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. 

NFP Subculture: Don't Punish the Obedient

"I wish I liked Catholics more."
"They seem just like other people."
"My dear Charles, that's exactly what they're not--particularly in this country, where they're so few. It's not just that they're a clique--as a matter of fact, they're about four cliques all blackguarding each other half the time--but they've got an entirely different outlook on life; everything they think important is different from other people. They try and hide it as much as they can, but it comes out all the time."
- Brideshead Revisited Book I, Chapter 4

Last week John Zmirak at The Catholic Thing posted a stunningly fed-up rant about "the weirdness, bitterness, crankiness, and the general mediocrity that pervade the Catholic subculture," and how those negative aspects hinder evangelization, especially about Church doctrine on contraception. The Catholic population that actually believes and follows the Church's disapproval of artificial birth control is relatively tiny, and thus "as inbred as a pack of captive cheetahs, with all the dangers of deformity and disease that that implies."

Zmirak warns that "The Church as righteous subculture is unappealing to nearly everyone – including the kids who grow up inside it, who despite all those years of homeschooling and chapel veils frequently flee for what look like saner pastures ... We need to listen to [the secular world's] real questions and objections and do a much better job explaining ourselves. Or else that’s who we’ll go right on talking to – ourselves."

(*Edit: When I included this snarky soundbite, my intention was not to condemn the "homeschooling and chapel veils" set among whom I grew up and greatly respect. I seriously doubt the homeschooler apostasy rate is as high as Zmirak suggests. But I have also seen that no one pious practice is a magic bullet for sanctity and that intelligent young people indeed can be disillusioned by a lack of self-awareness in some traditional Catholic circles.)

It's true; self-righteous dismissal and distrust of Others isn't going to win any converts. It also endangers the few devout believers who do hold fast to beleaguered truths of the faith. Even if you are among the remnant that actually shuns contraception, there plenty of your compatriots ready to warn that you might be Doing It Wrong. Internet discussions about Natural Family Planning and childbearing are notoriously contentious. "Perfect love casts out fear," (1 John 4:18) but there is plenty of "bitterness, crankiness," infighting, and fearmongering in the NFP subculture. Look at any recent article about the morality and ethics of NFP, and you'll see several cliques all blackguarding each other:

• Dire conspiracy theorists sure most people's reasons for postponing pregnancy aren't good enough 
• Harried parents paranoid that they should be pregnant again or that they discerned poorly
• Rival method loyalists engaged in combox brawls
• Theologians insensitive to the emotional responses their coldly logical syllogisms elicit
• Infertility martyrs who shame anyone with "lesser" sufferings for complaining
• Glib spouters of the conventional wisdom that anyone struggling with NFP must be lazy and/or selfish, lustful, lacking in faith, or resisting God's will 

Is this really the alternative we want to offer the secular world? Instead of getting free birth control pills, you can be part of a tiny subculture that bickers about the minutiae of bodily functions and acts as the pregnancy thought police! Doesn't that sound life-giving and awesome? 

My own NFP experience has taught me how toxic fertility scrupulosity can be. Although I've been on board with NFP since I was a teenager, actually using it in my marriage has been a huge test of my faith. I had naively thought that obsessive charting would exempt me from those "lazy" user problems, but in reality the learning curve was steep. In our first months as newlyweds we dealt with much confusion, frustration, and loneliness. Had Theology of the Body cruelly duped us? Irregular charts made my body feel like an enemy and drove me into neurotic data tracking. I worried that God must be punishing us for some secret transgression and that I had failed as a wife. When I mentioned my spiritual conflict in confession, one priest told me this was none of his business and hinted I should just use birth control anyway. 

In reality, our problems were simply practical. Three methods, several hundred dollars of classes, and one minor surgery later, it's finally getting better. I now know what kind of charting works best for my personality and my body's habits. What helped me get through this difficult time was compassion from Catholic friends who acknowledged my suffering. Even if their own NFP stories were different, they trusted my judgement and encouraged me to persevere. I'm eternally grateful to the kind Franciscan confessor  in neon blue Crocs who told me "Yeah, this NFP stuff can be hard. Most priests have no clue."

I also appreciate the conversation Simcha Fisher has started with her hilarious and insightful book The Sinner's Guide to Natural Family Planning. She reminds readers that coming to terms with one's fertility requires spiritual growth, but that doesn't mean the NFP crowd should feel "judged and judgey." Only God can analyze fully a couple's hearts and childbearing decisions. Since Simcha's book came out, it's been heartening to see many other Catholic bloggers reveal their own NFP struggles and concur that there is no one-size-fits-all solution.

The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. (Mark 2:27) It's senseless to be Pharisaical towards Catholics who sincerely believe and practice all the Church's teachings. It's illogical to tell people that following the rules with an imperfect mindset is just as grave a sin as breaking them altogether. If orthodox Catholics are a clique that suspects the worst of its own members, why would anyone in their right mind want to sit with us? 

