The slavish honoring of the rich by elite schools, despite the lofty rhetoric about public service, is clear to the students. The object is to make money. These institutions have an insatiable appetite for donations and constant fund-raising campaigns to boost multibillion-dollar endowments. This constant need can be met only by producing rich alumni. But grabbing what you can, as John Ruskin said, isn’t any less wicked when you grab it with the power of your brains than with the power of your fists.
Most of these students are so conditioned to success that they become afraid to take risks. They have been taught from a young age by zealous parents, schools, and institutional authorities what constitutes failure and success. They are socialized to obey. They obsess over grades and seek to please professors, even if what their professors teach is fatuous. The point is to get ahead, and getting ahead means deference to authority. Challenging authority is never a career advancer….
The products of these institutions, as Hoggart noted, have “difficulty in choosing a direction in a world where there is no longer a master to please, a toffee-apple at the end of each stage, a certificate, a place in the upper half of the assessable world.”
Chris Hedges writing in Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle
Accessed from the Instagram account of 8th Day Center for Justice, Nov. 23, 2014.
This past Sunday was the feast of Christ the King. It was also the weekend of the annual protest at the School of the Americas, or the Western Hemispheric Institute for Security Cooperation, at Ft. Benning, Georgia.
The two events always overlap. I doubt that it is, strictly speaking, intentional. My understanding is that SOA Watch wants the weekend that’s before Thanksgiving, and also closest to the anniversary of the Jesuit martyrs of El Salvador (November 16, 1989).
But I like that they do overlap. I very much appreciated it the three times that I went to Benning. It’s a reminder that Christ the King (originally instituted in 1925 by Pope Pius XI to thumb the Vatican’s nose at secular states) is only worth celebrating if we remember that power, real power, is never about pushing other people around. We can’t do it, because God doesn’t do it. God respects the freedom of those created in God’s image.
The Gospel reading for this year’s feast, part of the cycle of Year A (“The Year of Matthew”), deserves to be quoted in full (Mt 25:31-46, RNAB, h/t U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops): Continue reading
At the civic welcome breakfast hosted by Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel on Nov. 19, Archbishop Blase Cupich read aloud the last paragraph of a book in which I have an essay: An Irrepressible Hope: Notes From Chicago Catholics.
Cupich didn’t use my piece, though. Instead, he drew from a (much better) piece from Fr. Bill Corcoran, entitled “Urbs in Horto”:
Enjoy your years with us. Stroll along the lakefront and through the Chicago Botanic Garden; sit on the lawn at the Pritzker Pavilion or at Ravinia for an al fresco concert; absorb masterpieces at the Art Institute and local theaters; delight in music from a world-class symphony and the Lyric Opera; appreciate the verve of ethnic life, like a “football” match on the pitch of Gaelic Park. Cheer on our local sports teams in good times and bad. Immerse yourself in the life of this great area. We love our city, and in time you will see why we do. Above all, in all of this, get to know our wonderful people. You will come to love them, as they love the Lord. You remain in our prayers. “A hundred thousand welcomes!” Now, get to work.
(H/t to publisher Greg Pierce, and to the Facebook page of ACTA Publications.)
Francis Cardinal George, OMI. Photo by Rich Hein for the Chicago Sun-Times.
On Friday, Nov. 14, I attended weekday Mass. The experience was bittersweet.
It was the 12:10 liturgy at Chicago’s Holy Name Cathedral. The main celebrant was Francis Cardinal George, OMI, the retiring archbishop of Chicago.
I sat along the central aisle. I tried and failed to ignore cameramen from local media outlets who had set up for a good shot. As the organ thundered “The King of Love My Shepherd Is,” a phalanx of clergy marched within inches of me.
There were deacons and priests in white stoles, most bearing the red-eagled coat of arms of the archdiocese. There were the auxiliary bishops, some familiar to me and some not, all wearing tall white miters. And finally there was the Cardinal, in his red zucchetto and white-and-burgundy chasuble.
He was unsmiling, purse-lipped, and on crutches. George, who is suffering from his third bout with cancer, has a tumor pressing on nerves and veins. It makes it painful for him to walk, on top of the polio-related limp he has endured for more than sixty years anyway. A seminarian altar server, hands veiled in a vimpa, carried the Cardinal’s crosier for him. Continue reading
The Risen Christ is with us this day,
And He continues to need each one of you.
Jesus needs your eyes to continue to see.
He needs your strength to continue to work.
He needs your voice to continue to preach.
He needs your hands to continue to bless.
He needs your heart to continue to love.
And Jesus needs your whole being to continue to build up His body, the Church.
As we believe, so let us live!
–Joseph +Cardinal Bernardin (April 2, 1928 – November 14, 1996). Taken from For You, O God: Loyola University Chicago Prayer Book, 1995 edition.
I had some remarkable experiences at church a couple of weekends ago. I want to blog about them. I have done too many “Asides” lately, I try to preserve “Fireside Chats” for “secular” things (more or less), and I don’t think either of these stories fit at Young Adult Catholics. Therefore I am doing a two-part series called “Take Me to Church.” This is the second and final installment.
The weekend of my birthday, I went to church twice. There was Mass on Saturday night. Then I went to a Reformation Day service at my dad’s Lutheran church on Sunday afternoon. It’s quite the combination.
Reformation Day celebrates Martin Luther nailing his theses to the church door in Wittenberg: the hammer heard round the world. He did it on Halloween of 1517. But Missouri Synod Lutherans, as best I can tell, observe the event on the Sunday closest to the 31st.
I did not dress for the occasion. I wore a hoodie with the name and logo of my Catholic high school. Nobody seemed to care, though I suspect that may have been German Midwestern decorum at work. I also wore my largest and most garish St. Benedict medal. But I had the sense to keep it under my hoodie.
Our preacher was a guest. He is a pastor who runs a fellowship for Lutherans of Arab background who have converted from Islam. The fellowship also seeks to convert Arabic-speaking Muslims to Christianity. Islam, they teach, is a false religion. Continue reading
St. Benedict of Nursia by Fra Angelico. Via Wikipedia.org.
For the feast of All Saints, 2014.
I was maybe five years old on that rainy Monday afternoon when my mom and I visited my grandparents. The house smelled Polish, like it always did: fresh bacon grease and Vienna bread. My grandmother waved a soaking-wet envelope triumphantly.
“I asked St. Anthony. He found it for me,” she said.
Grandma and Grandpa were supposed to get a check of some sort: Social Security, Grandpa’s steelworker pension, World War II reparations from Germany, something like that. Anyway, this particular check was days if not weeks late. So Grandma invoked the patron of lost objects. Now it was here.
In this way I met the saints. Continue reading