Exodus: Dumb and Dumber

Ridley Scott's Exodus: Gods and Kings rounds out this year's Bible movie offerings with the most inexplicable adaptation yet. Nobody was really clamoring for another Moses adaptation, let alone one released nowhere near Passover. Despite some pretty palaces, sweeping landcapes, and impressive plague special effects, this Exodus adaptation remains both entertaining and uninspiring.

Scott takes some interesting takes on supporting characters, like Miriam living as a servant in the palace, but then abandons them with no meaningful development. His research is equally thin. For every flashy monument there are other inaccuracies. Were there really that many beards among Egyptian nobility? Was hanging really the preferred method of public execution, if used at all? Is Ramses channeling Britney Spears in that scene with the cobras?

Most glaring is some very 19th century rhetoric about the nature of slavery. Moses literally argues that Israelites have "the same rights as other Egyptian citizens" and "should be paid for their labor." Ramses counters that freeing them would have "dramatic economical impact" and that he needs more time to phase out his peculiar institution.

Steven Lloyd Wilson at Pajiba put this scene in its place in his awesome review. "Forget the white privilege of casting only white dudes in a movie about ancient Africa, let’s consider a bit about the historical privilege of thinking that all of human history is populated by literate middle class Americans with rights and constitutions. Historical privilege means not having to believe in peasants."

Privilege is at the heart of Ridley Scott's entire story. The subtitle Gods and Kings is apt because he has created an old school "great men" historical narrative, where leaders and their dramatic conquests are the only things that matter. The "Let my people go!" second act dwells heavily on the horror of plagues, showcasing human and divine pyrotechnics while the collateral damage literally piles up. (Note to parents: don't take your kids to see this unless they are ok with watching people be hanged, lit on fire, or eaten by crocodiles.) In Darren Aronofsky's Noah this year, the wholesale destruction of human life was seen as a tragedy; in Exodus, it's just an excuse for more action sequences.

Despite the lip service to political rights yet unborn, ordinary people do not matter much except as scenery. There are no Israelites grumbling about Moses' leadership or insisting God will save them. Instead, they blindly follow Moses, I guess because he's a child of privilege and has flashier accessories than they do. I'm outraged on behalf of my ancestors that they are reduced to a beige mob, showing zero agency outside of wide-eyed gapes and a training montage.

The supposed climax of the film, the parting of the Red Sea, is where its impact really dissolves. Moses decides to throw off Pharaoh's approaching army by going through the Mines of Moria, but ends up taking some wrong turns and missing his exit to the straits of the Red Sea. Luckily, the mountain pass does slow down the chariots, as does the holy sharknado that appears at the edge of the sea. The sea parts as a seeping tide that rises into a tsunami. Lest we be too awed by God's power, however, Moses lingers behind so he can have one last vanity grudge match showdown with Ramses. That they both emerge alive is the bigger miracle in my book.

Every Moses adaptation takes on the ideas of its time. Cecil B DeMille's The Ten Commandments portrayed the Exodus as a Cold War-esque showdown between constitutional law and autocratic tyranny, yet painted a rich tapestry of motivations and personalities in the children of Israel. Beautifully scored and animated, The Prince of Egypt focused on 1990s self esteem rhetoric: "Look at your life through heaven's eyes; there can be miracles when you believe." Now Exodus exhibits a Millennial ambivalence towards God not unlike its contemporary Noah. In the 21st century, the Creator seems elusive yet demanding, appearing only to cause destruction that defies humanist rationality. But Noah still marveled at the spiritual forces in the world bigger than ourselves. Christian Bale's Moses seems only to appreciate God because that creepy choir boy at the burning bush provided his best military general gig yet. Ultimately, Gladiator II: Egypt Edition is just a flashy, clumsy attempt to tell a story with centuries of significance.

The Immaculate Conception in the Modern World

Esquilache Immaculate Conception, Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1645-1655)

Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, the patron feast of the United States. At mass tonight, the
priest mentioned how the American bishops petitioned Pope Pius IX to approve Mary's patronage assignment in 1847. This request predated Pius IX's formal dogmatic decree of the Immaculate Conception in 1854. The same year, St. Catherine Laboure introduced the Miraculous Medal, featuring the prayer "Oh Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee." Later, in 1858, the apparitions to St. Bernadette Soubirous at Lourdes further affirmed the dogma, with Mary stating"I am the Immaculate Conception."

What exactly was it that made the people of the 19th century so fixated on Mary's conception without original sin? Was this the OMGJPIITOB of its time? America was even at the cutting edge of the trend. Perhaps Europe was too preoccupied prepping the many revolutions of 1848 to really get contemplative. The Church in France had a particularly precarious relationship with their country's government at this time, as evidenced by St. Bernadette's clashes with government officials about her visions. (If those CCC Marian apparition cartoons taught me anything, it's that visionary peasant children always have a municipal nemesis.)

I'm also curious what made American Catholic choose this particular patron. Was a sinless spokeswoman their answer to the colonial concept of America as a "City on a Hill"? Were they just riding the tide of trending spirituality? Or did Mary's sinlessness give them in hope in an uncertain time when their country was facing frontier dangers and experiencing increasing discord over slavery?

Looking at the state of our country today, we're in need of that same hope. Racism is still very real, and many people doubt that our criminal justice system treats all Americans fairly. But Mary's hymn of praise reminds us that the kingdom of God promises mercy for the marginalized and an end to unjust authority. It's our duty as Christians to work to make our own country more like that kindgom.

[God] has shown the strength of his arm; He has scattered the proud in their conceit.He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things while the rich he has sent away empty. 

Taylor Swift, Nostalgia Machine

Have you seen the viral video mashup of Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off" with a 1989 aerobics video? In the worlds of my sister "Stop whatever you are doing and watch this right now." The tempo has been sped up a bit to avoid copyright issues, but you can still see all its spandex glory.

These were my reactions when I first watched it:

• Of course Crystal Light sponsored a national aerobics championship
• This opening number resembles a beauty pageant opening; Miss America was still relevant then. 
• As kid in 1990, I would watch aerobics shows when I came home from kindergarten. They convinced me I needed those white cross-trainers or I would never be good at sports. 
• Those hi-cut leotards feel super dated, but so do the exercises. Any current fitness guide will tell you that relying on cardio arm flailing will not get you ripped - you have to lift too, bro. Our concept of health changes as often as our clothes. For example, I just heard a conference paper about how pale, thin tuberculosis patients exactly fit early 1800s standards of beauty.
• Taylor Swift really did capture the cadence of 80s pop music in her new album

I  have to admit, I listened to all of 1989 on a road trip with friends this weekend, and I really liked it. I also couldn't help over-analyzing the throwback theme she chose for it. The cds even come with Polaroid picture inserts! The name is her birth year, a time she literally cannot remember. Ironically, many of her fans weren't even alive then. They don't have Michael Jackson and Gloria Estefan lodged in their subconscious they way I do. 

