On Legitimate Changes to the Mass ~ Pope Pius XII

The Faith Will Be Preserved: A Catholic Leader's Message To The Laity

Resistance to heresies is growing in the Church, and the laity will persevere.

Spirit

Twenty-one years ago today, the Spirit Mars Rover landed on Mars at 04.35 UTC.

Glimmers of the New Jerusalem Amidst the Sprawling Shadows of Bablyon

A lament for the loss of the sense of place so important to our ancestors and to our own well being. Without it, we are rootless creatures, lost in the world.

From One Peter Five

By Michael Stack

Reflections of a Gen Z Man (or Gen Zer) in Exile

Upon the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept: when we remembered Sion: On the willows in the midst thereof we hung up our instruments. For there they that led us into captivity required of us the words of songs.
—Psalm 136:1-5

I remember the night that I first read about a little town called Pascua. This little town is not in a place where I can go right now, but it exists in the minds of visionaries. College has kept me too busy for the world of online Catholicism, which is usually a blessing. Afterall, no news is good news. When I finally broke that long fast, Josué Luis Hernandez’s article on the Pascua Project was the first item I found on OnePeterFive. As someone who has been a fan of OnePeterFive for many years, the article did not disappoint, and it exceeded my expectations for the day. I found myself moved by a sense of enchantment, a fresh energy coming over me as though I was reading my own deepest dreams mirrored back to me, but the greatest sensation was beauty. The beauty that I saw in Josué’s words was the hope of reclamation, one that I could dream of but had never dared to put into words. As a (barely) Generation Z young man, I have witnessed the creeping affliction of homogeneity that sweeps the land, robbing us of our sense of place, particularity, and heritage. As much as we Catholics like a good, scholastic thesis, I think that testimony is a truer path to the heart, so let me share mine.

I’m young enough that I don’t remember Bill Clinton, but old enough that I remember a time when the internet was a novelty and YouTube didn’t exist. I grew up in Seattle and Minneapolis, before enlisting in the Marine Corps. The military took me as far south as Texas, as far west as California, and even beyond the sea. After getting out, I lived on the North Shore of Lake Superior for several months before moving to Boise, Idaho, and I am now in my second year of living in Wyoming. It has been a blessing to see so much of this vast country, but a certain despair has come of observing the course of our national life. Although each place I lived had a unique culture, the sense of particularity declines year by year. In the Upper Midwest, we are descended largely from German and Scandinavian immigrants, who from their meager pennies raised up cathedrals on the prairie. In California, I was surrounded by the old charm of New Spain. I would attend Mass at the oldest parish in the state and visit the mission led by St. Junípero himself. Pulling aside the modern façade of beach homes and golf courses, one could explore the tales of Californio dynasties that shaped the land long before Yankees streamed West. Honolulu was at once cosmopolitan and a world away, a place where East and West meet in megamalls and nightclubs, yet where the heavy jungle air carries the romantic whiff of ancient Polynesian kingdoms.

For all of this, every new development is the same. Whether I am in Minneapolis, O’ahu, San Jose, or Boise, new apartment blocks go up in the same fashion and every new mall is a Starbucks, a Panda Express, and a Footlocker. It is as though the organic way of life was put on hold, and some distant programmer is using a copy-paste sequence to clone the same city block from coast to coast. In Minnesota, we make much hay of our German heritage, but I doubt if we could identify a single German food beside the bratwurst. When it comes to culture, we seem to aspire towards whatever trends are sweeping the country.

My brief time in Europe stood almost in direct contrast. Across Ireland, small villages still dotted the landscape.The elderly would still meet at the pub with their friends of the last sixty years, and children played in the streets. Absent was the rush of traffic that even our suburbs have. I felt a sense of timelessness there too. Around these villages stood neat patchworks of fields. No doubt generations of young and old men have cultivated them season after season as the tides of war and invasion, famine and prosperity, have ebbed and flowed around them. At the Cliffs of Moher, I could look west across the Atlantic, facing the chilly ocean winds and pondering the horizon as young men had done since before St. Patrick’s mission, before Columbus’s voyage, before titans of steel came out of the West bearing tanks and planes for the liberation of France. When I stayed with my aunts, I saw neighbors come over spontaneously for tea. My cousins’ cousins walked over to play, unaccompanied by adults.

Even in friendly suburbia, I didn’t see this in my childhood. By the Aughts, we were beginning to be divided within our neighborhood by politics, and families were not so close that a father would make sure to buy his house on the same block as his parents and brother, rather than 20 miles away in a good school district.

I got a similar impression in Portugal as I did in Ireland. Tight-knit villas were strung along the roads, and beyond them were rolling hills and cultivated fields. People would buy their groceries in their neighborhood, and they knew the workers at the bars and cafes. Ancient churches and abandoned palaces stood as a testament to the long continuity of faith and civilization on the western end of Iberia. In America, we praise the land for remaining primordial, but that is not the only way to be beautiful. When man lives upon the land, in dependency and friendship, but not in worship of it, he both protects it and cultivates it, taming it just so to bring out a deep beauty. Just as the striking beauty of a young woman is later exceeded by the deeper beauty that comes from motherhood, true civilization cultivates the land, exchanging shock and awe for the majesty of mature beauty. I have seen this in many places. I saw it most strongly in Ireland and Portugal. I also have seen it in the small towns of Minnesota, and the old plantation towns of Hawaii’s Big Island, in the terraced rice paddies of Java, and in villages deep in the river vales of Japan. It is something I hope to one day be true of our own sprawl, renewed and revitalized by a culture that plans with a total vision of the human commonwealth.

