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):

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.

so... they let me back in :-)

I went to confession a week ago, after a long hiatus from the Catholic Church. There was one issue that needed to be resolved before I could be in communion. I got married in the Orthodox Church.

Now, the Catholic Church does regard Orthodox sacraments as valid. I already knew that. And in a Catholic-Orthodox marriage, it's more common for the Catholic to get married in the Orthodox Church than for the Orthodox to get married in the Catholic Church... because Orthodoxy does not accept Catholic sacraments. (is that complicated enough?).

So there was no question, really, that I technically had a sacramentally valid marriage. But there was an issue involved. I had left the Catholic Church before I got married. This was not a Catholic-Orthodox wedding. It was an Orthodox-Presbyterian wedding, and I was the one who was Orthodox. The priest decided that he needed to consult with a more knowledgeable priest at the cathedral in order to sort out my situation. I just needed to be patient.

Well, on Monday I got a phone call from the priest. He had spoken to someone at the diocese, and we set up a meeting for last night. I had no idea what the upshot of the meeting was going to be. I figured that I'd be going through a period of discernment. Maybe RCIA. Maybe dig up my sacramental certificates. Maybe get the marriage blessed. I really had no idea.

As it turned out, he was counseled to find out if I'd given this some thought. I told him how I decided to return to the Catholic Church (clearly the Holy Spirit!)... and it reminded him of St. Augustine's conversion experience as he heard St. Ambrose preach. Except, of course, that I had already been confirmed Catholic.

Here's basically what happened. Catholicism had surprisingly started to look more and more like the only Christian refuge from the ravages of dualism - as it is expressed in the modern world and in the other churches. I had also recognized, as soon as I heard of it, that Mother Teresa's spiritual darkness was not atheism but the dark night of the soul. Her darkness comforted me actually. Regardless of these musings, I had not had a single truly serious thought about returning to the Catholic Church.

Then, I found myself with a tight Sunday schedule, but still wanting to go to find a church where I could worship God. I figured that the local Catholic parish would be my best bet because I knew their doctrine and knew that they would have several Mass time options. So I went on Google and typed in "catholic falls church." Up came the parish, and I found out the Mass schedule.

The music (guitar Mass) hadn't changed at all over the years. It was sounding tired and dated. But as soon as I got past that and into the readings and responses, I really knew that the Mass was speaking directly to me. The readings were about coming home. And then they sang one of my old favorites: "Hosea" (come back to me).

It was like I was being directed to do something that I had not once considered seriously in 12 years. The ease with which I put on my Catholic self during Mass astounded me. And more to the point, my Catholic self was clearly my TRUE self. By the time I walked out of Mass, I knew that I was still a Catholic Christian in my heart. The Catholic Church was where I needed to be. And I was willing to do whatever it took to sort it out and figure out a way to return... even revisit the Immaculate Conception.

When I spoke about this with my priest last night, he confirmed my belief that this was the real deal. I had not given a lot of conscious chronological time to the decision. But instead, I'd had a definitive experience of the Holy Spirit's guidance, and I KNEW. And the experience had already changed my life.

So instead of having to go through a lot of waiting, which I was actually planning to do, he offered me the opportunity to make a profession of faith right there in his office and return to the communion of the Catholic Church (I guess he did find out that the marriage was valid in the eyes of the Church). So of course, I made a profession of faith. And he welcomed me home.

As I said to my old friend George, "They let me back in!" To which George replied, "I kind of thought they would. :-)"

immaculate conception

continuation of conversation with my old friend George...

So, George, you know what just happened to me? I suddenly understood the Immaculate Conception. Or at least I think I did.

I have been thinking about it as something needed for Jesus to come. And it didn't make any sense. Why would the mother of Jesus need to be born without the stain of original sin in order to bring Jesus into the world? That would seem to take Mary out of the commonality of the human race... and defeat the whole purpose of the Incarnation and Christ's sharing in our human nature.

But I just got it flipped on its head. It's not about conditions necessary for Christ's birth. It's about salvation for Mary, as an example of salvation through Christ for us. The Immaculate Conception is about possibilities. Not that we are going to be immaculately conceived, but that we have the potential for salvation and holiness through Mary's Son. Just as the OT is full of "types" which serve as prefigurings, IC is an example, an illustration, of human potentiality in Christ (i.e. sanctity), not a condition to be met because the Catholic Church is squeamish about the Mother of God being born a part of sinful humanity.