Does this signal that the 80s have aged enough to move from big hair jokes to serious heritage? After all, the 1970s are no longer just a funny sitcom premise. Instead, wide lapel period dramas like Argo and American Hustle are Oscar nominees and X-Men prequels are set during the Nixon administration. To my siblings and me, this setting feels as exotic as the 1950s. Look at the people back then! Their clothes were so colorful and their music so lively! Now there's a generation coming into adulthood that feels the same way about the Reagan years. 

"Welcome to my house museum."

I'm both pleased and terrified that Swift might be an arbiter of how The Kids Today think about the past. Onthe one hand, she makes fun music and has a good eye for fashion and art direction. Her new video for "
Blank Space" is gorgeous, creepy, and packed with references to everything from Dorian Grey and Gone With the Wind to Mean Girls and Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi."

On the other hand, she's no historian. Her recent interview with Rolling Stone reveals how she cherry picks cute things from the past. For example, the living room of her TriBeCa penthouse displays a "fish tank filled with vintage baseballs ('I was like, 'That's so cool, they're so old!')  ... Against another wall, there's a rack full of white nightgowns. 'This is a thing me and Lena [Dunham] have,' says Swift ... 'We wear them during the day and look like pioneer women, fresh off the Oregon Trail.'"

Is this farb kidding me? Did she never even play the game Oregon Trail? Pioneer women wore petticoats and bonnets in the noonday sun, and white would be impractical for the rugged tasks of wagon travel, let alone attacks of dysentery. Somewhere Ma Ingalls is rolling in her grave.

Bigger things happened in 1989 than God's gift of Taylor to the world. The fall of the Berlin Wall and a presidential inauguration that year actually comprise some of my earliest political memories. Taylor Swift has shown herself to be capable of reflection, whether she's taking a break from the dating scene or re-examining what feminism means. I hope her new role as NYC ambassador will lead her to understand that the past isn't just a pretty backdrop for modern adventures, but a complex component of who we are today.

Being a (Mostly) Shiksa in Brooklyn

A Pedi Sukkah in Downtown
Brooklyn last year

More than any place I've ever worked, New York City is very aware of Jewish holidays. Last month I had to meet deadlines before colleagues took time off for Rosh Hoshanah. During the high holy days parking for the synagogue on my street spilled down the block. Now it's time for Sukkot, and the Pedi Sukkah guys are out in force again. It's really an ingenious setup: they pedal portable booths around Brooklyn and offer passersby the interwoven tree branches and citron for the traditional Sukkot blessing.

"Are you Jewish?" The question is inevitable if I make eye contact, and sometimes even if I don't. I always feel like I'm letting them down when I say no.

I try for an ecumenical encounter instead. "Hey cool, religious devotion in public! I like Psalms too. High five!" But they're interested in member retention, not evangelization. Chabad-Lubavitch groups remind me of Opus Dei at times - well funded, well connected, trying to inspire their coreligionists to embrace traditional devotions. Likewise, the Hasidic schoolgirls I sometimes see on the subway are always clad in the universal homeschooler uniform of long skirts and layered tops.

For the record, I'm not entirely a shiksha. By blood I'm 25% Jewish, but on my Dad's side so it doesn't really count. My paternal grandfather grew up a very secular Jew and then embraced Catholicism when he met my grandmother and her devout Italian parents. Probably the most Jewish things about my LaVigne great-grandparents were that they ate schmaltz as children and eventually retired to Boca Raton. Still, my relatives and I have never completely lost those roots. Our surname looks French because an Ashkenazi ancestor was trying to avoid persecution, so the story goes. We throw around Yiddish expressions and talk loudly with our hands. My grandpa loves lox and keeps his freezer stocked with blintzes. He grew up in his parents' grocery stores, and the family passion for finding good deals is deep in my DNA.

Especially before I took my husband's name, acquaintances have often assumed I'm not a goy. Almost everyone on my dad's side has this problem. When I worked at history camp the teenage boys called me "Jew Hair." There have been awkward moments when someone wishes me L'shanah Tovah or asks what I'm doing for Hanukkah. Last Good Friday I had literally been in Penn Station five minutes when a beaming Orthodox woman told me "Happy Pesach!" (I was wearing sensible black shoes with tights and a modest dress, should have seen that one coming.)

So I can "pass," so what? At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I feel a kinship with the children of Israel that I cannot shake. Perhaps my sadness at declining a Sukkot blessing comes from a desire for unity. I wish I knew the Hebrew alphabet and all the holy day traditions and we could pray together to the God we both believe. We already read the same scriptures.

Even if I'm not really part of the club, the Jewishness of NYC gives me hope. In a cosmopolitan city so often associated with secular excess and iniquity, one of the world's most persecuted religious groups has made a home, flourished, and left an indelible mark. The men in sidelocks and yarmulkes boldly striding down the street remind me I don't have to be ashamed of being a religious person. If New York has room for them, it can welcome a "nice Catholic girl" too, even if her life is far less exciting than Carrie Bradshaw's. You might seem wicked, Gotham, but deep down you are holy.

That Time the Pope Went to the World's Fair

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the 1964 World's Fair in New York City. Not unlike the modern

The Unisphere on my visit in June

Olympics, the Fair didn't turn a profit, but it hosted months of culturally significant spectacles. The Ford Mustang was introduced, Walt Disney launched the It's a Small World ride, Andy Warhol mocked politicians with some controversial pop art, civil rights activists staged protests blocking highway ramps, the Beatles played in Shea Shadium, and Bob Dylan infamously used an amp.

Like the New York's first World's Fair in 1939, this was the brainchild of infamous urban planner Robert Moses. (Cue chorus of boos from historic preservation fans.) Fading from political power towards the end of his career, he hoped hosting another World's Fair and turning Queens garbage dumps into the Flushing Meadows fairgrounds and park would cement his legacy.

Even though Moses was a jerk to tear down the old Penn station, I'll admit Flushing Meadows is a great park. Some of the fair buildings are still open as museums. The '64 Fair also gave Queens the amazingly topographic Unisphere, which has become an icon of the borough. It's a great example of space age public art that can belong to everyone, not unlike my old boyfriend the St. Louis arch. Plus, you can buy the world a Coke and keep it company while you're there. 

Vatican Pavilion at Flushing Meadows.
Collection of the NYPL. 

For Catholics, the '64 fair has special significance because it brought the United States its first papal visit ever! We have Robert Moses' ambition to thank for it. The Vatican had a pavilion at the Fair, and even shipped over Michaelangelo's Pieta to display there. Moses hoped his friend Cardinal Spellman could convince the Pope to stop by in a clutch PR move for the World's Fair.