Josué’s proposal offers us a cure to the atomization of our day. I was born into a large family, and perhaps did not experience loneliness for the first time until my parents divorced and I found myself alone at home while all my brothers went to spend the weekend with my father. This was never really an issue in the Marine Corps, where you lived alongside your co-workers; where your free time and recreation was spent with them; where there was such a closeness that you would be assigned the title of “uncle” when their children came into the world. When I moved to rural Minnesota and began working a night shift, my chief companions were the dog and the woods. It is perhaps the most isolation that I have ever experienced.

At the end of my time in Minnesota, I enrolled in classes at Boise State University and set out into the West, as blind to my future as the day I left for boot camp. Having reached a very lax and noncommittal state of faith, I can only attribute it to God that I had the dumb fortune to choose that university. The Newman Center there was a place of community and faith. Like a regular community, people might have their particular friend groups, and sometimes the whisperings of drama would circulate. However, it was most importantly a place where the students tried to share in their lives as good brothers and sisters. They took their faith seriously, and our chaplain took seriously his title as ‘father’ to all these young adults who were far from home in a hostile, secular culture. In confession you could not doubt that he had conviction about the gravity of your sins, and you could not doubt that neither he nor Christ loved you less because of your sins. As much as a good priest and good congregation were a catalyst of renewal in my faith, so too was the community. No matter what time of day I went there, I found a familiar face and something social in nature, even if it was just a study group or a game of pool. I felt like I belonged whether I was only there for a cup of coffee or to put in a few hours of prayer. The students at the Newman Center became more than just people I saw on Sunday morning and at Bible study.

One of the great travesties of the modern parish is that it often feels like a once-a-week duty where you clock in just before the processional and clock out right after your St. Michael prayer. It cultivates a sense of isolation and mechanism in our salvific race and it often seems too daunting to even try to think about how to fix it. At the Boise State Newman Center, the presence of a real community prevented that from ever being a concern.

So there you have it! My long winded and purely anecdotal exposition of the creeping homogenization, unrootedness, and atomization which plagues our country, and especially Generation Z. The doubters and Modernists will come out of the woodwork to nitpick and naysay and explain why this is the best timeline time period, but I know my own heart. We, as Americans, are heirs to a beautiful and incredible cultural legacy, whether your ancestors were stodgy Puritans, rowdy Scots-Irishmen, jovial Bavarians, Spanish pioneers of the high desert, or the freedmen of the South. The folly of the modern age is not that we will perpetuate the sins of our fathers, as so many Left-Wing activists argue, but that we will forget the gardens they spent generations cultivating for our benefit.

Josué Hernandez has presented to us the stark losses that modern America has endured in the process of uprooting itself, and the loss of soul imposed upon us by our suburban monoculture. No age is without its struggles and trials but deep is the dread that in surrendering our traditional settled ways of life for the cheap comforts of modern civilization, I risk becoming the lesser son of greater fathers, that in my pursuit of careerism and the American dream the memory of old days, of old countries, should become a wisp in my mind, and the seed of love for one’s heritage and story should never be planted in the hearts of my own children, to stir their imagination and drive their hope for our lost home in Jerusalem. As a humble college student, I can not purchase a thousand acres for Pascua and bequeath Josué bricks and mortar to build homes, but I wish him luck. He and his fellows are undertaking a valiant odyssey to reclaim what was lost. Perhaps, when they succeed, others will be inspired in their own corners of the American dominions. Perhaps someday I will write Mr. Hernandez a Christmas card from Ville du Nord, Minnesota, while my children watch the snow fall softly not on some undistinguished skyline of nondescript high rises, but upon the fields and woods that their father has tended with his own hands. Afterwards, we will bundle up and trek through the snow to our little village parish and in timeless, eternal connection to the church in Florida, the church of tomorrow, the church of the patriarchs of old, we will welcome the Christchild into this world.

            ¡Viva Cristo Rey, y Viva Pascua Florida!

The Eleventh Day of Christmas and The Hidden Meaning of the Gifts in “12 Days of Christmas”

As I've been giving each verse in a daily post, this is a nice wrap-up before Twelfth Day tomorrow. Whether true or not, it's still edifying. 

From the National Catholic Register

By Shaun McAfee

This interpretation gives the song significantly more meaning than does its shell of secular gift-giving. 

One of my favorite Christmas carols growing up was The Twelve Days of Christmas, but as I grew into an adult, the song made less and less sense. I noticed several problems. Why twelve days? Growing up Protestant, wasn’t it generally accepted that Christmas was, like, 24 days long? And above all, I had an issue with the fact that we were singing over and over each year about a woman who clearly had a hoarding problem. “Five golden rings? Is this really necessary?” is all I could think. The song that seemed like it was all about getting things, less about giving things, and more about worldly gifts than the real gift of the season: Jesus Christ. 

Sense an epiphany coming? Yes, that was a dad joke. (Christmas is twelve days long, beginning with Christmas day and ending with the Feast of the Epiphany). But really, someone explained to me a rather convincing hidden meaning behind the twelve gifts. The story goes that the twelve days of gifts are symbols for catechetical learning, particularly aimed at children hoping to learn their catechism, but also serves adults in the realities of the Christian Faith. The hidden meanings are: 

• 2 Turtle Doves = The Old and New Testaments
• 3 French Hens = Faith, hope, and charity, as the principle theological virtues
• 4 Calling Birds = the Four Gospels
• 5 Golden Rings = The first five books of the Old Testament, the “Pentateuch,” which gives the history of man’s fall from grace
• 6 Geese A-laying = the six days of creation (highlighting life)
• 7 Swans A-swimming = the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven Sacraments
• 8 Maids A-milking = the eight beatitudes 
• 9 Ladies Dancing = the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit 
• 10 Lords A-leaping = the Ten Commandments
• 11 Pipers Piping = the eleven faithful apostles 
• 12 Drummers Drumming = the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle’s Creed

And the “partridge in a pear tree”? Jesus Christ as symbolically represented by a mother partridge protecting her helpless nestlings. Luke 13:34 recounts the words of Christ: 

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets and stoning those who are sent to you! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not!

