St. Mary's Church, Roslyn: Pastor's Page

Dear Friends:

Recently I had dinner with my former Army commander and her family. Her daughter, a young girl at our last meeting, is now a journalist working for a major American newspaper. We came to the subject of language and, particularly, of grammar. My former boss and I lamented the lack of care with which people presently speak and write. She is a fan of the correctly used semicolon, and I, sentences free of split infinitives. (I could never achieve the style of William F. Buckley or the vocabulary of George Will, but I am drawn to their carefully crafted sentences.) The young journalist responded that this style of language is passé. She, on the other hand, is more tolerant of expressions (“Me and her went to the store” or “Who did you vote for?”) as acceptable “colloquialisms.” I don’t fully agree with her position, but her desire to speak the language of real people using current idiom is admirable. Indeed, it has inspired many famous religious works. Martin Luther’s translation of the Bible (1534), rendered the word of God in a manner that was accessible to ordinary German speakers. While my knowledge of the language is next-to-nothing, those who know can detect the distinct personalities of Jesus, St. Paul, and other New Testament as they speak to a new generation. According to one historian (Pelikan), Luther’s Bible was responsible for the emergence of modern German.

The same sensibility is obvious in Catholic art and letters as well. Our artwork for Christmas 2021 is the amazingly beautiful Nativity by Michelangelo Caravaggio, painted in the 1660s for the Oratory of St. Lawrence in Palermo by a lay Franciscan community. Certain aspects of the painting leap off the canvas to the viewer. Unlike, say, a medieval painting, the setting is much more realistic than “supernatural.” The bodies are fleshy and strong, and even the angel appears more like a flying man with wings than a disembodied spirit. Instead of creating a scene from ancient Bethlehem, the artist transports the Holy Family to 17th-century Palermo, complete with the appropriate hairstyles and clothes. A youthful, blond Joseph with muscular legs turns to welcome St. Francis of Assisi and an old shepherd, while the deacon St. Lawrence looks on from the other side. A clearly exhausted Mary looks intently at her newborn, who returns her gaze as if there were no one else in the world. The painting speaks to Caravaggio’s time, when ordinary Catholics were becoming weary of the religious and political divisions brought on by the Reformation and its aftermath. It also speaks to our time because, sad to say, the painting was stolen from the Oratory in 1969, never to be recovered.

At Christmas Mass during the day, Catholics hear the famous prologue of St. John’s Gospel. It gives no details of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, but it articulates a central dogma of Christianity, the Incarnation. The inaccessible God, infinitely beyond our reach, has made himself knowable—and known—to us. Which is to say: “The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.” St. Mary’s parish is living witness that the Word has taken flesh for our generation: in the sacraments, Scripture and Tradition, the care and teaching of God’s children, and in you. Merry Christmas, dear people of St. Mary’s!

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine

Dear Friends:

The 18th-century British statesman Lord Chesterfield famously stated: “Wear your learning, like your watch, in a private pocket. Do not pull it out merely to show that you have one. If asked what o’clock it is, tell it; but do not proclaim it hourly and unasked, like the watchman.” Sometimes we confuse a gift or talent with the purpose it helps us attain. For instance, which is more praiseworthy: to have “M.D.” after your name, or use your expertise to save lives? The same thing holds true for virtue. In the early Church, the moral practices of Christians, particularly those governing sexuality, were thought to be quite peculiar when compared with the “lax” mores of Roman culture. So, too, was the religious “fanaticism” (we would say zeal) behind their refusal to worship the state gods and witness to Christ, even to the point of death. It is not simply the material aspect of virginity or the courage to die that makes one holy, but rather the desire to put oneself radically at the disposal of our Lord. This is why many of the early female Christian saints are known to have merited the “double crown” of virginity (“freshness” and purity before God) and martyrdom (the ultimate “witness” to Christ).

St. Lucy is one of the highly esteemed female saints listed in the Roman Canon (Eucharistic Prayer I), although there is some doubt about the accuracy of certain details of her story. The Catholic Encyclopedia and Butler’s Lives of the Saints tell us that she was born to devout Christian parents of noble birth in the city of Syracuse, during the waning days of the Diocletian persecution of Christians. Much like St. Nicholas (whom we honored last week), she was advanced in her love and dedication to the Lord from her birth. Having made a secret vow to God, she committed herself to a life of chastity and service to other persecuted Christians. Lucy sold her considerable belongings to purchase supplies, entering the dark catacombs to care for the fugitives. In order to carry more food in her arms, she wore a wreath on her head with a lit candle to illuminate her path (a practice that continues today, especially in Scandinavia). Accused by her suitor of dissipating the inheritance he was hoping to inherit, Lucy withstood the efforts of those who tried to degrade her by carrying her off to a house of ill repute. Then her eyes were gouged out by her persecutors. Even after being covered in burning pitch, she likewise survived. Finally, she was dispatched by the tip of a sword. There is no reason to think that God spared her any physical pain from these ordeals. Then what accounts for her strength?

As was the case with St. Nicholas, Lucy was rooted in an environment of love and piety from birth. Perhaps she “missed” certain pleasures, but as with any athlete or scholar, she disciplined her mind and body for the purpose of caring for her brothers and sisters at a time when the practice of Christianity was a capital offense. God willing, none of us will have to face such horrors. Yet in many places even today, the Christian message is often rejected, even to the point of persecution. And so, the spirit of virginity and martyrdom still speak to our world. Purity (by the grace of God) balances the energies of body, mind, and spirit, and self-denial, which is the essence of martyrdom, helps us keep our eyes firmly fixed on the Lord.

Faithfully,
Fr. Valentine