Edith Stein on "extraordinary women"

A few weeks ago I emerged from one of my favorite places of prayer, the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington DC, with a new book under my arm: "Essays on Woman," by Edith Stein. The German Jewish philosopher-turned-Carmelite, is also known to the world as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, whose fruitful life ended in martyrdom at the gas chambers of Auschwitz.

In the church’s cool underground chapels I had been pondering the call to sainthood, a call that of late had been plummeting through the chasms of my stubborn, quick-to-speak and slow-to-hear personality, snagging on the sharp edges of my anger and my fear, and getting mired in the muck of my self-indulgence and self-pity... read the rest here, at Catholic Womanhood.

Book Club: Themes, Thoughts, Questions

Many of you have told me you're interested in reading Kristin Lavransdatter this summer. Our goal for finishing Part I of the book is June 1, so I hope you can find a copy and start reading soon if you haven't already!

I thought it might be helpful to lay out a few themes, thoughts, and questions regarding Part I--purely from my own encounter with the text. (I will probably glance at and share some thoughts from others' commentaries on the text once I read the whole thing, but honestly, I don't want to read them yet and spoil the plot!) I'll try not to give anything "major" away, so these points will be very general, and filled out more on June 1. I admit up front that I don't think I can approach this book in the "detached" way that I did books in my lit classes for high school and college, discussing it purely for the sake of literary criticism. There's just too much here that begs to be related to our own humanity and our own experience of faith, life, family, tradition, etc.

A few things to keep in mind/think about as you read:

• The dynamic of sin: There is so much here... how the sin of individuals can affect not only those persons but also relationships, families, communities. Notice the comparisons/contrasts with our own culture. The same sins persist, but in a cultural milieu that claims that the actions of individuals can be conducted in a realm that is merely "private" and without relevance to the outside community.
• Honor: What is honor, for the characters in this book? Is it meaningful, or is it simply an imposition of the culture?
• Filial/spousal/fraternal/friendship/fuedal relationships: I don't want to say too much here for fear of giving too much away. I just want to note the excellent depth with which Undset treats these relationships and ask what, if anything, stood out to you about them.
• Natural world: Notice how frequently the natural world is not simply an intert backdrop for the story-- life is dependent on and affected by the natural world, not only because many of the characters are farmers, but also because in this historial period there is little technology to separate one from the realities of nature. At the same, the natural world also seems to both highlight and echo the characters' experiences/feelings.
• Historical/cultural elements: What stands out most to you about life in 14th century Norway? A few questions: what do you think of the "Catholicism" of the culture? What does it mean for life to be dated not by numerals but by feasts and fasts, holy days and saint's days? Here's one particular moment that stood out to me:

"Directly opposite her, on the south wall of the nave, stood a picture that glowed as if it had been made from nothing but glittering gemstones. The multicolored specks of light on the wall came from rays emanating from the picture itself; she and the monk were standing in the midst of its radiance. Her hands were red, as if she had dipped them in wine; the monks face seemed to be completely gilded, and from his dark cowl, the colors of the picture were dimly reflected...it was like standing at a great distance and looking into heaven." (p. 32 in my copy)

Kristin, as a child, wonders at the beauty and mystery of stained glass in her first encounter with it on a trip to a faraway city with her father. This was a singular experience for her; the cathedral was probably the largest building she had ever entered, and other than in the natural world, she had probably never experienced such beauty. What a constrast with our own experience--we have entered countless large structures with purposes far from glorifying God, and colors, sounds, and images are constantly flickering past our eyes in all sorts of media and modes. The church is no longer a world set apart in this way; the mere entry into a church building is not an entry into a new more wonderous or more beautiful world that reflects heaven. In fact, the art, imagery, and music encountered within a church can sometimes seem to be struggling to reach the excellence of that which we have experienced outside.

Certainly, I can think of many exceptions. Personally, when I think of beautiful (non-natural) places, my mind turns to a short list of cathedrals, churches, and chapels that I hold dear. I think what I am reflecting on is that in our cynical, technological, post-Enlightenment age, it is difficult to count on a spontaneous experience of wonder as a companion to our entry in a church structure; in the environment in which we live today, I think the ability to wonder must be both protected and cultivated because it seems important with regard to the desire for God, and that which is not "of this world," but that's another post for another time. I'd love to hear what you all think on this topic.

Happy reading!

Book Nook: St. George and the Dragon

Truth be told, I had been trying to avoid the knightly stories and legends until later. At the tender age of 3.5, I doubted that Gabriel could discern the difference between inappropriate and uncalled-for violence and force used in honorable defense of a just cause. Plus, I just didn’t want to fuel the mischievous fire of using sticks, poles, brooms, or any other as long pointed objects as tools for recreational poking of younger brothers.