It helps resolve the question of why someone would need six geese, but is it true? Was this song created to have a symbol reference point teaching on God’s interactions with man? Sadly, for now, there’s no evidence to support the claim. Pick a number and an object, and there’s probably some way to relate it to the Bible. In fact, early versions of the song contain completely different gifts in number: boats, bears, and others. 

But really, who cares. This interpretation gives the song significantly more meaning that does its shell of secular gift-giving. And who knows, maybe, originating in the 18th century when the West was comprehensively more Christianized, these lyrics became the norm for this very reason: they better point to the ‘reason for the season’ than boats, bears, and other objects. I say, forget Snopes and all those looking for reasons not to trust this origin story. If something helps a Christian learn and understand the Faith and does no harm to dogma and worship, it only benefits the believer. So, have at it: if the Twelve Days of Christmas helps you and your children learn about Jesus and the Bible, then the merrier you will be if you judiciously use these “hidden meanings.”

✠✠✠✠✠

Oh, and one more day! Tomorrow evening is Twelfth Night!

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love sent to me

11 pipers piping.

Our Lady on Saturday

Today's Holy Mass from Corpus Christi Church, Tynong AUS. You may follow the Mass at Divinum Officium.

Keep a Resolution to Grow Closer to Our Lord

A sermon for today. Please remember to say 3 Hail Marys for the Priest.

St Rumon of Tavistock, Bishop & Confessor

St Gregory, Bishop of Langres, Confessor

St Rumon, Bishop & Confessor

From Fr Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints:

WILLIAM of Malmesbury informs us, that the history of his life was detroyed by the wars, which has also happened in other parts of England He was a bishop, though it is not known of what see. His veneration was amous at Tavistock, in Devonshire, where Ordulf, earl of Devonshire, built a church under his invocation, before the year 960. Wilson, upon informations given him by certain persons of that country, inserted his name on this day, in the second edition of his English Martyrology. See Malmesb1. 2. De gestis Pont. Angl. in Cridiensibus.

St Gregory of Langres, Bishop

From Fr Alban Butler's Lives of the Saints:

HE was one of the principal senators of Autun, and continued from the death of his wife a widower till the age of fifty-seven, at which time, for his singular virtues, he was compelled from his private penitential life, and consecrated bishop of Langres, which see he governed with admirable prudence and zeal thirty-three years, sanctifying his pastoral labors by the most profound humility, assiduous prayer, and extraordinary abstinence and mortification. An incredible number of infidels were converted by him from idolatry, and worldly Christians from their disorders. He died about the beginning of the year 541, but some days after the Epiphany. Out of devotion to St. Benignus, he desired to be buried near that saint’s tomb at Dijon, which town was then in the diocese of Langres, and had often been the place of his residence. This was executed by his virtuous son Tetricus, who succeeded him in his bishopric. The 4th of January seems to have been the day of the translation of his relics. He is mentioned in the Roman Martyrology. See his miracles recorded by St. Gregory of Tours. Vit. Patr. c. 7. Hist. Franc.1. 3, c. 15, 19. Cointe Annal. et Gall. Christ.

Collect of St Rumon of Tavistock, Bishop & Confessor ~ Indulgenced on the Saint's Feast (See Note)

According to the Apostolic Penitentiary, a partial indulgence is granted to those who on the feast of any Saint recite in his honour the oration of the Missal or any other approved by legitimate Authority.

V. O Lord, hear my prayer.

R. And let my cry come unto thee.
Let us pray.
Grant, we beseech Thee, Almighty God, that the reverend solemnity of Blessed Rumon, Thy Confessor & Bishop, may both increase our devotion & set forward our salvation.

Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end.

R. Amen.  

Nota bene - St Rumon is not celebrated on the Universal Calendar, but according to the Martyrology, today is his Feast Day. The Collect is taken from the Common of Confessor Bishops. 

Collect of St Gregory of Langres, Bishop & Confessor ~ Indulgenced on the Saint's Feast (See Note)

According to the Apostolic Penitentiary, a partial indulgence is granted to those who on the feast of any Saint recite in his honour the oration of the Missal or any other approved by legitimate Authority.

V. O Lord, hear my prayer.

R. And let my cry come unto thee.
Let us pray.
O Lord, we beseech Thee, hear the prayers which we offer Thee on the solemnity of Blessed Gregory, Thy Bishop & Confessor and by the interceding merits of him who worthily attained to serve Thee, absolve us from all our sins.

Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end.

R. Amen.  

Nota bene - St Gregory is not celebrated on the Universal Calendar, but according to the Martyrology, today is his Feast Day. The Collect is taken from the Common of Confessor Bishops. 

Ugly Buildings, Beautiful Priests

My Diocese is blessed with many beautiful Churches (except for our Cathedral!) as well as solid, orthodox Priests. But better a good Priest in an ugly Church than a modernist heretic in a beautiful old Church.

From Crisis

By Austin Ruse

While our local diocese is full of horrible-looking churches, it is also full of faithful priests.

We have a lot of spaceship churches in these parts, here in Northern Virginia, lots of churches in the round. If they look like churches, which most of them really don’t, they look like they may have been Protestant of a certain vintage. 

