and then came virgin spring

It's probably counter-intuitive, but I credit Ingmar Bergman—a man who lost faith—with helping me find my way back to the Catholic Church.

Actually, when it finally came time to see some Bergman, we didn't just put The Seventh Seal in the Netflix queue . We added Virgin Spring... mainly because of the connection with Last House on the Left.

Last House on the Left, you may know, was Wes Craven's first movie, and he was partnering with Friday the 13th producer Sean Cunningham (yes, we do know our way around slasher films!). Anyway, we thought it would be fun to do a Virgin Spring / Last House double-feature. I hadn't seen either film, so we would see the old Swedish folk tale on which they're based done both Arthouse and Grindhouse.

In the Swedish tale, the daughter of the house is raped and murdered during a trip into town by a gang of brothers that inadvertently takes hospitality that night at the parents' house. The parents, on learning of their daughter's death at the hands of their guests, take revenge. (Ever notice that it's always called "a shocking revenge"... regardless of whether the film publicist is talking about the Arthouse version or the Grindhouse version?).

Let me say up front that I was not much impressed with Last House on the Left. It's crudely plotted and poorly shot... and I saw it the day after taking a trip into the sublime. Virgin Spring , though, changed my life.

Bergman's film is set in Medieval Sweden. The parents are devout Catholics, thought there are still remnants of the ancient pagan religion surrounding them. On the day on which the film is set, they send their teenage daughter several miles into town to deliver candles to the priest for a feast day to the Blessed Virgin. The girl is young, exuberant, loving, full of life. When she is raped and murdered, we feel the nausea alongside the youngest (innocent) brother—a mere boy.

When the devout father exacts his revenge, we are shocked (as he soon will be) because his vengeance takes even the life of the boy. Bergman does not let us bathe ourselves in vengeance—as a more exploitative filmmaker would. Instead, he undermines the vengeance by the destruction of the innocent along with the guilty... and then showing the father stare down at the hands that have done this thing.

It's the final scene, though, that did something to me. As the father repents by the body of his dead child, a virgin spring of water spontaneously gushes from the ground... pure miracle and pure grace.

The next day, I was in a daze. About a month later, I was again a Catholic. Don't ask me how exactly it happened, but Bergman unleashed something in me... or rather, the Holy Spirit somehow worked through Bergman. Sweet irony, that.

Here's the prelude to the rape and murder of the girl:

a knight plays chess with death

When Ingmar Bergman died, I put the The Seventh Seal at the top of my Netflix queue and—on August 4, 2007—had my first encounter with a Bergman film. As I wrote on a film geek listserv the next day:

I finally saw my first Bergman film last night. Given everything I'd heard about him throughout my adult life, I was actually surprised at how accessible it was. I thought it was going to be much more difficult.

I knew he was supposed to be dark and gloomy. I honestly did not know that he was also supposed to be an existentialist who was obsessed with God. If I'd known that, I would have watched him a long time ago. I was thinking Ibsen when I should have been thinking Kierkegaard (but without the leap of faith). I did find it interesting that he didn't answer the faith questions either in the affirmative or the negative. It's neither nihilistic existentialism nor theistic existentialism. It's more like agnostic existentialism - unable to commit either way.

But I did find it interesting that Bergman took the classic existential paradigm—i.e. to live the day as if it's your last and make significant choices based on the over-arching fact of death—and turn it into a meditation on what choice the knight would make when confronted with imminent death. And the choice is not simply to play chess and kick death down the road a little. The choice is to use the chess match to distract death long enough for the young family to escape. That is, he chooses to do something noble, something of significance. That doesn't mean death won't catch up with the family the next day. But they at least wake to see the next morning.

For me, the film was actually refreshing. It reminded me of Giles Mitchell—my mentor in undergrad/grad school—who was a brilliant existential literary critic back when such things still existed. I adored Giles. He died a few years ago, but he was amazing.

I watched The Seventh Seal out of sort of an obligatory sense that I needed to see something by Bergman before I died. His death gave me the impetus to do so. I decided on The Seventh Seal because the chess match with Death sounded potentially cool. But I still assumed that the film would be just another depressing piece of Nordic naturalism. In other words, I fully expected to hate Bergman. I expected this to be my first Bergman film... and my last. Instead, after seeing The Seventh Seal, I watched in quick succession: Virgin Spring, Wild Strawberries, Persona, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, The Silence, Hour of the Wolf, and Shame. I just couldn't get enough... but I took a break after Shame.

What struck me about The Seventh Seal was that Bergman is asking the right questions about life, death and faith. American cinema (American culture itself!) has become so full of meaningless bluster. But this film does not insult its viewer's intelligence. It deals seriously with the existence or non-existence of God in the face of potential human annihilation. It stares into the abyss straight on, but still offers hope.

In the beginning, when the actor Joseph sees a vision of the Virgin Mary teaching Baby Jesus to walk, we don't know if he's imagining it or is truly a visionary. Later in the film, though, he truly does see what no one else can: the knight playing chess with Death—and ultimately, Death leading Joseph's former traveling companions in the Dance of Death (die Totentanz or Danse Macabre).

Bergman may have been a skeptic (the view embodied in the war-weary knight and squire), but he's too honest to provide an easy answer. And in a time when everybody claims to know everything, that was refreshing.