The Empty Tabernacle

"They've closed the chapel at Brideshead, Bridey and the Bishop. Mummy's requiem was the last Mass said there. 

After she was buried the priest came in ... and took out the altar stone and put it in his bag

 ... and blew out the lamp in the sanctuary, 

and left the tabernacle open and empty,

as if from now on it was always to be Good Friday." - Brideshead Revisted

Seeing the empty tabernacle and stripped altar is my favorite part of Good Friday. Like the sede vacante period, this emptiness only happens once in a while, and so is a powerful reminder of why we love the persons who normally fill that space. The dramatic, sparse mourning of the Triduum sanctifies the sorrow and loneliness that all humans experience. 

Like last year when I was newly engaged, this Lent has been full of exciting new plans that have kept me from feeling somber. But honestly, the past two years have been like one long Lent of underemployment, debt, and uncertainty. The Betrothed and I spent lonely Easters last year on different continents. We had a grainy Skype conversation and vowed "Next year, in Jerusalem!" 

On Christmas Eve, God finally answered our prayers with a job offer for me in New York. I've relocated for love, and finally live in the same state as my future husband. So now Lent is over and we are in Holy Saturday until June 15, waiting, praying, and keeping watch over empty space. I live alone in the apartment that will soon be our home. Different schedules and locations mean we often sit solo in church pews. Every weekend is a puzzle of who will drive where. It's hard for our lives to be so divided. 

The ache and emptiness that hit me when we started long-distance dating is still present. I long for unity with the man I love, and finally to share a home with him and God. I'm not a model Catholic woman, patiently suffering. Too often, I have given in to self-pity and despair. I worry that I have wasted this cross or have failed at being a witness of Christian joy. Sure, secular world, don't shack up with your beloved. Instead, be as miserable as I am! 

Fellow engaged woman Elizabeth recently pointed out that feeling a longing for marriage during the Triduum is actually quite appropriate.  Christ's Passion and Resurrection were His greatest expression of love for His bride, the Church. Why shouldn't we want the same spousal self-giving and unity? So this weekend, when I wish for the millionth time that we were married already, I'll try to unite that wishing to Christ's great desire and love for the Church. I'll think of the great mystery that The Betrothed and I will soon become united to, and its promise that God's people will not face emptiness forever. 

Photos:
1. Good Friday 2013 at Holy Innocents, Manhattan. 

2, 3, 5. Good Friday 2008 at College of William and Mary Catholic Campus Ministry Chapel, Williamsburg, VA

4. Good Friday 2013 at St. Francis Church St. Anthony Chapel, Manhattan

Evelyn Waugh blog alert!

As I have mentioned on this blog before, I like Evelyn Waugh's writing. A lot. A crotchety, snarky English convert to Catholicism, he alternates between withering criticism of modern society and flowery episodes of spellbinding beauty. 


I'm always excited to find Waugh devotees online - there are even some other blogs with Brideshead Revisited as their namesake! 


The Black Cordelias ( "Send five bob and ask your friends to do the same.")  cites young Cordelia's hilarious enthusiasm for sponsoring babies in the foreign missions. Kudos to this blog's group of authors for finding such adorable pictures of kids in nun costumes.


Sacred Monkeys of the Vatican is a lovely collection of "The Strange, the Random, and the Beautiful." Its author gets a million bonus points for mentioning Cordelia's pranking of half-hearted convert Rex Mottram. That poor unsuspecting Canadian. Teenage little sisters make the worst RCIA instructors.


Earlier this week Why I am A Catholic posted about the convert's prayer in Helena, one of Waugh's loveliest but more obscure works. In that passage, recently-baptized St. Helen prays to the Magi, reflecting on how she and they were late-arriving pilgrims. 


Another of my favorite passages in Helena is her exchange with the peddler who helps her locate the true Cross. (There are some unfortunate twinges of "wandering Jew" anti-Semitism in that character, but that's another story.) Their discussion of relics and kitsch is so marvelously full of material culture. (Emphasis mine.)

"'How I see it, this new religion of the Galilean may be in for quite a run. A religion starts, no one knows how. Soon, you get holy men and holy places springing up everywhere, old shrines change their names, there's apparitions and pilgrimages. There'll be ladies wanting other things besides the cross. All one wants is to get the thing started properly. One wants a few genuine relics in thoroughly respectable hands. Then everyone else will follow. There won't be enough genuine stuff to meet the demand. That will be my turn. I shall get paid. I wouldn't take anything from you now, lady. Glad to see you have the cross. It won't cost you a thing.' 

Helena listened and in her mind saw, clear as all else on that brilliant timeless morning, what was in store. She saw the sanctuaries of Christendom become a fair ground, stalls hung with beads and medals, substances yet unknown pressed into sacred emblems; heard a chatter of haggling in tongues yet unspoken. She saw the treasuries of the Church filled with forgeries and impostures. She saw Christians fighting and stealing to get possession of trash. She saw all this, considered it and said:'It's a stiff price'; and then: 'Show me the cross.'"