The three local churches we attend on Sunday or daily are perfect examples. Our parish, St. Catherine of Siena, is set on a marvelous piece of pricey ground in Great Falls. What a wonderful setting for something beautiful. Instead, they put up a low-slung bunker-type thing, no shape to it from the outside, flat roof. 

We sometimes attend Christ the Redeemer, which can only be described as a massive barn. From the outside, along Route 7, you see the old portion of the church that looks somewhat monastic. Still, though, it is a barn on the order of 50,000 square feet. 

Not far from there is St. Thomas à Becket. When we first moved here in 2013, we went to Mass there. It was in the church hall, and there were no kneelers. They renovated the sanctuary, and it can only be described as a ski lodge. 

Drive over to Falls Church and you find St. John the Beloved, an authentic church in the round. You really can sit anywhere around the altar. Driving past it along Old Dominion Drive, you can’t really tell what the building is for. 

You can drive around the Diocese of Arlington and find a dozen or more—many more?—churches like these that are products of a certain time in the Church. The Diocese of Arlington is 50 years old this year. It was split from the Diocese of Richmond and is, therefore, almost brand new in Church years. I would guess most of these church buildings date from roughly that time, what was a terrible time for church architecture. Though Virginia was the oldest part of America, perhaps it was not terribly Catholic until recent years. 

A faithful Catholic will also notice the plethora of quite remarkably faithful priests in all these ugly buildings.
At St. Catherine of Siena, our pastor is Fr. Jerry Pokorsky, a former accountant at, get this, the Central Intelligence Agency. (Given that the CIA is nearby, you can hardly swing a dead cat around here without hitting a spook.)

When he got the call, Pokorsky was in the diocese of crazy Milwaukee and was advised to come to Arlington. Among his other remarkable achievements, Pokorsky was on the team of priests and laymen who saved the translation of the new Mass. He sits in the confession box every single morning. 

The barn-like Christ the Redeemer used to be run by a congregation of Franciscans who were a tad wacky. We went there a few times. They had this weird thing where you processed for Communion from the back pews first and then on down to the front pews. That was supposed to mean something, something groovy. It was mostly annoying. And then, a few years back, our good Bishop Michael Burbidge handed the church to Fr. J.D. Jaffe and Fr. Mark Moretti, and the place is now a powerhouse of orthodoxy. 

Jaffe used to run the Courage chapter in the diocese. Moretti was, at 36, a late vocation from the security services of the State Department (see previous note about swinging dead cats). He guarded various Secretaries of State. During Easter, they bring in upward of a hundred new Catholics. They started a hybrid school—part homeschool, part classical academy. They hear confessions every morning for an hour. 

Over at St. Thomas à Becket is Fr. Richard Dyer, a late vocation who came from the energy field. He just celebrated ten years as a priest. STAB, as it is affectionately called, was run by an older left-of-center priest who had clearly run out of gas and orthodoxy. Dyer has lit a fire there. He regularly hosts marriage prep conferences where upward of a hundred couples attend. Dyer just started a hybrid school. He sits in the confession box every day for an hour. 

The quite remarkable Fr. Christopher Pollard runs St. John the Beloved, totally orthodox and greatly beloved by the faithful Catholics who go there. He also has a simply outstanding school run by Jeffrey Presberg. They hold swing dancing events for the high schoolers. Pollard says the Traditional Latin Mass every Sunday. 

It is nearly impossible to find anything but solid priests in this diocese, no matter the ugly building we may have to contend with. 

A significant presence of Opus Dei in this area assists them. There is a center of the Work for men in Reston, one just down the road in Washington, D.C., and one for women there, too. We have the Opus Dei school for girls a few miles away and other powerhouse Catholic high schools. The homeschoolers are a massive presence in this area. There are pockets of faithful Catholic initiatives everywhere in the Diocese of Arlington. 

I think, however, that all these initiatives found a home here because of these beautiful priests. And these beautiful priests are here because the longtime vocations director, Fr. James Gould, was not afraid of making clear to young men interested in the priesthood that there is no monkey business here, especially no gay monkey business. I am told, though I cannot be sure, that among his first questions to prospective seminarians was about that specific question. He drew an orthodox line in the sand. Many of these young men were sent to the very orthodox seminary just up the road in Maryland, affectionately called The Mount, near the Shrine of Elizabeth Ann Seton.

And we have been blessed by solid bishops from the very beginning. They have been solid men of the Church, starting with Bishop Welsh 50 years ago, followed by John Keating, Paul Loverde, and now Michael Burbidge. We didn’t even have female altar boys until recent years; and even then, it has been left up to the pastor. Many, maybe most, have said no. 

Undoubtedly, there are those who will have had beefs with the bishop. That is par for the course. In recent days, our dear traditionalist friends have been unhappy that Bishop Burbidge, under orders from the pope, has scaled back the Traditional Latin Mass. But it is still here. Moreover, I think he deliberately kept it close to Washington, D.C., where Cardinal Gregory banned it altogether. What’s more, Burbidge is one of the only bishops in the country to issue a teaching letter on transgenderism. And the orthodox seminarians keep on coming. There are 41 now in formation out of 446,000 parishioners in the diocese. 

The good news is that good church architecture is on the way, some already here. All the new churches built in recent years—and yes, we are building new churches—are classical in design. They are quite stunning. Drive along Highway 66 out toward Front Royal and you see the “chapel” at Christendom College. Some chapel. It looks like a medieval cathedral. 