And so on October 5, 1965, Pope Paul VI became the first pope to set foot on American soil. He spent only fourteen hours in NYC, establishing the usual cathedral-stadium-political arena template for future papal visits. After landing at the new JFK Airport in Queens, he spent most of his time in Manhattan at a mixture of modern and old-school locations. He visited St. Patrick's Cathedral and met with President Johnson at the Waldorf Astoria hotel. The Holy Father also addressed the United Nations, warning that "Politics do not suffice to sustain a durable peace." Later he said Mass at Yankee Stadium, not Moses' brainchild Shea Stadium (ooh burn!).Finally, on his way out of town, Paul VI did stop at the Flushing Meadows fairgrounds. Today a marble bench marks where he stood.

Pope Paul VI's whirlwind tour wasn't as substantial as later papal visits, but it was surely a landmark moment

Pope Paul VI window in St. Philomena church,
Livingston, NJ.

for American Catholics. Only a few years before, John F.Kennedy had become the first Catholic president and a beloved political figure. Seeing the Church's leader welcomed as an international dignitary must have cemented the fact that "papists' had been accepted as true Americans, not a dangerous superstitious group swearing loyalty to a foreign power. Also, American Catholicism was no longer just mission territory; it was a major wing of the Church garnering Vatican attention! Eleven years later Paul VI would canonize New Yorker Elizabeth Ann Seton as the first American-born saint, further establishing the United States' role in Catholic history.

I found evidence of this papal euphoria in a parish near me in New Jersey. With its simple yet vaguely colonial style, St. Philomena was probably built in the early 1970s before post-Vatican II modernism had really caught on. The ample stained glass windows depict mysteries of the rosary, local bishops, and ... Pope Paul VI's NYC visit. The window is amazing and bordering on souvenir-store kitch: Paul VI raises his hands in blessing amidst the Stars and Stripes, St. Patrick's, the UN, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty. (Sadly, the Unisphere did not make the cut.) A panel at the bottom notes the date of the pontiff's visit. Perhaps some parishioners fondly remembered attending the Mass in Yankee Stadium and donated the window? I'll be on the lookout for more Paul VI commemorations in the area. American Catholicism: if it can make it here, it can make it anywhere.

If you want to learn more about the 1964 World's Fair, I highly recommend Joseph Tirella's new book Tomorrow-Land: The 1964-65 World's Fair and the Transformation of America, from which I got much of the information in the post. If you find yourself in Grand Central this fall, you should also check out this free exhibit.

Church Architecture: Balancing Tradition and Modernity

There has been some fascinating coverage lately of new cathedral plans and the modern design elements in them. First, the New Liturgical Movement discussed re-wreckovating the Cathedral of Berlin. The church was damaged in WWII and its mistreatment appears to have continued. A mid-century renovation decided to unite the upper church and crypt via a pillar and gaping hole, for some reason. The irony of managing to displease traditionalists by adding more railings is an impressive achievement.

St. Hedwig Cathedral's current open pit state. 

Fortunately the cathedral wants to shed this logistically bizarre floor plan. Unfortunately, the new design chooses to downplay the building's heritage and go as modernist as possible. The church's cylindrical shape will take precedence, with simple chairs and a minimalist altar playing an understated supporting role.

Rendering of the proposed St. Hedwig redesign.
Trash bins for your Burger King wrappers are located on the perimeter.

The parish near my college had a very similar design. It wasn't terrible; the building was bright, airy, and impressive. The altar was indeed the focal point. But it also felt cold and cavernous sitting under so. much. white. My guy friends called it "The Mothership." I couldn't help comparing it to these highway rest areas on the Ohio Turnpike, which at least jazz up their floors with contrasting tile colors.

"Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail me now!"

So yeah, based on my own liturgical experience this is not my favorite scheme. I'm confused by some of the Berlin plan's catchy descriptions. "The floor remains a visible and palpable constitutive, fundamental element of the architecture" How? Because it's there? Sure it's ubiquitous and essential, but so is the cement in your garage. "Unlike in rigid rows, one can look around the circle of the gathered community in which one feels secure." Yes, that's exactly why I love making eye contact with the people across my subway car. It makes me feel so secure!

This isn't to say that church decorative styles can't progress past the 19th century, though. Fr. Dwight Longenecker recently wrote a very nuanced view of modern design in his assessment of the plans for California's Christ Cathedral. He pointed out that "the problem with traditional churches is that they can sometimes be no more than copies of earlier churches." Modern churches often deny continuity with the past, but that doesn't mean we can never leave the past, either. I especially liked his hypothesis that medieval Gothic architects would have gladly used steel beams if that material had been available to them. Praising the clean lines of Christ Cathedral's floating sanctuary canopy, he notes that it would certainly "be wrong to plonk down a baroque altarpiece or a gothic pulpit" in such a modern space.

Rendering of Christ Cathedral sanctuary.

This mis-matching of styles is sometimes an occupational hazard of traditional piety revival. Just as you wouldn't put a geometric Matisse painting in a gold rococo frame, you can't just slap more gilded columns on a modern church and call it a day.

Niagara University alumni chapel, above.
Divine Mercy parish, below.

For example, I ran into some interesting architectural combinations last weekend on the first leg of my Three Weddings and a Conference trips. First stop was the alumni chapel at Niagara University. This historic church at a Vincentian school blended old and new very well. You could tell which stained glass windows were from the 19th century and which were post-Vatican II, but there was still subtle continuity. The glass rood screen separting the main sanctuary from the smaller daily mass area was obviously a recent addition, but it featured traditional iconography of the four Evangelists and scenes from scripture. Sitting in its "rigid rows", I still felt secure and inspired, and not just because my friend was a gorgeous bride.

The next day I ventured to the parish closest to our hotel that fit our traveling schedule. It was a typical 1980s generic church design, with exposed brick, angular stained glass saints, and that wood beam tent/barn ceiling that was popular for a decade or so. The funny unexpected twist was the abundance of traditional devotional items scattered all around. These were probably inherited from a nearby parish that closed. It's great that these sacramentals still have a home, but boy, was it jarring. Pastel baroque curlicues do not mesh well with big blocks of brown and primary colors.This was one time where  a little modernist restraint would have helped.

Most interesting were the huge paintings hanging in the sanctuary, dating to the 1950s. One depicted the Holy Family, and the other showed the Catholic version of the Cleavers praying the rosary in their living room. It was a great piece of American Catholic material culture, but it clashed with the building overall. Thanks to the blinding morning sunlight coming through the windows, my little iPhone camera couldn't capture a good image of the paintings. In this mash-up of competing decorative styles, the best of both worlds got drowned out.

