E
elzoro
Guest
What I Have Lost
Saturday, February 3, 2007
The Evil Traditionalist Blog
I’m already dissatisfied with the title of this post, because I don’t think that it will encapsulate what I want to express here.
I realized this morning when my wife was getting ready to make the longish trip into DC for First Saturday Mass that I was only considering going because I would feel guilty for not going. I had no desire whatsoever to make the trip just so I could fight with a squirming toddler for an hour during a poorly said indult Mass punctuated by a vapid homily.
I mentioned my mixed motivations to my wife, and she immediately told me, “Then don’t go. You should go because you love Him, not because you feel guilty for not going.”
I knew this immediately to be true. The guilt diminished only slightly, however. After all, Our Blessed Mother told us the inestimable value of First Saturday (none of which I could explain from memory) and etc., etc., so forth and so on.
But the truth is, I didn’t really care. I wanted to sit at home, eat a leisurely breakfast, do some reading, and enjoy my day off. And ultimately, that is the problem, I recognized, with my faith:
I no longer enjoy it.
I’m certain that many who will read this will find themselves seized with the irresistable impulse to inform me in no uncertain terms that it’s not about “enjoying it,” that I will only get out of it what I put in, that I need a stronger spiritual life, and any number of well-trod maxims of Catholic “wisdom.”
And the truth is, I know all of this, but it changes nothing. I have never been very successful at the deeper parts of the spiritual life, because I am cursed with finding them dry and uninviting. It has always been the intellectual side of the faith which has been so passionate for me, because it is so brilliantly engaging. There is no faith so well thought out and so rich in mental sustenance as is the Catholic faith. And it is for this reason above all others that I used to quite enjoy my faith - even through all of my other notable imperfections.
This is not to say that I have no deeper inclinations as well. Something I am becoming forced to accept about myself is that I am an intensely emotional man. I am often angry or sad; I am less often though still passionately happy or excited; but I am never any of these for very long, and one is usually either replaced by another or by nothing at all, rather a pervasive sense of apathy about everything.
Without bothering to psychoanalyze my unfortunate temperament and emotional immaturities, I will assert that they strongly shape the landscape of my daily experience. I am at times emotional about my faith and I am at times apathetic about it. These reasons contribute to the fact that my anchor is intellectual Catholicism - it remains constant.
But considering the crumbling framework of intellectual Catholicism, I’ve begun to lose my moorings. I have grown bone weary of the struggle for substance in the faith; for the bait and switch rumors of greater freedom for the True Mass; for the minimalist acceptance of the scraps of Catholicism accepted by the majority of my family and friends. The fact that I have had to pay to fly a priest across the country so my son can be baptized appropriately boggles my mind. Every day, the struggle to find the most basic expression of the Catholic faith that any saint in heaven would recogize has turned me cold.
Today, I finally began reading Martin Mosebach’s The Heresy of Formlessness, which my wife bought for me for Christmas. In the second chapter, Mosebach recounts the following story:
Quote:
…a group of women who were in the habit of praying together began looking after the altar linen. I would like to tell you about these women. One day they asked the person in charge of the chapel what happened to the used purificators, that is, the cloths the priest uses to wipe away the remains of the consecrated wine from the chalice. He told them that they were put in the washing machine along with the other things. At the next Mass the women brought a little bag they had made specially, and afterward they asked for the used purificator and put it in the bag. What did they want it for? “Don’t you see? It is impregnated with the Precious Blood: it isn’t right to pour it down the drain.” The women had no idea that in former times the Church did indeed require the priest himself to do the initial washing of the purificator and that afterward the wash water had to be poured into the sacrarium or into the earth; but they just could not allow this little cloth to be treated like ordinary laundry; instinctively they carried out the prescriptions of an ancient rule - albeit one that is no longer observed. One of these women said, “It’s like washing the Baby Jesus’ diapers.” I was a bit taken aback to hear this. I found this folk piety a little too concrete. I observed her washing the purificator at home after praying the Rosary. She carried the wash water into the front garden and poured it in a corner where particularly beautiful flowers grew…
universalindult.org
Saturday, February 3, 2007
The Evil Traditionalist Blog
I’m already dissatisfied with the title of this post, because I don’t think that it will encapsulate what I want to express here.