St. Mary of Sorrows in Fairfax is an excellent example of the new traditional trend in church architecture. Standing in the church hall for a wake, I was told it used to be the church sanctuary. It looks nothing like a church. Simply horrible. About 400 yards down the way stands the new church, a masterpiece in church design. It screams orthodoxy. It is pastored by Fr. Thomas Vander Woude, whose father drowned in a cistern, literally holding up his Down syndrome son who had fallen in. This is the soil from which orthodoxy blossoms. 

I know what it is like around the country. The buildings might be pretty, might be stunning, but what you find there might be ugly. While visiting my Missouri hometown a few years ago, the pastor said everyone should walk around the Church during the sign of peace and shake hands with everyone. Fr. Johnny Carson does not inspire anyone. Roughly at that time, he had to close down the parish school. No wonder. 

But if you come to Virginia, especially Northern Virginia, prepare for some ugly buildings but nothing but beautiful, orthodox priests. And the buildings are getting better, too. 

Living With Tolkien

Yesterday would have been the good Professor's 133 birthday. In my opinion, he was the greatest writer of the 20th century and one of the greatest in history.

From The Imaginative Conservative

By Bradley J. Birzer, PhD

J.R.R. Tolkien connected me to a world beyond anything I had yet experienced in rather idyllic Kansas. I so desperately wanted to escape into his mountain scene, explore every nook and cranny of that invented world, and meet a God who sang the universe into existence.

Though I have read The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and Tolkien’s other stories and books too many times to count, I never once lost interest in anything about or by the great Oxford don. Now, with the movie Tolkien out from Fox Searchlight Pictures, I’m seeing references to him everywhere. The more I see of him and know of him, the more I continue to be astounded by his mind, his creativity, and his tenacity. For forty-one years now, he has been a constant companion in my life, a friend, as well as a mentor and an inspiration.

As I’ve had the chance to mention before, I first encountered Tolkien through his painting, The Mountain Path, when Houghton Mifflin used it for the cover of the first edition of The Silmarillion in September 1977. I turned ten on the sixth of that month, but my oldest brother, Kevin, turned eighteen on the twenty-third. The Silmarillion came out on the fifteenth. My mom gave Kevin a copy of it, but I, more or less, confiscated it. I would stare and stare at the cover, finding it not only inviting, but irresistibly so. I loved the fold-out map of Beleriand in the back, and I loved even more the opening chapter, “The Ainulindale,” the creation of the universe. Those three things connected me to a world beyond anything I had yet experienced in rather idyllic Kansas. I so desperately wanted to escape into that mountain scene, explore every nook and cranny of that invented world, and meet a God who sang the universe into existence.

Obviously, September 1977 was a great month for the Tolkien-Birzer alliance, informal though it might’ve been.

To be sure, my brothers shared my love of Tolkien, though probably not to my obsessive degree. My older brother, Todd, even made Tolkienian things for me: maps of our farm in the style of Christopher Tolkien’s map; treasure hunts with clues written in Tolkienian ruins; and even, in his wood-working class and projects, a very nice version of Sting, the ancient Elven blade Bilbo and Frodo wielded.

After devouring The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion, I also read everything available at the time by Tolkien—his poetry as found in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil; his short stories printed in The Tolkien Reader; and his paintings as printed in the annual Tolkien calendars. In 1980, of course, the mythology expanded dramatically with the author’s Unfinished Tales, giving much deeper histories of the three mythopoetic ages of the world.

Of those books about Tolkien, but not written or edited by members of the Tolkien Estate, I loved the works by David Day, especially his Tolkien Bestiary, featuring some of the best painted renderings of Middle-earth I have yet to overcome. My current students have the distorted images of Tolkien’s world by Peter Jackson stuck in their heads. For me, my images come from the paintings commissioned by Mr. Day. Just as important to me was cartographic treasure, Barbara Strachey’s The Journeys of Frodo.

All of this came together for me in the fall of 1980 when I discovered a role-playing game that allowed me to spend as many hours as I so desired in Tolkienian-inspired worlds, Dungeons and Dragons. Surviving a very violent domestic situation during the late 1970s and early 1980s, I can state with no hyperbole that my ability to enter in and out of Tolkienian realms at will quite definitely saved my life. I remember the bizarre motherly whisperings at the time that Dungeon and Dragons might open a child to Satanism and the dark occult. I can only laugh at such comments, especially in hindsight. For me, Dungeons and Dragons (as based on Tolkien’s mythology) not only sheltered my then pre-teenage collapsing faith from collapsing entirely, but it also allowed me sanity by giving me an escape from household terrors that so dominated those years. During my daily walks to and from Liberty Junior High, I often contemplated suicide, trying to decide not if, but when. Honestly, it sometimes seemed the only way to escape my stepfather. Tolkien’s characters and stories, as played in Dungeons and Dragons, strangely (or Providentially?) intruded, pushing aside the darkest thoughts and depressions. Fantastic worlds provided the healthier and healthiest escape in those sombre days. When my friends and I played Dungeons and Dragons, we challenged and conquered evil in all its manifestations, domestic and foreign. We had only one God, and that God was good, true, and beautiful. If some kids fell in the occult because of Dungeons and Dragons, I am truly sorry. In my case, though, it prevented the greatest darkness of all and helped me realize the precious value of life. While I might not be able to stave off the evil in my home, I could rescue others from abuse, even if only in my imagined kingdoms and fantastic republics.

In this context, I cannot help but think of the description of Gandalf (originally named Olórin) in The Silmarillion:

But of Olórin that tale does not speak; for though he loved the Elves, he walked among them unseen, or in form as one of them, and they did not know whence came the fair visions or the promptings of wisdom that he put into their hearts. In later days he was the friend of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and took pity on their sorrows; and those who listened to him awoke from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness.