Here's the opening sequence (through the beginning of the chess match with death):

sleeping in light

This afternoon, we watched the elegiac final episode of BABYLON 5, "Sleeping in Light," which takes place 20 years later. We have finished BABYLON 5.

The first time we watched Season 5 (about 10 years ago), it was difficult. We were dealing with the loss of Ivanova and with Lennier and Lyta plotlines that we hadn't really seen coming. That's not the fault of B5 creator JMS (J. Michael Straczysnki). It's obvious on second viewing that he laid in the groundworking for these plots in earlier seasons. But the first time around, we were caught up in the more obvious plotlines - Londo's tragic ascension to the Centauri throne and Garibaldi's alcoholic relapse. So we didn't notice the more subtle plots as they were developing. And then they hit us, very painfully, over the head.

I used to think that Season 5 got screwed up by the loss of Ivanova because Straczynski had to re-organize some plot elements. I also thought that having to rush the plot in Season 4 (since he didn't know if he'd get a Season 5 in which to finish the story) had messed things up. I really thought Season 5 was a letdown.

Now I know it's not. It has a very different feel. But it's as brilliant as any of the seasons that came before it.

For any B5 fans out there, here's a wonderful tribute to the final episode, with highlights including Sheridan's passing beyond the rim and the decommissioning of the Babylon 5 station:



Thank you, JMS, for probably the best television show ever.

by the way...

Here are some of my photos from the past couple of years. These are not photoshopped. Click and enjoy...

torture

It is disheartening that some Catholics try to rationalize torture.

Here is an article that decisively debunks such mental and spiritual gymnastics.

Here are some of Pope Benedict's thoughts on the matter. Torture is never acceptable, even to thwart a terrorist attack.

touching base

I haven't posted since September. But that doesn't mean I haven't been practicing my recovered Catholic faith!

Because of my scholarly background, I've always been drawn to Latin and Greek. So, I was delighted when Pope Benedict XVI liberated the Traditional Latin Mass. I'm not what you would call a Latin-only person, or even a traditionalist really. But I have attended the Extraordinary Form Mass on weekends non-stop since I first visited it on Thanksgiving weekend. I also picked up a 1962 Roman Missal.

The outstanding Summorum Pontificum edition of the 1962 Roman Missal (1962), published by Baronius Press, not only has the Mass in Latin (with English on opposite pages), but it also has a treasury of wonderful daily prayers, Sunday Vespers, Compline and a lot of other great stuff. And it's in a handy size.

I'm sounding like an advertisement. But this is really a wonderful Missal. I recommend it highly for anybody who wants to explore Catholic faith and spirituality.

The traditionalists complain a lot about the various prayers that were omitted from the Novus Ordo Mass, and actually they have a point. I was Eastern Orthodox once upon a time, and one of my favorite prayers was a personal preparation-for-communion prayer that spoke of my unworthiness to have the Lord enter under the roof of the house of my soul. It really emphasized for me the enormity of what is taking place during communion - i.e. that the Eucharist is the self-giving of the God of all creation, communing with me. I always thought: "Wow, the Orthodox have all the cool prayers. I never learned anything like this when I was Catholic"

But guess what? A variation of the same prayer has been part of Catholic prayer since undoubtedly before the East-West split.

Here it is in the Traditional Latin Mass:

Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof; say but the word, and my soul shall be healed.

That's said once before the priest's communion, and three times before the people's communion.

Here it is in the "Devotions for Communion" prayers from the 1962 Missal (mentioned above):

Come then, O Jesus, take possession of a heart that wishes to belong to Thee. "Behold, God, this house of my heart is too narrow for Thee: do Thou enlarge it; it is falling to ruin; do Thou repair it; it has been defiled by sin: do Thou cleanse and purify it. "Look Thou upon me, and have mercy on me. Oh, heal my soul for I have sinned against Thee! Let Thy tender mercies come unto me, and I shall live! Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof; say but the word, and my soul shall be healed."

The Orthodox don't have all the cool prayers. We have them too. But we've streamlined the Mass. In the new Mass, we simply say: "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed." - nothing about coming under my roof or even about my soul.

I think we really have lost something with the streamlining of the prayers at Mass. This doesn't mean that I think the new Mass is invalid. It just means that I think the Extraordinary Form is much more extraordinary than the Ordinary Form is. I'm glad to have it back.

in communion

Well, I received the Blessed Sacrament in the Catholic Church this morning... for the first time in nearly 13 years. And I registered in my parish.

It was actually not a huge transcendent experience. I have been having some health issues lately - some lower abdominal pain. I know that the techs doing an ultrasound the other day found ovarian cysts... but I don't know the size or whether they are benign or malign. And I've had some extra-curricular bleeding. Like spotting for one week. Then nothing for one week. Spotting for one week. Then nothing for one week.

Since I'm 50 years old, this did not particularly alarm me. But given the presence of cysts, it's starting to alarm me. It now seems more likely that it's related to cysts than a perimenopausal menstrual freak out.

The long and short of this is that I started bleeding lightly this morning. And it looked more like normal blood than like menstrual flow. It was really alarming under the circumstances. And it started a couple hours before Mass.

So I was distracted by thoughts of cancer and dying. And then during Mass, I was also distracted by problems with the music. And then after Mass, no bleeding.

But I persisted and received the Eucharist. And I'm back in communion in the Catholic Church.