7 Quick Takes Vol. 28

I'm linking up with Jen Fulweiler for 7 Quick Takes once again this week.

1. I've spent the past two weeks getting over strep throat, so there has been much laziness on the couch in sweatpants. The Southern Baron proved once again that Louisianans make excellent husbands by cooking me gumbo and gallantly fetching me all the seltzer my feverish heart desired.
   
2. The one upside to being sick is that it gave me lots of time to catch up on online television like Ken Burn's new documentary The Roosevelts. It has a mellow vibe but is also fascinating, with lots of Aaron Copeland piano in the background. I learned all kinds of new facts, like how Teddy lost both his mother and his first wife on the same day, and how FDR wrote Hitler in the 1930s saying "Hey, here's a list of countries I'd really rather you didn't invade." Hitler's response was "Can you believe this idiot?"
   Thanks to cable TV, there are a lot of mediocre history shows out there that just recycle the same re-enactment footage and try to hook you at commercial breaks with salacious teasers. I was most impressed with how much detail and effort went into Burns' work. He features hundreds of archival photos, historic video clips, and shots of different Roosevelt homes. There's a reason he's the king of documentaries. If you missed the broadcasts, there's still time to marathon all 14 hours of it this weekend before PBS takes the videos down!
   
3. To make things even nerdier, my household has gotten addicted to all the brain training game apps out there. The free versions all give you access to only a selection of games, but they mix up the roster daily so you never get bored. Lumosity is the elder statesman of the bunch, with a web counterpart. I really like Peak, which has basically the same puzzle games as Lumosity, plus a few more. It also gives you four games a day rather than just two. and they seem to be more difficult. And then there's Elevate, which favors practical skills over brain teasers. It pairs story-like animation with challenges of skills like listening, reading comprehension, and discount calculation. Basically if you wish you could do SAT problems on your phone while making a cartoon ship sail across the ocean, this is the app for you.
   
4. This time last year we were new kids in our town and didn't know a soul. Now we have suddenly found ourselves deep into volunteering at our parish down the street. He's on the pastoral council, I lector and lead the fledgling Young Adult group. Oh, and we also agreed to take over the Advent Giving Tree. I have to admit, after years of parish-hopping and being commitment-phobic, it's nice to feel useful.
   
5. At the parish picnic last weekend, we got caught up chatting with a Polish seminarian and were the last people to leave. Then we found ourselves at the priests' afterparty on the rectory deck, listening to some man's stories about being in the air force in the 70s. I guess we're in now! As Time Hawkins would say, "Start stackin' chairs."
   
   
   
   
6. This recent Slate article about the insanity and uncertainty of the academic hiring process is some real talk that needed to be shared with the world. Please, for the love of Thomas Aquinas, do not EVER suggest that a grad student should send their resume to an ivy league school or ask where they are going to raise their future kids. They already know they made a terrible life choice by buying into a broken pyramid scheme.
   
7. On a happier note, this week kicks off our month of Three Weddings and Conference. First stop: a mini reunion with my housemates from my Vincentian volunteer year. Niagara Falls, here we come!

Fun Museum Finds

Summer's winding down, but I can't bear to think about long sleeves yet. It's been too much fun hanging out in the sunshine and taking road trips to new museums. Before we pack away the sundresses and sandals for good, here are some fun images of outdoor festivity that I've seen recently. 

To start off, here are two paintings from the series Apollo and the Muses at the Cleveland Museum of Art. 

Erato, the muse of Lyric Poetry on the left, is basically Taylor Swift's spirit animal. She's all billows and curls, sitting in a romantic grove with Cupid while she literally writes with one of his arrows. I imagine this is how Swift's Wall Street Journal article was also composed. "[People] are buying only the [albums] that hit them like an arrow through the heart ... and I'd also want a nice garden."

Meanwhile check out the epic side eye Clio, the muse of History is giving her. "Are you serious girl? I'm over here writing about wars and plagues and fallen empires, and you're sitting under a billowing canopy? I hope the Persians get you with a spear." The two paintings really are displayed like this, with Apollo between them.

I'm not exactly sure what the artist Charles Meynier meant here. Clio's expression is pretty hilarious - but hey wait, is he saying female scholars are all ice cold? Does he think history is just dust and monuments? I do like the suggestion that maxi dresses and serious business can go together, though. 

Speaking of summer fashions, lest you think flower crowns are a new trend, check out this etching from the print collection of Washington's Headquarters in Morristown, NJ. George Washington is entering Trenton victorious after  crossing the Delaware River to defeat the British. The city's daughters have turned out for the parade in their best music festival apparel. 

George Washington also spent some time in Brooklyn, although he wasn't as successful there. NYC wasn't quite as built up back in the 1770s, as you can see in this 18th century map from Morristown. I love the little soldiers marching along the palisades.

See Charles Meynier, even military history isn't completely humorless.

Is Courtship Fundamentally Catholic?

The current courtship resurgence is an interesting facet of the Christian "purity culture" that has sprung up in reaction to the sexual revolution and and divorce trends of the 20th century. Joshua Harris' I Kissed Dating Goodbye came out in 1997, and its spouse-finding philosophy has been a cultural and spiritual force ever since. I was 12 when Harris burst into the scene, and his writing influenced me and my friends in our teen years. Harris' antidote to hook-up culture has been around so long that there is now some backlash as my generation assesses its results.

Recently, former courtship advocate Thomas Umstattd wrote Why Courtship Is Fundamentally Flawed, arguing that the system misinterprets scripture and does not safeguard against divorce. Even Harris himself has warned against excessive courtship legalism that makes young couples afraid to even speak to each other. For every couple whose courtship resulted in a happy marriage, there are stories of overly controlling fathers or jerk suitors who masked their toxic personalities with lip service to "biblical marriage."

On the other hand, courtship is more visible than ever, with People magazine covering the Duggars' strict courtship rules. Fundamentalist groups host "purity balls" where girls in formal dresses promise their dads that they will remain virgins until marriage. These father-daughter dances and chastity pledges have garnered much media attention for being "like a wedding, except to your dad."

Swedish photographer David Magnusson's exhibit of father-daughter purity ball portraits is one recent example of courtship in the spotlight. Documenting families in Louisiana, Texas, Colorado and Arizona, he photographed fathers and daughters near their homes in their ceremony clothes. Portraits were done in the early morning, with subjects choosing their poses “in the light of the decisions you have made.” Magnusson's purpose isn't just curiosity, but cultural analysis. "I wanted to create portraits that were beautiful; images that the girls and their fathers would like to see hanging on their walls at home, while someone from another cultural background might experience the very same portraits in an entirely different way."