But Gabriel kept coming upon knights anyway– a plastic castle play set, and exhibit of armor in the National Gallery, books he found on his own in the library– and I think he was getting the idea that they were just plain “bad” because every time he played knight (which entailed poking people or things inappropriately) I curtailed or redirected his fun. And he kept playing knight anyway. So, rather than have him play “bad” knight, I thought it better to fuel his imagination with some “good” knight stories.

So I caved and during “G” week we talked about St. George (a possibly mythological Catholic saint, but useful for teaching purposes nonetheless), and read this beautiful, Caldecott-medal winning picture book that dwells in the realm of myth most certainly. Written by Margaret Hodges and illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman, it is a retelling of a portion of Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene (about which I know quite little other than what is in this book).

Not only did Gabriel love this book, it was beautifully written, with rich, descriptive language and illustrations that could serve as practically a full semester’s study in floral botany for an older child. Although the language was on first glance a bit above Gabriel's level, I try to read a bit above his comprehension level because I think he rises to the occasion. Plus, I've noticed him using similes and metaphors in his own speech and I think it is thanks to us reading books that are a bit more "advanced." This book had a similar aura of magic and allegorical possibilities that I appreciate so much in C.S. Lewis’ Narnia. George is led to the battle with the dragon by a princess named Una, who to me had slightly Marian overtones...

Now the travelers rode together, through wild woods and wildness, perils and dangers, to Una’s kingdom. The path they had to follow was straight and narrow, but not easy to see. Sometimes the Red Cross Knight [George] rode to far ahead of Una and lost his way. Then she had to find him and guide him back to the path. So they journeyed on. With Una by his side fair and faithful, no monster or giant could stand before the knight’s bright sword.

The battle between St. George and the dragon is a bit grisly– do read the book ahead of time if you’re not sure about age-appropriateness of dragon’s tails gushing a bit of blood and a slightly wounded St. George lying almost-defeated before the last day of his battle). Although the battle is kind of intense, it leads to a Baptism-like moment when a near-to-death St. George falls into an “ancient spring of silvery water” that heals him, such that he is able to rise with the sun to face the dragon again the next morning.

I hesitated to introduce this book to Gabriel–it’s kind of a confusing mix of fairytale, myth, true virtue, and the concept of sainthood–but this book deservedly captivated his imagination and enabled me to talk to him a bit about bravery and. The Loyola Kids Book of Saints has a great take on St. George– mythological or not, the story teaches us that with Christ we can bravely fight against the dragons in our lives–whether they be or problematic habits or behaviors of our own or evil that comes from outside. Less profound but still useful in our house was the fact that I can now say “Did St. George use his sword on the nice townspeople or against the mean dragon? Your brother is not a mean dragon...” ...and it's been (mostly) effective so far.

For some more lighthearted, not quite so advanced knight books, focusing on the “good knight” idea, try the Good Knight series and the Sir Small series. Neither are particularly beautiful nor profound, but for a little guy who's into knights, they help drive home the idea that knights can be honorable and good, and they are slightly humorous if read in with an attempted British accent.

Slow Death by Rubber Duck

Heard these guys on the Diane Rhem Show on NPR today. (Here's a quick book review from the Post regarding the book as well.) The chemical folks claim BPA isn't harmful, but it sounds like the FDA is beginning to be "concerned" about it. Better safe than sorry, if it's not too hard to change, right? So I'm currently checking up on all my kitchen plastics--we've eliminated zip-lock bags for the most part, but I use 32-oz yogurt containers for freezing all my stock and extra soup. I am dismayed about the fact that there is BPA in the lining of ALL food industry cans (except the beans sold by Eden Organics)! We don't eat much canned food, but I do like getting canned tomatoes, tuna, and salmon. Sigh. I guess the bright side is that I'll be inspired to can my own tomatoes this summer--they sell tons of cheap, organic bruised tomatoes at our farmer's markets in the summer! I'm experimenting with alternatives to shampoo too; the experiment is on-going so I'll let you know how that goes after my hair goes through its "de-tox" days.
* * *
On a more philosophical note, Michael asked me the other day why changing our own lifestyle in little ways promotes what Pope Benedict XVI calls in his World Day of Peace Message "an authentic human ecology" that would "forcefully reaffirm the inviolability of human life at every stage" as well as promote a "respect for nature." I was reminded of his question when I heard the authors of the above-mentioned book discuss their investigation of the city of Parkersburg, WV, home to the Dupont Chemical plant that produces (yuck) Teflon. We stopped using Teflon a while back, and have (obviously) not knowingly purchased any cookware that is coated with the stuff since then. As I heard on the radio, there have been concerns that one of the most dangerous of the Teflon chemicals, known as C8 or PFOA (perfluorooctanic acid), has contaminated the air and drinking water near DuPont's plant, with all sorts of ramifications for the health of the citizens there--cancers, strange illnesses, etc. It hit me then again-- this isn't just about me, although I was thinking that it really was. There is a face, a person, suffering the consequences of the production of that Teflon cookware that I am consciously choosing not to purchase. I could be wrong, but I think I heard on the radio that they were moving to completely eliminate the production of Teflon...? Lots of individuals refusing to purchase such products has got to have something to do with that, at least, I hope so.