Excessive materialism is the ironic flipside of a faith steeped in sensory beauty and physical reminders of the divine. If there are beautiful cathedrals, there can also be glow-in-the-dark Jesus ashtrays, crusaders bickering over bones of saints, and near hoarder-levels of holy card collecting. But is tangible connection to God worth with risk? Oh yeah. 

"A nation so conceived and so dedicated"

"But, my dear Sebastian, you can't seriously believe it all..I mean about Christmas and the star and the three kings and the ox and the ass."
"Oh yes, I believe that, it's a lovely idea."
"But you can't believe things because they're lovely ideas."
"But I do. That's how I believe." - Brideshead Revisited, p. 87

Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, under which title Mary is the patroness of the United States. Ironically, I am up to my eyeballs in a paper about how the United States was founded by a bunch of rationalist, skeptic Deists. I seriously doubt they would be fans of the mystical, supernatural, and often-confused concept that Mary was free from original sin from the first moment of her life.Well, too bad, Thomas Jefferson. A bunch of Americans like that non-scientific, lovely idea very much.

I need to get back to my paper, so I'll leave you with this video encapsulating the religion/secularism debate that's been raging in America since the 1700s.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Blitzkrieg On Grinchitude - Atheist Billboard & Capitol Christmas Tree
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog March to Keep Fear Alive

Just chillin' with the Rolls again

"The motor car is the property of a man called Hardcastle. Return the bits to him if I kill myself; I'm not very good at driving." Beyond the gate ... stood an open, two-seater Morris-Cowley. Sebastian's Teddy-bear sat at the wheel.
~ BR page 23

Last weekend and the week following were completely insane with preparing presentations and then catching up on other work. Luckily I was rewarding for my hard work with a ride around the museum grounds in the Rolls Royce.


Please don't hate me. I only got to do it because my classmate T. has managed to finagle rides twice already, and we told him to share the fun. Luckily, the car's caretaker, "Mr. Greg" is one of the kindest men you will ever meet, and is always thrilled to show off "The Empress." We even got to see the model car workshop diorama Mr. Greg built for Collector's Circle weekend. How it used to work is that Rolls would make the chassis, and then contract out the car body to other companies. Our museum's Phantom 1 model was built by the Brewster company.


We discovered that The Empress seats four comfortably, five cozily, and six in a pinch. She has a roof, unlike the car Sebastian borrowed to visit Nanny Hawkins, but it was still a pretty chilly ride.

"And down the stretch they come" - Even more fun in Delaware

Cordelia..wailed when Sebastian appeared in a tweed coat. "Oh Sebastian, you can't come out like that. Do go and change. You look so lovely in hunting clothes ... It's so bad for local prestige. If only you knew how unsmart the Strickland-Venables are this year. They've even taken their grooms out of top hats." (BR p. 159)

I should have posted about this last weekend, but I was still recovering from a day in 90 degree heat. Every year the museum where I study hosts a steeplechase event, and so of course the beau and I went. Although we students may have arrived via yellow school bus, we all fit the fancypants dress code in sundresses, ties, and big hats. Most of the day was spent re-applying sunscreen and snacking at one of my classmates' parents' tailgate spot, which was literally the best one there. Seriously, they won a prize!
I also saw antique cars, fox hounds, horses, a carriage parade, and a guy get arrested for trying to jump the racecourse fence. All in all a fabulous day, and a much needed break before the final week of projects began.

Sweet Dreams

The Chinese drawing Room was ...a splendid, uninhabitable museum of Chippendale carving and porcelain and laquer and painted hangings; the "Queen' bed," too, was an exhibition piece, a vast velvet tent like the Baldachino at St. Peter's. Had Lord Marchmain planned this lying in state for himself, I wondered, before he left the sunshine of Italy? ... Had it come to him at that moment, an awakened memory of childhood, a dream in the nursury - "When I'm grown up, I'll sleep in the Queen's bed in the Chinese Drawing room"?

(Brideshead Revisited, page 316)

When I was a kid I really, really wanted a canopy bed too. I think it fed from the same princess complex that made me desire Cinderella pajamas, cone-shaped hats with sweeping veils, and ballroom dances with my dad that consisted mostly of low dips, much to the chagrin of his spinal alignment.

I've been reading a lot about state beds such as this red one from Kent's Melville house, and am reconsidering their appeal. My apartment's ancient heat pump can't keep up with the winter cold, so right now sleeping surrounded by draperies sounds pretty darn good. On the other hand, I read today that heavy drapes invited germs and bed bugs. Iron bed frames became popular in the Victorian era as a more "hygienic" sleeping option.

Still, those canopies are great fun. One of my fellow students proposes that our post-graduation class picture be all 8 of us snuggling in the Great Bed of Ware, which supposedly could sleep fifteen people. With so much carving and expensive textiles, it's ridiculous even by 1590 standards.
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