Pierce and Jasmine Nunley, Grand Cane, Louisiana.
By David Magnusson

At first, the portraits are off-putting. Seeing a gallery of grown men embracing young girls in wedding-like dresses feels really creepy. It's like an incestuous combo of a quincenera or debutante ball. But when you look closer, each pair has unique expressions of their relationship and motivations. You can see determination, courage, tenderness, trust, and protection. Magnusson has successfully worked with his subjects to create a complex work of art.

The Catholic Church doesn't have official dating policies, so the way Catholics view courtship is not unlike the possible reactions to Magnusson's portraits. Some people cringe at the strict rules, some find inspiration to create more boundaries in their dating life, and others are enchanted by the promise of purity and parental love. There's no one best way for finding your spouse, but Catholics should be careful to examine the theology of courtship more closely. Some weird idolatry can lurk under the surface.

To many, the concept of courtship is just shorthand for "pursuing an exclusive, chaste relationship with the intention of discerning marriage while consulting parental wisdom." At its most strict and biblically literal, though, courtship regards marriage as the transfer of a woman from her father's authority to her husband's. A father's permission is required for both courtship and marriage because he has the final say over his daughter's life. By doing so he reflects the role of God the Father giving Eve to Adam in Eden. The will of the dad is the will of God.

Frankly, my brothers and sisters, that is wack. Here are a few reasons why such scrupulosity isn't compatible with Catholicism.

Scripture does not depict strict courtship as mandatory or foolproof. As Umstattd points out, "Just because Jacob had two wives and a seven-year engagement does not mean that God wants all men to have two wives and seven-year engagements." In fact, Rachel and Leah's father abuses his authority to cheat Jacob. In the Book of Tobit, Sarah's father approves her marriage to seven different husbands, but each one ends in disaster anyway. Ruth bypasses courtship by pursuing Boaz, while Esther is sent to the king's harem against her male guardian's will.

The lives of the Saints don't embrace this type of parental control; in fact they often defy it. There are so many examples of holy women whose fathers opposed their desire for a life of celibacy. St. Catherine of Siena even chopped off her hair to keep her parents from marrying her off. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states, "Parents should respect [a child's call to the religious life] and encourage their children to follow it. They must be convinced that the first vocation of the Christian is to follow Jesus." (CCC 2232) Did Mary ask her dad's permission before she agreed to bear the Messiah? Nope, she said yes and then ran off to consult her female relative instead.

The Church teaches that girls should be taught "the right use of their reason and freedom," not protected from the world at all costs. (2228) At baptism, parents make promises of faith on behalf of their kids, but from then on children must cooperate with God's grace on their own. Elders can and should offer and advice and guidance, but your vocation is ultimately between you and God. As the Catechism states:

"Obedience towards parents ceases with the emancipation of the children; not so respect, which is always owed to them ... When they become adults, children have the right and duty to choose their profession and state in life. They should assume their new responsibilities within a trusting relationship with their parents, willingly receiving their advice and counsel. Parents should be careful not to exert pressure on their children either in the choice of a profession or in that of a spouse." (2217 & 2230)

The rite for the sacrament of marriage does not ask the father of the bride to "give this woman," a patriarchal moment that courtship fundamentalists often cite. The father does not take the place of God; we already have ordained priests to act in persona christi. In fact, the couple themselves are the ministers of the sacrament of marriage. "The Church holds the exchange of consent between the spouses to be the indispensable element that 'makes the marriage.'" (1627) Their covenant reflects the wedding feast of the Lamb in heaven, where the victory of Christ the new Adam is complete. 

Even though it appears charmingly old-fashioned and wholesome, strict courtship is neither a magic bullet against sin nor an oracle of God's will. If you need a framework of bureaucratic oversight and final veto power to prevent your daughter from making a bad choice in marriage, then her adult conscience is poorly formed.This doesn't mean that fathers don't have a role in their daughters' choice of a husband. Good male role models are essential to help a girl learn what to look for in a spouse.

I'm grateful for my own dad's example as a smart, generous, hardworking, tender-hearted husband and father. He's one of the people I admire most in the world, and I respect his opinion. I know if I had dated a guy who was a jerk, my dad would have told me his concerns. But after spending the first 18 years under the care of a man who loved me selflessly, why would I settle for anything less in my adult life?

One of my favorite memories of my dad is how he put up with my shy temperament as a little girl. I was too scared to enter school alone, so he would walk with  me to my 1st grade classroom every morning. He knew this couldn't go on forever, though, and he kept encouraging me to have confidence. "Maybe today I can walk with you just until the lobby tile ends, how about that?" he'd say. He took good care of me, but knew part of that care was teaching me to walk out on my own.

Of Museums, Monsters, And Men

Last week my cousin got married in Chicago, so we road tripped back to the Midwestern motherland for a family reunion. Along the way we found lots of cool history nerd places to visit, including thefor a Field Museum, which has great lakefront views, and the Cleveland Museum of Art, which has a gorgeous building and amazing new interactive technology displays. If you're ever driving through Ohio it's definitely worth a stop!


As I walked through halls of dinosaurs, ancient artifacts, and taxidermy specimens, verses from the Book of Job kept floating through my mind. Somewhere in Pennsylvania I had read its last few chapters aloud as part of the Office of Readings. Have you ever read the whole story of Job? It's way crazier than the usual summary of "Man loses everything but trusts God." There are pages and pages of esoteric speeches about the meaning of life while Job's knucklehead friends tell him he's suffering because of his sins. Finally God speaks and shuts up those morons. He tells Job to "Gird up your loins now, like a man," and then, frankly, He gets a little sarcastic. (In the King James translation Chapter 38 sounds like a string of Shakespearean insults.) Basically He's got a lot on his plate and you don't even know the half of what His job entails.

Have you ever in your lifetime commanded the morning and shown the dawn its place
For taking hold of the ends of the earth, till the wicked are shaken from it? ...
Have you comprehended the breadth of the earth? Tell me, if you know all...
Has the rain a father; or who has begotten the drops of dew?
Out of whose womb comes the ice, and who gives the hoarfrost its birth in the skies? 

Seriously, God is busier than Mufasa.

Do you hunt the prey for the lioness or appease the hunger of her cubs
While they crouch in their dens or lie in wait in the thicket?

Mountain goats, ostriches, wild oxen and asses, hawks, and noble steeds - God directs them all. He even created some mammoth monsters.

Behemoth "carries his tail like a cedar; the sinews of his thighs are like cables. 
His bones are like tubes of bronze; his frame is like iron rods."

Sue the T. Rex, Field Museum

When Leviathan "rises up, the mighty are afraid; the waves of the sea fall back ...
He regards iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood ...
Who can force open the doors of his mouth, close to his terrible teeth?