Eventually, my love of Gandalf became my love of St. Michael, patron of law and good.

As I’ve had the privilege of describing elsewhere at The Imaginative Conservative, I came back to the Catholic faith in, of all places, the deserts of western Morocco, in February 1988. I was then spending my sophomore year of college (July 1987-July 1988) at the University of Innsbruck, Austria. Filled with bursting faith upon returning to Notre Dame that fall, I (again, Providentially?) took a course from a then-famous Platonist entitled “Philosophy and Fantasy.” I wrote my term paper on the Catholicism of J.R.R. Tolkien, and the professor allowed me—as one of three—to deliver it to the class as an oral presentation. It is, at least by my own poor judgment, one of the three best papers I wrote in college, and I was—for better or worse—so proud of it that I wanted it to become better.

Jump forward ten years to my conversation with Winston Elliott, Publisher of The Imaginative Conservative, who asked me, “What would you most like to write upon?” as I explained to him my exhaustion with my dissertation topic (American Indians during the American Revolution and War of 1812). When I told him about my college paper on Tolkien and how I would like to expand it to a book, he not only encouraged me but he also promised me that he would do everything in his power to get it published.

While I am not a major author, I can state that my books have all sold well—at least by the standards of a non-bestselling author. Most importantly, though, I can state that my writing career began during that third week in September 1977, staring at The Mountain Path. Throw in some childhood horrors, some healthy escapes, some great classes, and the encouragement of a best friend—and a book and a writing career are born. How fitting. And, it all began with Tolkien. Or, maybe, God. Yes, the Tolkienian answer is the proper one. It certainly began with God.

The featured image, uploaded by Jpbowen, is 20 Northmoor Road, the former home of Tolkien in North Oxford. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Bishop Challoner's Meditations ~ January 4th

ON WHAT WE ARE TO RENOUNCE BY THE CHRISTIAN'S RULE

Consider first, that in consequence of our redemption through Jesus Christ, we are bound, by the tenour of our rule above rehearsed, to deny, that is, to renounce, all 'ungodliness and worldly desires,' and to be 'clean from all iniquity;' we are to run away from all evil, but more especially from the evils here named, the first of which is 'ungodliness,' which is usually the first crime we commit, and the source of all the rest. For by ungodliness we understand, either the giving away from God what belongs to him, or the refusing him the service and love which we owe him. Now here the sinner usually begins to revolt. He is indispensably obliged to dedicate himself to God from his first coming to the use of reason; instead of which, like the apostate angels, he turns himself away from him, he refuses him his heart, which he so justly claims, and gives it away to empty toys and lying follies. This is 'ungodliness;' this in a kind of idolatry, in preferring the creature before the Creator; this is the source of innumerable evils; this is the very bane of the world. O let us renounce it and detest it!

Consider 2ndly, what those baits are which Satan usually employs to draw us away from God; for no man ever chooses to serve the devil for his own sake, or for any love he has for him: but the tempter sets before us the deceitful appearances of some worldly honour, profit, or pleasure, and with these he allures deluded mortals to his service; these are the gilded pills with which he poisons the soul; with which he draws millions into hell. Therefore the Christian's rules require that, together with 'ungodliness,' he should also 'deny' all 'worldly desires,' that is, all affections to these worldly toys and cheating vanities, as the most effectual means of disarming all of us. For when we despise all that he can offer, and even fly and abhor his choicest allurements, he stands confounded, and can do no more.

Consider 3rdly, that these worldly lusts and desires which the Christian must renounce, are, in particular, those of which the beloved disciple writes, 1 John ii. 15, 16. 'Love not the world, nor the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the charity of the Father (the love of God) is not in him; for all that is in the world is the concupiscence of the flesh, and concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life.' It is on account of this 'triple concupiscence,' which reigns in all places, that the 'whole world,' as the same apostle tells us (ch. v. 19) 'is seated in wickedness:' so that if we desire to belong to Christ in good earnest, and to profess ourselves religious under this rule, we must declare a perpetual war against this triple concupiscence, and its abettors, vis., the world and our corrupt nature; and then we may despise all the devils in hell. Yes, Christians, renounce but these three capital enemies of your souls, viz., the love of sensual pleasures, the love of gratifying the covetous eye with worldly toys, and the love of worldly honour, and you shall be 'cleansed from all iniquity.'

Conclude to be ever zealous observers of your rule, by 'denying ungodliness and worldly desires;' and turn your heart, to seek your happiness in other kinds of honours, riches, and pleasures such as the world cannot give, and which may stay with you for ever.

4 January, Antonio, Cardinal Bacci: Meditations For Each Day

Sin

1. In that we prefer our own wayward whims to the law of God, sin is an abuse of liberty. It is a revolt against right reason, the dictates of which we refuse to obey. It is an offence against our Creator and Redeemer, whose commandments we despise and whose redeeming grace we reject by our actions. It is, moreover, an act of supreme folly, for it extinguishes not only the supernatural splendour of grace, but also the natural light of reason. Through sin man is brutalised, and experiences in himself as his first punishment the confusion of his whole being.

In practice, the sinner denies God who has created and redeemed him. He upsets the natural order of things and is violently separated from the source of all truth, beauty and goodness. As a result he experiences in himself the hell which he has constructed with his own hands -- a hell of emptiness, disgust and remorse. Unless the helping hand of God reaches out to rescue him from the abyss, all this is simply a bitter foretaste of eternal despair. God, as St. Augustine has written, has ordained from all eternity that every dissolute soul will be its own punishment. For the sinner hell begins on this earth. There can be no peace for the wicked.