Weekend Book Nook: Paddle-to-the-Sea

“Hmmf. Good book,” remarked the bearded, not-all-that-friendly-looking, middle-aged librarian as I checked out this book with its companion 70's-produced DVD. It’s not all that often that even the chatty, friendly, lady-librarians remark on my book choices, so when our silent male librarian behind the checkout desk shared his approval of Paddle-to-the-Sea, I had an inkling that this was a good boy-book. I discovered it by chance, by typing the word “creek” into my library system’s card catalog. We read it back in the fall, during “C” week, when we were investigating creeks and ponds. Paddle-to-the-Sea is a small wooden Indian carved one winter by a Native American Indian boy in the snowy mountains of Canada. The boy sets him on the edge of a snowbank to wait for spring, and when the snow melts into the creeks, Paddle begins his journey. He makes his way to the sea by way of rivers, the Great Lakes, and the helping hands of some friends he meets along the way, including fishermen, children, and lighthouse keeper.

The illustrations are vivid and detailed–I think this is why the book engaged my son even though it had a full page of text for each vignette of Paddle’s journey. He was fascinated (of course) by the forest fire scenes, as well as the depictions of the industries and pasttimes one encounters along the river and lakes (logging, fishing, the Coast Guard, lighthouse keeping, etc.) The book puts flesh and bones to geography and natural science with maps of Paddle’s journey, as well as explanations of how water travels to the sea, and beautiful pictures of the various ecosystems he encountered. The characters Paddle meets along the way, and their jobs would make a great mini-unit on Canadian and North-Eastern American social studies.

As I mentioned, there is a short film based on the movie, which can be found in DVD form. We enjoyed it, although it was definitely a get-it-at-the-library kind of thing, not something I would say was so great that we’d want to purchase it. That being said, it seems as though Paddle has something of a cult-following (in the lightest meaning of the term), given that there are...yes... facebook groups dedicated to him. Guess I found a good one, eh? :)

* * *
Also on my grown-up bookshelf this weekend:

Fire Within:St Theresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross by Thomas Dubay... I've only read the intro so I'll have to save any detailed thoughts on it for later.

Another newbie for 2010: The Weekend Book Nook

"By inner necessity, the search for God demands a culture of the word or – as Jean Leclercq put it: eschatology and grammar are intimately connected with one another in Western monasticism (cf. L’amour des lettres et le désir de Dieu). The longing for God, the désir de Dieu, includes amour des lettres, love of the word, exploration of all its dimensions. Because in the biblical word God comes towards us and we towards him, we must learn to penetrate the secret of language..."

"Thus it is through the search for God that the secular sciences take on their importance, sciences which show us the path towards language. Because the search for God required the culture of the word, it was appropriate that the monastery should have a library, pointing out pathways to the word. It was also appropriate to have a school, in which these pathways could be opened up. Benedict calls the monastery a dominici servitii schola. The monastery serves eruditio, the formation and education of man – a formation whose ultimate aim is that man should learn how to serve God. But it also includes the formation of reason – education – through which man learns to perceive, in the midst of words, the Word itself."

(From Pope Benedict's speech to representatives of the world of culture in France on September 12, 2008)

Pope Benedict offers an idea that speaks to all bibliophiles who always knew that there was something more to their love affair with books. We are drawn to books–good books, books that reveal the truth about the human person; books that speak of the beauty as well as the sorrows of this created world; books that overflow, above all, with words– because we long to know The Word himself. "The longing for God, the désir de Dieu, includes amour des lettres, love of the word, exploration of all its dimensions."

Why is this? Pope Benedict points out that one key way that God has revealed himself is through the word, the Scriptures. The only way such a revelation can be fully appreciated is through a cultivation of a “culture of the word.” My life as a lover of language has made me realize that the more one reads, the greater one’s sensitivity to the nuances of phrasing, the depth of metaphor, and the painting of character.