Jonah Cast Up, 3rd Century, Cleveland Museum of Art

I'm still pondering what God's speech to Job exactly means. Its purpose is to debunk the loser friends' claim that Job's sufferings are punishment for his sins. So what is the real reason? Are our human problems puny compared to the wide cosmic actions of the universe? Should we trust that God is in control because He makes the sun rise and set every day? Or is the world so vast and mysterious that we can never fully understand why things happen the way they do?

Either way, it's clear that humanity has been marveling at the power of nature since the world began. Pondering these things is part of who we are. And honestly, I've found some comfort in thinking about those mountain goats crouching down in the desert and the "storehouses of the snow."

7 Summer Quick Takes

I'm linking up with my Cathsorority sister Carolyn at Svellerella for quick takes this week. Carolyn is a fun writer and amazing artist. Definitely check out her great photography tips! 

1. I wrote a guest post for The Mirror Magazine about being a modern woman working in the museum world and how "leaning in" is different there.
   
2. Speaking of women in museum careers, I've been spoiled with three summer interns in my department. I swear we don't have a particular persona in mind, but so far all of our interns have been blond and/or gluten intolerant and/or named Laura.
   
3. It's NFP awareness week, but I've been keeping my distance from it. Not overthinking NFP is key for maintaining my sanity. I will say that this older article making the rounds is one of the best takedowns of pharisaic NFP "friendly fire" I've ever seen. If you're a Catholic concerned that other devout Catholics are "abusing NFP" and aren't having as many kids as they "should," you better check your spiritual priorities and your understanding of Church teaching. (Steps down from soapbox.)
   
4. Anyway, I've been trying to read for fun more, and in the past month I successfully got through several novels on the subway. If you are an Austenite, I highly recommend Val McDermind's new modern adaptation of Jane Austen's first novel, Northanger Abbey. For years I've though that Catherine Morland's socially disastrous obsession with gothic novels was basically a satire of Twilight, and finally an author has made that connection too. A close retelling that respects and quotes its source material, McDermid's Northanger effectively translates the importance of reputation in Austen's era to the constant surveillance of social media today.
   
5. Good things about the New York Public Library: you can order any book from any branch, and they let you renew books more than just twice! Bad thing: If you ask the staff for help locating your latest hold, they might heckle you for checking out a fitness book subtitled "Lift Like A Man, Look Like A Goddess."
   
6. Our latest Netflix binge show is Battlestar Galactica. I know, we're like a decade late to this sci-fi party. We have yet to become the binge watchers in that Portlandia skit, but we're definitely hooked. I love all the strong female characters and how religious culture figures so strongly in political tensions.
   
7. Unlike last summer, when we were still buying furniture and figuring out how to live in the same space, we've actually made it to fun outdoor activities! The shady hiking trails a mile away have gotten several visits, as have three free outdoor concerts. In NYC you could probably eat dinner out of a picnic basket at some free show practically every night of the week if you wanted. It's nice to realize that I don't have to do everything, just a few things. The Southern Baron likes to apply the philosophy of one of his college professors: "What's the best beer in Ireland? The one in my hand."

What's the best waterfall in the northeast? The one in front of me. 

People of Costco

Today I'm guest posting for Bonnie at A Knotted Life, talking about religious identity and how I secretly want to make friends with people who follow super-religious dress codes. Her blog is honest, funny, and faith-filled; definitely check it out!

Magnetic cart escalator to heaven?

It's funny how just after I finalized my post for Bonnie, I ran into the very same experiences that inspired it in the first place. We need snacks for a big museum event this weekend, so I was dispatched to Costco, that haven of bulk provisions for large religious families. Most of the time working in Brooklyn I feel like my suburban upbringing is a liability, but not today, hipsters! I knew this place back when it was still Price Club.

The Sunset Park Costco's industrial setting is pretty different from the strip malls of NoVA, but inside it smells just like a Costco. The signs and price tags are the same and the layout is familiar once you realize this store has two levels. The sheet cake order form is unchanged since my 1998 sugar-coma of graduations  and Confirmation receptions.

It brought back so many memories I almost wept with homesickness. I felt like I should be wearing a school uniform and making sure my little brothers didn't wander off in the frozen foods. Bulk grocery shopping is my heritage, dangit.

The crowd of giggling hijab-clad schoolgirls in long black dresses on the R train platform should have tipped me off. Of course this place would be packed with various descendants of Abraham. There were Jewish men in black hats and their wives in wigs. There were more hijabs and long skirts, including one Muslim mom pushing a double stroller while wrangling two other kids.

For once, I didn't feel like I needed to explain to these people that I am sorta kinda one of them. I've logged enough hours in my life traipsing the Kirkland Signature aisles in a plaid skirt to be certain of my identity. I come from a Big Catholic Family, and my people can feed a crowd with the best of them.

My Dive Bar Catholic High School

This weekend we traveled down to Virginia to celebrate Brother #3's graduation from 8th grade. It's not a huge transition, since he'll still attend the same grade 7-12 school, but rites of passage are always a good excuse to eat cake. On the long drive I filled the Southern Baron in on more quirky details of my tiny Catholic school, like the locker situation.

Me: "So the Sevvies get these tiny boxes, but the high school ones are huge enough for a couple people to share."
Him: "Wait, you SHARED a locker? What if you want to lock it?"
Me: "Oh, nobody has a lock. There's just a general sense of trust, and it's not like you have anything worth taking in there. I shared with the J and K last names all four years."
(Brother #3 later confirmed that anyone caught messing with another guy's stuff would be dealt with behind the school.)

My husband and I both look fondly on our solid Catholic high school educations, but as a New Orleanian he basically went to school on another planet where your identity is fixed before you take the SATs. NOLA and St. Louis are the only two places I know where "Where'd you go to high school?" is the defining question to ask when meeting someone. There's something about those cities on the Mississippi river settled by tenacious French nuns - Catholic schooling caught on and never let go.

The Southern Baron is proud of his all-boys Jesuit education, and has the swag to prove it. There are lapel pins, an etched rocks glass, and glossy alumni magazines in our apartment. Last time we flew to Louisiana, the college kid in our row recognized his class ring and they proceeded to trade saints' and bishops' names like a secret code. At a Memorial Day barbecue, we discovered that my aunt's boyfriend's niece's husband also went to Jesuit, and it took the two men only five minutes to sniff out the other's academic track and activities. They count a Supreme Court justice and an American Idol judge among their fellow alumni.

My diploma doesn't have that kind of clout, except among the Steubenville/ Christendom crowd. When I tell people where I went to high school, I usually have to say "You've probably never heard of it, it's really small..." But I've concluded this means Seton is secretly super cool. My high school is the Catholic education equivalent of an awesome hipster dive bar.

