; Frederick C. Beil, 2011.  Jacques Barzun is now 105 years old and still writing. And so I suspect this will not be the last biography of the man. Who knows how long he will be with us? Born in France, Barzun came to the United States as a youth and embraced his new country. A prolific writer on a wide variety of subjects, he taught at Columbia for almost 50 years and then began a second career as an editor at Scribner's. I have read only a few of his books -- From Dawn to Decadence (2001); God's Country and Mine (1954); and The House of Intellect (1978) -- and enjoyed them all. I look forward to learning more about the life of this remarkable man.

Firmly I Believe and Truly: The Spiritual Tradition of Catholic England, by John Saward, John Morrill and Michael Tomko; Oxford University Press, 2011. This anthology of writings spans 500 years of England's post-Reformation history from a Catholic perspective. The selections, put together and introduced by a team of scholars, include writings of historical, theological and literary value. As someone who has long been interested in the lives and struggles of English Catholics during this period, I intend to read this book soon...as soon I can afford the rather hefty price tag.

The Mind of the Maker, by Dorothy Sayers; Continuum, 2005 (first published in 1941). This book is one of those classics that has sat unread on my bookshelf for a few decades. (My copy is an older, now out of print, paperback edition published by Harper Collins in 1987.) I've enjoyed reading Sayers ever since I was introduced to her when I was in high school and assigned to read her series of plays on the life of Jesus, The Man Born to be King (1941). After that I turned to her mystery writings, particularly her Lord Peter Wimsey Stories, which I continue to reread on occasion. But Sayers was more than a playwright and mystery writer. She was also a poet, a respected translator of Dante, a noted essayist, a cultural critic, and a Christian apologist. I intend to pull this book of the shelf this week and finally read it.

The Order of Things, by James V. Schall, S. J.; Ignatius Press, 2007. Once you read one book by Father Schall, you want to read everything he has written. This book happens to be one of his I apparently missed. I intend to order it this week, envelop it in colorful Christmas wrapping paper, and discreetly place it under the tree -- thus ensuring that I receive at least one wanted gift this year. Father Schall, a Professor of Government at Georgetown University, is a must-read author for anyone struggling to understand the ongoing intellectual and spiritual conflicts in the city of man and the city of God. I can hardly wait to open my present. If you feel inspired to read more of his work, try the following: Another Sort of Learning (1988); On the Unseriousness of Human Affairs (2001); and The Life of the Mind (2006).

The Peasant of the Garonne, by Jacques Maritain; Holt Rinehart Winston (1968). A friend gave me this book a few years ago, but I've never found the time to read it. Written by the great Catholic theologian and philosopher at the age of 85, it created quite a furor when it was published. In it Maritain attacked the modernism of the "new theology," claiming its evolution posed a real threat to the Church's spirituality and its core doctrinal beliefs. He apparently pulls no punches as he takes on those who would bow down to the modern world and its ephemeral fads and trends. In my younger days I made my way slowly through a number of Maritain's philosophical works, so perhaps it's time I read this book, which promises to be a bit more accessible to my aging mind.

The Myth of Hitler's Pope, by Rabbi David C. Dalin; Regnery, 2005. This book, which has the subtitle, How Pope Pius XII Rescued Jews from the Nazis, provides a well needed defense of Pope Pius XII who has been viciously and dishonestly attacked by the enemies of traditional religion in general and the Catholic Church in particular. This well-documented book, written by a Jewish rabbi with a Ph.D. from Brandeis University, goes a long way to correct the disinformation surrounding Pope Pius XII and the spiritual battle he fought against the Nazis before and during World War II. It, too, was a gift, given to me by a Jewish friend earlier this year. I intend to read it during the Christmas season.

I think that's enough reading for this Christmas. While most of the authors on my list are Catholics, I've also included a Baptist (Berry), a Jew (Dalin), an Anglican (Sayers), and a maybe-believer (Barzun). That should appease those enamored of diversity.

God's peace.,..

Wendell Berry

Recently I've been reading some of Wendell Berry's work, in particular his essays and poetry. I was first drawn to him because of his name. I have both an uncle and a cousin with a similar name -- Wendell Barry -- and Diane's mother had the maiden name of Berry...so I was curious about this American man of letters.

Perhaps I'll write more about him in a future post, but this morning I'd simply like to offer you a small sampling of his verse, a short poem I read a few moments ago as I waited for Diane to get ready for breakfast:

I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.

I have no love
except it come from Thee.

Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind.

God's peace on this beautiful gift of a morning...