Am I on the right track, do you think?



Old friend,

Actually, I think you've described two major aspects of the teaching, and one complements, rather than precludes the other, like looking at two integral facets of the same diamond. I think the emphasis you have insightfully realized provides an approach for you to this mystery of grace. The Immaculate Conception is about the salvation of Mary in anticipation of her being the Mother of God. She is the beginning of the church, carrying the Eucharist in the Tabernacle of her womb. In the restored state of her humanity, a gift of grace at the moment of her conception, she had the power, unhindered by sin, to choose or to reject God at the moment the angel came to her. God is the Lord of second (and third or fourth, etc.,) chances, and this was a second chance for humanity to cooperate with the grace of God in solidarity with Mary. As the Fathers wrote, she is the archetypal New Eve, sinless like Eve before the archetypal fall, as Christ is the New Adam, so her solidarity with humanity is really more profound because the injury of sin also injures the solidarity of our humanity. (Evil is a deprivation of good, which has no substance in itself.) All Marian dogma is an affirmation of who Jesus truly is, just as her fiat to the angel presages the line from the Our Father, "May your will be done," which is what constitutes the kingdom, "as in heaven, also on earth" (the literal order of the prayer in ancient Greek). In other words, I think you have experienced a moment of enlightenment. (Besides, her prayers have literally saved my life more than once, I am deeply grateful to her for her prayers.)

Pax,
George



Hello George,

Okay, so instead of limiting Mary's freewill (turning her into an automaton who is BOUND to obey God), the Immaculate Conception gives her absolute freewill – i.e. the same freewill experienced by Adam and Eve before the Fall, but which we do NOT experience as a consequence of sin. Our freedom of will is always circumscribed by sin (or perhaps experiences static as a result of sin). So she is TRULY able to make a choice to obey God, without the static interference of sin.

These are perspectives that make sense to me. The idea I was reacting to (not expressed by you, but expressed by others with regard to the Immaculate Conception) is that God is too holy to touch anything impure. That, to me, just does not make sense in conjunction with Christ's actual down-in-the-grit ministry. If confronting sinfulness and brokenness on the frontlines were against God's nature, then I don't see where we would get Christ's engaging sinners - in opposition to the Pharisees (who WERE too "holy" to touch sinfulness) – or even where we would get the crucifixion. So the difficulty I was having was in seeing Immaculate conception in the sense of a holy God who did not want to truly embrace humanity... not in the sense of grace that afforded Mary the perfect will to obey freely. In other words, I was perceiving it as essentially anti-Incarnational.

But the idea that in the Immaculate Conception, God offers Mary true freedom of will to obey Him and that the Immaculate Conception anticipates and prefigures our salvation and sanctification – those concepts I can grasp and embrace.

And frankly, if I can work with the Immaculate Conception, then I can work with Papal Infallibility. My issue with Papal Infallibility WAS the Immaculate Conception. (I know you understand the conncetion).

You write:

God is the Lord of second (and third or fourth, etc.,) chances, and this was a second chance for humanity to cooperate with the grace of God in solidarity with Mary.

I write:

I'm usually working on the etc. chances. :-)

You write:

In other words, I think you have experienced a moment of enlightenment.

I write:

Epiphany. :-)

I made an appointment with the parish priest. Sacrament of Reconcilation. Tomorrow (Wednesday night - probably "today" by the time you read this). I'm Catholic at core. And I don't see any reason to postpone my homecoming.

a sort of homecoming

Let me make two things clear...

I have not returned to the Catholic Church over politics. Politics is merely a symptom of a deeper disease. I have returned because of the disease.

So why did I leave the Catholic Church in the first place? Because I could not buy into the notion of the Immaculate Conception. Now I have finally come to terms with it. And that makes it possible for me to stop flailing around and finally go back home.

Allow me to recount a recent conversation with my old friend George, who is a permanent deacon in the Catholic Church:

Hi George,

I haven't been Catholic for 12 years. But I found myself unexpectedly in Mass yesterday morning. I've been attending an Anglican (not Episcopal, but CANA - i.e. Nigeria-affiliated) church. But that didn't fit my schedule yesterday, so I went to the local Catholic parish. It was surprising. I didn't feel like an alien. I feel like an alien in Orthodox or orthodox Protestant churches. They are so angry and ideological. (I don't bother with seriously heterodox Protestant churches). I actually felt at peace during Mass. Anyway, that experience has got me revisiting my argument with Immaculate Conception and Papal Infallibility (THE reasons I'm not Catholic). Just thought I'd share that with you.