The building is a little rough around the edges, with a distinctive musty smell, unreliable climate control, and worn mismatched furniture and paint colors. The same faded posters have been on the wall for years, if not decades. The menu hasn't been updated much since they opened, and you won't find anything too exotic or complicated. Some employees have cycled in and out, but for the longtime head staff, keeping the doors open is a labor of love.

Christ The King watches over the lobby.

You've probably never heard of it because it's pretty small and in a random part of town between the fire station and the railroad tracks. They don't really bother to advertise since word of mouth promotion from the regulars is enough to fill the seats.

But if you are lucky to be one of the insiders, it's a place where you know everyone and their mother and their brother and their six other siblings. Memories of fun shenanigans, long deep conversations, and romantic misadventures are scattered among the uncomfortable chairs. Other places may have broadened your horizons since, but this place knows how to deliver the classics insanely well. It also offers all kinds of obscure retro small batch stuff most people have never heard of.

It's great that there are flashier, bigger Catholic high schools with enough long hallways of identical lockers for each student to keep one with his own padlock. But I'm glad I went to a place with dubious fire code compliance that taught me about things like: logic syllogisms, sentence diagramming, Aquinas' proofs for the existence of God, Fr. Walter Ciszek, St. Januarius' liquefying blood vial, and King Philip II"s last days in the Alcazar. I'm glad that they made us go Mass twice a week and sing Pange Lingua so many times we'll never forget the lyrics. I'm especially grateful for the community of devout families in which I still find warm welcomes a decade after I graduated.

Because sometimes you gotta go where everybody knows your name.

Memory, that winged host that flew above me

Have you heard about the book club Hayley at Carrots for Michaelmas is hosting about Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited? I'm thrilled because Brideshead  is my favorite book. Ever since it was on my summer reading list senior year of high school, I've re-read it about once a year. On every return visit I've changed a little, and so I notice or enjoy new things. The notes my 17 year old self feverishly made in multi-colored pencil seem a little silly today.

Brideshead Revisted is a great novel becaue its decades-long story has something for everyone. Carefree college antics, coming-of-age angst, love affairs, guilt, religious identity, family drama, the place of Catholics in English society, and some great papist insider jokes. There a so many different facets to ponder, and I've added a page to this blog tracking some of my favorite recent commentary on it.

For me, BR continues to be an obsession because it's all about decorative arts, yo. Architecture and home furnishings are practically the star of the show. Like the Flyte family in Charles' life, BR passages kept popping into my head when I started my master's program at a "museum and country estate."

"Is the dome by Inigo Jones too? It looks later."
"Oh Charles, don't be such a tourist. What does it matter when it was built, if it's pretty?"
"It's the sort of thing I like to know."

All the descriptions of the Flyte family house make so much more sense now. On my first visit to Winterthur, I scoffed at its seemingly redundant acres of antique furniture. Gradually, as I learned to guide tourists through the corridors, I discovered the joy of paying close visual attention to the things around me. After all, historical context is the sort of thing I like to know too.

It was an aesthetic education to live within those walls, to wander from room to room, from the Soanesque library to the Chinese drawing-room, adazzle with gilt pagodas and nodding mandarins, painted paper and Chippendale fret-work, from the Pompeian parlor ... to sit, hour after hour, in the pillared shade looking out over the terrace.

The Chinese Parlor at Winterthur, full of painted paper and Chippendale fret-work.

Even though Charles Ryder is a total jerk sometimes, I do identify with his artistic journey. Eventually shedding his lazy undergrad ways, he soaks up all the art around him, tries his first big painting project, and eventually makes a career out of documenting historic architecture. As the existential trauma that is grad school fades, I tend to remember fondly my two years "in arcadia": with unlimited access to an eight-story mansion.

Most of the time I use my "looking at furniture" master's degree to make obnoxious comments about the background in Downton Abbey scenes (oh man, that William and Mary high chest in Mrs. Crawley's parlor), but I'm still obsessed with photographing architecture. Like Charles, I feel closer to the big truths in life when I'm pondering beautiful things. 

7 NYC Quick Takes

Linking up with Jen Fulweiler at Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes. Her new memoir, Something Other Than God, just arrived in the mail and I am super pumped to read it!

It's been a while since I've told any commuter stories, so here are some random NYC-ish things that have happened lately. If you're curious what life in New York is really like, Nathan Pyle's Basic NYC Tips and Etiquette pretty much nails the good, the bad, and the strategic positioning of it.

by Nathan Pyle

1. I gave a man directions on my subway ride to work, then he got mad at me for not knowing where the station's elevator was. 
   
2.  Lest you think all New Yorkers are rude, the next day I bonded with the man who got stuck in a traffic median with me waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. He joked that he would witness for me if I got hit by a bus; I helped him locate the nearest ATM. Meanwhile another man across from us decide to try and outrun the crossing traffic. "Hey, you wanna hit me mofo?!"
   
3. The subway is always a weird combination of high and low social brackets. One night at Chambers Street, a smelly/probably mentally ill guy got on and proceeded to stumble around the car belching and yelling at random intervals while clutching a Powerade bottle.  At one point he stood right over me. I alternately kept repeating to myself "This person is the Face of Christ, this person is the Face of Christ" and "Please don't vomit on my head."
   Then he got off at 14th Street and was replaced by a chick carrying a Louis Vuitton bag. She also skittered around the car, but because she couldn't keep her balance in her Louboutin heels.
   
4. A few Saturdays ago I hit up some places on Museum Mile and rode the NYC bus for the first time. Taking the M1 ten blocks from the Whitney to the Met took just about as long as walking. As an added bonus, I got to fight Upper East Side older ladies in structured jackets for personal space. They do not mess around.
   
   
5. Speaking of uptown women, yesterday I got a call from someone looking for weekday (?) brunch recommendations near my museum. For a group of 20 "ladies." The way their leader said "I don't really know Brooklyn," we might as well have been discussing Afghanistan. She practically gasped when I mentioned the new (and expensive) Hill Country Barbeque up the street. "That doesn't really sound like brunch."
   
6. Don't worry ma'am, the women of King's County still keep it classy, even if we do sometimes eat peasant cuts of meat on our lunch breaks. In Duane Reade last week I overheard someone telling her friends how she's overdue for her weekly manicure. "I was gardening at my mom's and now my nail are all farkakte!"
   
7. For us working stiffs, the endless cheap ethnic cuisine options are one of the best things to love about NYC. My office's best kept lunch secret is the local Hare Krishna temple vegetarian lunch buffet. It's like any food made with love by church ladies, only with more Indian spices. No one tries to hand you a flower like in Airplane, they're just all "Do you want cheesecake with that?" It's amazing.
   Sadly, the building is up for sale and some developer will probably make it into a hotel. Oh well, complaining about long gone favorites is practically the national pastime in this city.