Our family is embarking on a new exploration of words as we teach our little ones to "penetrate the secret of language" through learning to read and write. Like the monastery, our little domestic church is called to pursue eruditio, the formation and education of man. And so we fill our days with living books, exploring childhood’s literary landscape in order to engage the heart and open the mind to knowledge. As Charlotte Mason remarks, the key to education is presenting children not with dry facts, but “with fact clothed upon by living flesh, breathed into by the vital spirit of quickening ideas.” Good literature incarnates history, geography, science, culture, and faith, propelling the naturally curious mind of the child towards a greater engagement with topics than the faceless facts of textbooks.

Such literature does not always leap off the library shelves into our hands. Often we find it through the guidance of others who have gone before us, sometimes we happen upon it. This little Weekend Book Nook will be a space to share literary discoveries and our family’s engagement with them. Most will probably be elementary-aged children’s literature, as my oldest child is only 3, and that is where our sights are set at the moment.

My grown-up reading habits entail much “grazing” and little “finishing,” but I’m sure from time to time my own reading will make its presence known as well.

Lest I think my efforts are in vain...

Today as Gabriel, Peter and I were riding in the car to go pick up our veggies and milk from the co-op we participate in, we were listening to the classical music station on the radio. A Mozart piece came on– don’t ask me the name, because I don’t really focus on these things(!)– and I waited for a reaction from Gabriel. Suddenly from the back of the car I hear:

“Mommy! Is that your phone? Is your phone ringing?”
“No, Gabriel. That’s the radio.”
“But, no, Mommy, I hear your phone!”
“Actually, what you hear is the melody my phone plays when it rings. Mozart wrote that melody a long time ago, and now someone is playing it on the piano.”
“Is it Daddy?” [Daddy is our home’s resident pianist and musician extraordinaire...]
“No, it is a different man, or maybe even a woman.”
“Hey...Mozart! That’s like the book we read! Is this the melody he found? Is this Mozart’s melody?!”

At least ten months ago we read a book from the library called Mozart Finds A Melody. Gabriel would have been not quite 2 ½ years old. It was a rather whimsical rhyming picture book about Mozart and his pet bird, and his attempt to find a melody for his next composition. I had just grabbed it off the shelf, seeing that it looked kind of like a “living book” and hoping he might connect it to Daddy’s piano playing. It seemed way over his head at the time, but we read it a couple times and then returned it, not to mention it again. But it was there, swirling around in Gabriel’s little thoughts, and it reemerged...today!

Episodes like this make me increasingly more committed to filling my children’s hearts and minds with excellence and beauty, and more averse to fluffy cartoon characters or books featuring characters with bad attitudes, slapstick violence, or potty humor. You’d think the library would know better than to stock such stuff, but I find that 75% of the time when Gabriel randomly finds a book off the shelves, it features the above-mentioned attributes. Books can be fun without all that... Cynthia Rylant’s books are great examples. (I’ll talk more about them in an upcoming post.)

Finding living books that feed Gabriel’s mind and heart takes extra effort–in our case, I check trusted booklists, go to the library website, request the books online, and wait until they come in. Then our trip to the library is much simpler... I have a huge stack of genuinely good books waiting for me (although I always flip through them now before reading them) and we can make a short visit to the children’s section for one or two spontaneous finds. Much easier than browsing shelves with two little ones in tow!

Two good Advent reads (for kids and grown-ups alike)

I have to admit I am enjoying the re-discovery of the children's section of the library that Gabriel, now 2, has prompted. We brought home an armful of Christmas books from our last trip. Here are two that I've taken particular delight in myself.

The first is The Nativity--the basic biblical text--accompanied by illustrations by Julie Vivas. OK, so the reason I am loving this book is not only that the angel Gabriel has enormous translucent wings andd announces the birth of Jesus over a cup of tea to a Mary who appears to have just come in from hanging laundry to dry. I also love the reality of motherhood that Vivas paints into the story of Christ's birth. She shows Mary's delight with her ever-growing womb. The journey to Bethlehem begins with St. Joseph straining to help a very pregnant Mary onto her precarious perch atop the donkey. (And I thought riding to the hospital in our car was uncomfortable...!) After Jesus is born an exhausted Mary snoozes in the hay next to some curious chickens, while, leaning against Joseph, who cradles the swaddled baby. When Joseph and Mary ride off into Egypt, Mary carries Jesus in a simple sling. I suppose it could sound almost a tad irreverent, but it’s not. Perhaps “earthy” would be a better word to describe the illustrations–to me they seem to gently the tangible, physical, reality of the Incarnation, and the amazing humility of the situation in which God chose to become flesh.

The second, I admit, Gabriel has not yet let me finish, nor is he quite old enough yet to appreciate: A Child’s Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas. We’ve ventured farther into the book than I thought he would allow, because the first section of the book features firemen. Reading even a bit of this book aloud, however, was a treat for me, because the vivid poetic language rolled so easily and beautifully off the tongue. Here’s a bit I particularly enjoyed:

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.