I realized this morning when my wife was getting ready to make the longish trip into DC for First Saturday Mass that I was only considering going because I would feel guilty for not going. I had no desire whatsoever to make the trip just so I could fight with a squirming toddler for an hour during a poorly said indult Mass punctuated by a vapid homily.
I mentioned my mixed motivations to my wife, and she immediately told me, “Then don’t go. You should go because you love Him, not because you feel guilty for not going.”
I knew this immediately to be true. The guilt diminished only slightly, however. After all, Our Blessed Mother told us the inestimable value of First Saturday (none of which I could explain from memory) and etc., etc., so forth and so on.
But the truth is, I didn’t really care. I wanted to sit at home, eat a leisurely breakfast, do some reading, and enjoy my day off. And ultimately, that is the problem, I recognized, with my faith:
I no longer enjoy it.
I’m certain that many who will read this will find themselves seized with the irresistable impulse to inform me in no uncertain terms that it’s not about “enjoying it,” that I will only get out of it what I put in, that I need a stronger spiritual life, and any number of well-trod maxims of Catholic “wisdom.”
And the truth is, I know all of this, but it changes nothing. I have never been very successful at the deeper parts of the spiritual life, because I am cursed with finding them dry and uninviting. It has always been the intellectual side of the faith which has been so passionate for me, because it is so brilliantly engaging. There is no faith so well thought out and so rich in mental sustenance as is the Catholic faith. And it is for this reason above all others that I used to quite enjoy my faith - even through all of my other notable imperfections.
This is not to say that I have no deeper inclinations as well. Something I am becoming forced to accept about myself is that I am an intensely emotional man. I am often angry or sad; I am less often though still passionately happy or excited; but I am never any of these for very long, and one is usually either replaced by another or by nothing at all, rather a pervasive sense of apathy about everything.
Without bothering to psychoanalyze my unfortunate temperament and emotional immaturities, I will assert that they strongly shape the landscape of my daily experience. I am at times emotional about my faith and I am at times apathetic about it. These reasons contribute to the fact that my anchor is intellectual Catholicism - it remains constant.
But considering the crumbling framework of intellectual Catholicism, I’ve begun to lose my moorings. I have grown bone weary of the struggle for substance in the faith; for the bait and switch rumors of greater freedom for the True Mass; for the minimalist acceptance of the scraps of Catholicism accepted by the majority of my family and friends. The fact that I have had to pay to fly a priest across the country so my son can be baptized appropriately boggles my mind. Every day, the struggle to find the most basic expression of the Catholic faith that any saint in heaven would recogize has turned me cold.
Today, I finally began reading Martin Mosebach’s The Heresy of Formlessness, which my wife bought for me for Christmas. In the second chapter, Mosebach recounts the following story:
Quote:
…a group of women who were in the habit of praying together began looking after the altar linen. I would like to tell you about these women. One day they asked the person in charge of the chapel what happened to the used purificators, that is, the cloths the priest uses to wipe away the remains of the consecrated wine from the chalice. He told them that they were put in the washing machine along with the other things. At the next Mass the women brought a little bag they had made specially, and afterward they asked for the used purificator and put it in the bag. What did they want it for? “Don’t you see? It is impregnated with the Precious Blood: it isn’t right to pour it down the drain.” The women had no idea that in former times the Church did indeed require the priest himself to do the initial washing of the purificator and that afterward the wash water had to be poured into the sacrarium or into the earth; but they just could not allow this little cloth to be treated like ordinary laundry; instinctively they carried out the prescriptions of an ancient rule - albeit one that is no longer observed. One of these women said, “It’s like washing the Baby Jesus’ diapers.” I was a bit taken aback to hear this. I found this folk piety a little too concrete. I observed her washing the purificator at home after praying the Rosary. She carried the wash water into the front garden and poured it in a corner where particularly beautiful flowers grew…
universalindult.org