An Open Letter to the Archdiocese of New York About Holy Innocents

Dear Cardinal Dolan,

Greetings in Christ! Like you, I am a transplant to the NYC area with Midwestern roots. It was an honor to attend the young adult Mass you celebrated at St. Patrick's Cathedral last December. Your joyful witness to our Catholic faith is such an inspiration.

It's come to my attention that the Archdiocese of New York is considering closing several churches. It's always a shame to see a parish go, but I get it. Neighborhood demographics change, and we're no longer in an era where multiple ethnic parishes need to co-exist within blocks of each other. Urban dioceses now find themselves with more real estate than they can handle. New York is an old city full of historic buildings, but it's also constantly evolving.

Among the parishes under consideration for closure is Holy Innocents on West 37th Street. Its closure would be a great loss to the spiritual life of the this city and a regrettable mistake.

The parish entrance on West 37th. 

I've gotten to know the parishes of Midtown West because of my daily commute from New Jersey to Brooklyn through Penn Station. Once Penn was a magnificent landmark, a beautiful space carefully designed by a famous architect. But Manhattan changed, as it always does, and the old Penn was deemed unnecessary. You know the rest - good design was demolished and replaced with a smaller dungeon. Today that unnecessary, beautiful old station is sorely missed and needed. The new Penn is too overcrowded to meet commuters' needs, let alone elevate their daily lives.

When I get weary from spending two hours a day in crowded underground metal boxes, I know there are refuges of peace and grace not far away. At first glance, consolidating the parishes of Midtown West might seem like an obvious practical move. There are three churches within five blocks of Penn Station, an embarrassment of religious riches. The largest of these, St. Francis, offers an impressive array of sacrament times and ministries, seemingly enough to serve the area. Both St. Francis and Holy Innocents have been godsends on bad days. St. Francis is like the department store of sacraments - it's big, convenient, and offers a wide selection to suit your needs. Mass, adoration, and confession happen nonstop during rush hour. I'm eternally grateful for the kind wisdom offered by Franciscan friars willing to get up early so we can sleepily stare each other down in a confessional at 8am.

If St. Francis is Macy's, Holy Innocents is an independent boutique. Its building is smaller and more intimate, marked by a small neon cross peeking out between wholesale clothing shops and a kosher falafel/shwarma place. It has fewer Mass times, but what it does offer is superb. The reverent liturgies there are exquisite and even better, accessible. Attend any of their Latin masses, and you'll see everyone from commuters in business attire to the kid in a plastic vest who was hawking tour bus tickets outside. Getting to know the extraordinary form of the Mass can be challenging. To us born after Vatican II, this part of our Catholic heritage feels like a foreign country. Holy Innocents makes our liturgical patrimony feel one of the rich cultural experiences available here in NYC, ready for new explorers to dive right in. At other homes of the EF I've felt like an outsider, but at Holy Innocents I've only found a warm welcome with humility, not snobbery. 

The Constantino Brumidi mural at Holy Innocents

The EF Mass could happen at any parish, but there are two more reasons not to close this gem of a church.

1. Closing Holy Innocents would mean the loss of an important artist's work. The mural behind the altar is an historic fresco by Constantino Brumidi, the same Italian immigrant who decorated the rotunda of the US Capitol building in the 1860s. Brumidi is so significant, he posthumously received the Congressional Medal of Honor in 2012. He left Italy because he was on the outs with Pope Gregory XVI, so a painting he did for the Church is an ironic rarity. Much as I love the Apotheosis of Washington, the sacrifice of Calvary is even more valuable. The parish has already invested a good deal of time and money to restore the mural's original brilliance. The scaffolding currently surrounding St. Patrick's Cathedral demonstrates the Archdiocese's commitment to historic preservation, so I know the Church can continue to keep up with the federal government in promotion of great art.

Brumidi's Apotheosis of Washington mural in the Capitol rotunda
(Via Architect of the Capitol)

2.  On a more practical note, Midtown West is just too crowded for just one parish. The soon-to-open 7 subway line extension and Hudson Yards redevelopment are only going to bring more traffic to the West Side. (My job involves transit news, so I have subway construction on the brain.) If there's a Duane Reade every ten feet in this town, surely one busy neighborhood can handle multiple churches.

For example, on Good Friday my husband and I initially planned to attend the 3 pm liturgy at St. Francis since it was earlier than other nearby offerings. Arriving at 2:45, we found It was already standing room only with packed aisles. So we walked up six blocks to the 3:30 at Holy Innocents, which was also well attended. If St. Francis is that busy now, imagine the crowds with two more parishes' worth of attendees. 

Please, don't make the same mistake the railroads did with Penn Station. Holy Innocents is cherished now and elevates the lives of many New Yorkers. It may be even more needed in the future.

God bless,
Sarah D. 

First Dance

Grace is doing a linkup about first dance songs, so here's ours. We're only newlyweds for one more month, so I better get in the wedding pictures while I can!

We didn't really have an official song during our 4 years of dating. Most of the time we were listening to music to pass the time while we were apart. Despite our nerdy mind-meld at times, the Southern Baron and I have very different musical impulses. He dreams of listening to Wagner's entire Ring Cycle nonstop on a road trip, while I can happily memorize the lyrics to any stupid pop song within two listens. When we first fell for each other, he sent me a gorgeous Chopin nocturne and I emailed him Aretha Franklin's "Baby I Love You."

We do associate certain songs with missing one another, especially on the long drives back and forth for weekend visits. He would always text me when Doc Watson's "Shady Grove" came on. "Ain't no gal on this whole world that's prettier than mine." One Republic was one of my highway staples, and their song "All This Time" would always have me crying into my steering wheel somewhere along I-95. "All this time we've been waiting for each other...Got all this love, can't waste it on another/ So I'm straight in a straight line, running back to you."

Classics and folk rock are two genres we can agree on though. The Wailin Jennys became a favorite of our visits, and were playing on the car stereo as we drove home from our engagement dinner. Their song "Asleep At Last" was an easy choice for our first dance. It describes the happiness and relief we felt at finally being together forever.

Be my asleep at last

Kiss me slow and hold me fast

Be my sail and be my mast

In the blue forever cast your love

Far from pain and past

Be my this one’s meant to last

It's a slow song, so we didn't pull out any wild dance moves. Having a calm romantic moment together was the perfect antidote to all the crazy schedule juggling the week before. Back when I was on my college's ballroom dance team I had dreams of elaborate choreographed wedding dances. Maybe now that we live in the same state we can finally take dance lessons together. But the memories of our sweet and simple first dance are way better than what my college self imagined.

Photos by JeanneMarie Photography