When we realise the gravity, stupidity and dire consequences of sin, it seems impossible that a rational being, enlightened and enriched by divine grace, should continue to sin. Nevertheless sad experience teaches us that the lives of individuals, families and human society in general are often distorted by this evil, which is the root of all other evils.

2. In order to understand more clearly the gravity of sin, it is helpful at this stage to consider three things: --

(a) The world with all its evils -- sorrows, diseases, wars, plagues and death. All these things do not come directly from the will of God, Who is the highest good, but happen with His permission. They are the effect of original sin and of the continuing transgressions of men.

(b) Hell, which is the handiwork of sin. God, infinitely good but also infinitely just, has ordained this terrible and everlasting punishment for the rebellious sinner.

(c) The Crucifix. To save us from sin the God-Man has suffered the cruelest of torments and death, but men go on offending Him with unbelievable ingratitude.

3. Now let us turn the spotlight on ourselves and think of our past lives. So many sins and abuses of God's grace! Such coldness and ingratitude! Where has all this brought us? Spiritually, sin has deprived us of God and of the supernatural life which His grace gives us. Intellectually, it is an absurdity, a dishonour and a degradation. Physically, it is an inversion of the right order and often means total ruin. Let us humbly repent, therefore, and make resolutions so firm that we shall be ready to face any sacrifice, even death, in order to put them into practice.

Eastern Rite ~ Feasts of 4 January AM 7533

Today is the Forefeast of the Epiphany, the Synaxis of the Seventy Holy Apostles and the Feast of Our Venerable Father Theoktistos, Hegumen of the Cucomo Monastery in Sicily.

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The third day of the Forefeast of Theophany falls on January 4. The hymns compare the Feast of the Nativity with the coming Feast. “There shepherds saw the Child and were amazed; here the voice of the Father proclaims the only-begotten Son.”

Troparion — Tone 4

Prepare, O Zebulon, / and adorn yourself, O Naphtali; / river Jordan, cease flowing / and receive with joy the Master coming to be baptized. / Adam, rejoice with our First Mother / and do not hide yourself as you did of old in Paradise; / for having seen you naked, / He has appeared to clothe you with the first garment. / Christ has appeared to renew all creation.

Kontakion — Tone 4

Today the Lord enters the Jordan and cries out to John: / “Do not be afraid to baptize me. / For I have come to save Adam, the first-formed man.”

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The Synaxis of the Seventy Apostles was established by the Eastern Catholic  Churches to indicate the equal honour of each of the Seventy. They were sent two by two by the Lord Jesus Christ to go before Him into the cities He would visit (Luke 10:1).

Besides the celebration of the Synaxis of the Holy Disciples, the Church celebrates the memory of each of them during the course of the year:

Saint James the Brother of the Lord (October 23); Mark the Evangelist (April 25); Luke the Evangelist (October 18); Cleopas (October 30), brother of Saint Joseph the Betrothed, and Simeon his son (April 27); Barnabas (June 11); Joses, or Joseph, named Barsabas or Justus (October 30); Thaddeus (August 21); Ananias (October 1); Protomartyr Stephen the Archdeacon (December 27); Philip the Deacon (October 11); Prochorus the Deacon (28 July); Nicanor the Deacon (July 28 and December 28); Timon the Deacon (July 28 and December 30); Parmenas the Deacon (July 28); Timothy (January 22); Titus (August 25); Philemon (November 22 and February 19); Onesimus (February 15); Epaphras and Archippus (November 22 and February 19); Silas, Silvanus, Crescens or Criscus (July 30); Crispus and Epaenetos (July 30); Andronicus (May 17 and July 30); Stachys, Amplias, Urban, Narcissus, Apelles (October 31); Aristobulus (October 31 and March 16); Herodion or Rodion (April 8 and November 10); Agabus, Rufus, Asyncritus, Phlegon (April 8); Hermas (November 5, November 30 and May 31); Patrobas (November 5); Hermes (April 8); Linus, Gaius, Philologus (November 5); Lucius (September 10); Jason (April 28); Sosipater (April 28 and November 10); Olympas or Olympanus (November 10 ); Tertius (October 30 and November 10); Erastos (November 30), Quartus (November 10); Euodius (September 7); Onesiphorus (September 7 and December 8); Clement (November 25); Sosthenes (December 8); Apollos (March 30 and December 8); Tychicus, Epaphroditus (December 8); Carpus (May 26); Quadratus (September 21); Mark (September 27), called John, Zeno (September 27); Aristarchus (April 15 and September 27); Pudens and Trophimus (April 15); Mark nephew of Barnabas, Artemas (October 30); Aquila (July 14); Fortunatus (June 15) and Achaicus (January 4).

With the Descent of the Holy Ghost, the Seventy Apostles preached in various lands. Some accompanied the Twelve Apostles, like the holy Evangelists Mark and Luke, or Saint Paul’s companion Timothy, or Prochorus, the disciple of the holy Evangelist John the Theologian, and others. Many of them were thrown into prison for Christ, and many received the crown of martyrdom.

There are two more Apostles of the Seventy: Saint Cephas, to whom the Lord appeared after the Resurrection (1 Cor. 15:5-6), and Simeon, called Niger (Acts 13:1). They also were glorified by apostolic preaching.