Hello, old friend,

I understand the tangible substantiveness of the peace you experienced very well, and I am glad you had the experience of feeling at home in the Mass. There is something real in the Catholic faith that transcends time and place and human fallibility, and which is not irrational but transrational. Were it not so, I should have been distracted from it long ago by the nightmare of history. The Mass is for me a sacred place which like a moveable feast I also carry within me, congruent with the sacred vision I have lived by and for since I was young. So I live with one foot in both worlds, only as it were, for the two realms are actually united with each breath we take.

Thanks for sharing a spiritual moment. Wherever your spiritual journey takes you, I wish you well.

Pax,
George



Hello, old friend,

I love your response. I think I have at least a vague idea of where my spiritual journey is taking me. You know what the readings were yesterday? That did not escape my notice.

We are living in the nightmare of history, and the other churches are enmeshed in it - even contributing to it. The predominant "christian" ideology of our times seems to be manichaean in nature. I kept wondering why Christians could do such crazy things as endorse torture. But when the world is divided so neatly into dual opposites, and you are on the side of "light," then I guess it makes a kind of perverse sense. It has really had me down - to the point that I was wondering if there could be anything true. But then the news of Mother Teresa's spiritual darkness came. And it was, shockingly, a huge relief to me. I grasped it - and knew that she had persevered in spite of it. It was very interesting to watch non-Catholics try to comprehend the meaning of it.

Anyway, I've been bashing my head against the wall for the past several years, thinking that I could convince people they were doing crazy things in the name of Christ. I think yesterday helped me see that there's no amount of convincing that can be done. It's embedded in dualism.

I don't think I ever anticipated having more than an intellectual understanding of your diagnosis of the nightmare of history as a result of dualism - maybe because I grew up in the culture of the "victors." But now that it is unfolding in front of me - with supposed Christians leading the charge - it is finally viscerally hitting home. I think that's why the Mass yesterday seemed like such a refuge. Christians whose agenda is Christ. And who approach Him with humility. What a concept!



It is to me like walking in an unfamiliar dark woods and hearing music in the distance, so you follow the music, and when it becomes more distinct, you know you are on the right path, and if the music begins to fade, you know to pause and listen closely, and then again follow the music until you come to the safe encampment.

Let me know how things go with you in the future, old friend.

now's the tme

I have suddenly found myself back in the Catholic Church - after a 12 year hiatus over theological differences. I wasn't away from church, but from the Church.

I have recently been pondering something my friend (insert pseudonym...) George had talked a lot about when we were grad students. One day, he told me that he had figured out the fatal flaw of Western civilization. Dualism. Not the idea that good and evil exist. But good and evil as equal opposites locked in war with each other. (In the manichaean version of this construct, good needs our help because it can't win the battle by itself).

Protestantism, he asserted, was enmeshed in it. Catholicism, on the other hand, recognized that evil was not a substance in itself, but a mere deprivation of good. Good had substance because it came from God. Evil, OTOH, had no substance. It was only a negation. In other words, God had existence in Himself. Satan did not. Evil could not create. It could only mimic.

I found the concept interesting, and I occasionally dug it out in order to try to make sense of the Evangelical obsession with politics. It made some sense of their idea that God NEEDED them to put order into an evil world. It made sense of their notion that they NEEDED to flail around in the political sphere, hurling insults at and creating dehumanizing caricatures of their opponents... rather than seeking transformation of the world through lived holiness (the way that Catholic saints had been doing throughout the centuries).

But it was still more conceptual to me than real... until the past 6 years, when it became painfully real. This was not some philosophical or theological construct. I could see it up close in the Evangelical Protestants that I knew. Frankly, I could also see it in a lot of individual Catholics. But it was not a position that held any credence in the actual Church. Popes John Paul II and Benedict XVI were not manichaean-style dualists. Neither were the vast majority of Catholic theologians..

The Catholic Church could not be contained within the manichaean dichotomies present in the American political system. It was neither conservative nor liberal. It transcended labels. It embraced policies dear to the right. It embraced policies dear to the left. And it did so by keeping its eyes on Christ, not on an ideological orthodoxy.

Somewhere, beneath my theological disagreement with the Catholic Church, this was resonating. I was meditating upon it in my heart. The answer was through lived holiness, not - as so many American Christians believe - through making an idol out of party or nation or ideological position.