There are discrepancies and errors in some lists of the Seventy Apostles. In a list attributed to Saint Dorotheus of Tyre (June 5) some names are repeated (Rodion, or Herodion, Apollos, Tychicus, Aristarchus), while others are omitted (Timothy, Titus, Epaphras, Archippus, Aquila, Olympas). Saint Demetrius of Rostov consulted the Holy Scripture, the traditions passed down by the Fathers, and the accounts of trustworthy historians when he attempted to correct the mistakes and uncertainties in the list in compiling his collection of Lives of the Saints.

The Church in particular venerates and praises the Seventy Apostles because they taught us to honour the Trinity One in Essence and Undivided.

In the ninth century Saint Joseph the Hymnographer composed the Canon for the Synaxis of the Seventy Apostles of Christ.

Troparion — Tone 3

Holy apostles of the Seventy, / entreat the merciful God / to grant our souls forgiveness of transgressions.

Kontakion — Tone 2

O faithful, let us praise with hymns / the choir of the seventy disciples of Christ. / They have taught us all to worship the undivided Trinity, / for they are divine lamps of the Faith.

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Saint Theoktistos lived in the second half of the eighth century, during a period of widespread iconoclastic heresy. The Venerable one was the founder and Igoumen of Cucomo Monastery on the island of Sicily. During that difficult time for the Church, the Orthodox were persecuted by iconoclastic Emperors. Orthodox churches were closed, and the Holy Icons were desecrated and destroyed. The monks, in particular, were affected by the iconoclastic persecution because they protected the Holy Icons. The monks were expelled from their monasteries, which were destroyed, and they were forced to flee their homeland. Saint Theoktistos sheltered these Greek monks in his monastery.

The Seventh Ecumenical Council, which was convened in 787, condemned the iconoclast heresy, but even after that, the heresy, supported by iconoclastic Emperors, continued to disturb the peace of the Church. Only in the reign of the Holy Empress Theodora, at the Council of 842, was iconoclasm finally condemned. The Triumph of Orthodoxy was appointed to be celebrated every year on the first Sunday of Great Lent.

Saint Theoktistos did not live to see that Triumph, for he fell asleep in the Lord in the year 800.

Saint Theoktistos of Sicily should not be confused with Saint Theoktistos of Palestine (September 3), the companion of Saint Euthymios (January 20) in the ascetic life.

Troparion — Tone 8

By a flood of tears you made the desert fertile, / and your longing for God brought forth fruits in abundance. / By the radiance of miracles you illumined the whole universe! / O our holy Father Theoktistos, pray to Christ our God to save our souls!

4 January, The Chesterton Calendar

JANUARY 4th

The fact is that purification and austerity are even more necessary for the appreciation of life and laughter than for anything else. To let no bird fly past unnoticed, to spell patiently the stones and weeds, to have the mind a storehouse of sunsets, requires a discipline in pleasure and an education in gratitude.

'Twelve Types.'

4 January, The Holy Rule of St Benedict, Patriarch of Western Monasticism

PROLOGUE OF OUR MOST HOLY FATHER SAINT BENEDICT TO HIS RULE

4 Jan. 5 May. 4 Sept.

Having our loins, therefore, girded with faith and the performance of good works, let us walk in His paths by the guidance of the Gospel, that we may deserve to see Him Who hath called us to His kingdom. And if we wish to dwell in the tabernacle of His kingdom, we shall by no means reach it unless we run thither by our good deeds. But let us ask the Lord with the Prophet, saying to Him: “Lord, who shall dwell in Thy tabernacle, or who shall rest upon Thy holy hill?” After this question, brethren, let us hear the Lord answering, and shewing to us the way to His tabernacle, and saying: “He that walketh without stain and worketh justice: he that speaketh truth in his heart, that hath not done guile with his tongue: he that hath done no evil to his neighbour, and hath not taken up a reproach against his neighbour:” he that hath brought the malignant evil one to naught, casting him out of his heart with all his suggestions, and hath taken his bad thoughts, while they were yet young, and dashed them down upon the (Rock) Christ. These are they, who fearing the Lord, are not puffed up with their own good works, but knowing that the good which is in them cometh not from themselves but from the Lord, magnify the Lord Who worketh in them, saying with the Prophet: “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy Name give the glory.” So the Apostle Paul imputed nothing of his preaching to himself, but said: “By the grace of God I am what I am.” And again he saith:  “He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.”

5 January, The Roman Martyrology

Nonis Ianuárii Luna quinta Anno Dómini 2025

The morrow is the Eve of the Epiphany of the Lord, the same day is the Octave of the holy martyr Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury.
January 5th 2025, the 5th day of the Moon, were born into the better life:

At Rome, the holy Pope Telesphorus, who toiled much for Christ, and under the Emperor Antoninus Pius obtained by his testimony a glorious martyrdom.
In Egypt are commemorated many holy martyrs who were slain in the Thebaid in diverse ways, in the persecution under the Emperor Diocletian.
At Antioch, the holy monk Simeon, who lived for many years standing upon a pillar, whence he is called Stylitis (from the Greek style, which is being interpreted a pillar), whose life and conversation was wonderful (in the year 459).
In England, the holy King Edward, famous for his gift of chastity and of the power of working miracles. By command of Pope Innocent XI his feast is kept upon the 13th day of October, which is the day of the translation of his sacred body (in the year 1066.)
At Alexandria (in the fourth century), holy Syncletica, whose noble acts holy Athanasius hath set before us in his writing.
At Rome, the holy virgin Emiliana, father's sister to holy Gregory the Great. Her sister Tharsilla, who had gone to God before her, came and called her, and upon the same day she passed hence to be for ever with the Lord (sixth century).
Upon the same day, the holy virgin Apollinaris (about the year 440).
℣. And elsewhere many other holy martyrs, confessors, and holy virgins.
℟. Thanks be to God.