Francis Berger's Blog, page 140
December 6, 2019
Shades of Pity
Pity is loaded, many-sided word. On one hand, it is as clear as sunlight. On the other hand, it is as obscure as a veil of mist wafting in fog. I used the word in a comment the other day where I mentioned I could not help but pity Greta Thunberg. This elicited an excellent response from Dr. Charlton who had the following to say regarding pity:
There is a sense in which I feel sorry for almost everybody, including the servants of evil and the demonically possessed. That's fine, so long as we are not paralysed by it into avoiding difficult but necessary choices.
But this is just one of those abstract pseudo emotions that we have been trained into by the mass media - like the way we have instant opinions on everything; or that infinite universal abstract altruism that people have so glibly expressed since the middle 1960s.
In his comment, Dr. Charlton highlights the problems inherent in pity, which evil often employs as a manipulative tool. Nearly every stupid evil I can think of that has come to pass in the past four or five decades relied heavily on appealing to pity – in this sense, on compassion. If properly applied under the right circumstances, compassion is a virtue. Nevertheless, if it is improperly applied in the wrong circumstances, it can rank among the worst and most harmful of missteps. Perhaps it even ranks as a sin.
Evil relishes using the virtue of compassion against us. Evil often asks us to open our hearts, to become more lenient, generous, understanding, and accommodating. It offers a display of suffering, misfortune, or injustice and asks us sympathize and commiserate with it. This is an emotionally manipulative appeal to our sense of goodness and benevolence. At the very least, evil demands we be kind and understanding toward it; evil wants use to be nice. But niceness, like pity, is not a virtue. Nonetheless, evil brands as cruel those who refuse to partake in this coerced emotional outpouring.
I have seen this kind of pity referred to as benevolent pity. On its own, I'm sure there is a time and place for it, but it has been grossly exploited in our modern world, to the point of utter absurdity. And an inherent danger lurks in this kind of pity; it leaves one vulnerable to attack and harm, as this short clip from Star Trek The Next Generation demonstrates. In the scene, Guinan confronts Picard about his decision to allow a member of the Borg on board the Enterprise for "humanitarian reasons" : So, was this the kind of pity I was referring to when I remarked that I couldn´t help but pity Greta Thunberg? No, not in the slightest. If I harbored this sort of pity for her, I would not have published a post in which I indirectly pointed out that she might very well become the face of a totalitarian one-world government.
No, I didn’t mean that kind of pity. Perhaps the pity I feel for Greta Thunberg is of a more contemptuous kind? To a certain point, yes. Pity is basically an expression of sorrow. Benevolent pity is a tender sorrow that sympathizes with the suffering of another. Contemptuous pity is derisive sorrow that scorns the evil or stupidity of another. On the milder side, it is a taunt, a sneer, or a scoff leveled at an adversary or an enemy. A good example of this kind contemptuous pity is a rather memorable scene in an otherwise forgettable movie – Rocky III: Does this encapsulate the pity I feel for Greta Thunberg and her evil global climate crisis handlers? Do I pity them as fools? In a sense, yes, but perhaps there is more to it than that.
Perhaps my contemptuous pity is of the darker variety – the kind that scorns and despises. The kind that looks down upon. The kind that considers the other unworthy and despicable. Yes, my pity for St. Greta and her climate crisis posse undoubtedly contains traces of this.
But in the end, my pity for Greta Thunberg originates from a much deeper place. It is difficult for me to express what this feeling of pity is and where it stems from. I don’t feel sorry, instead I feel sorrow. Not a sympathetic sorrow; nor a scornful sorrow, but a deep, subtle, and objective sorrow – probably the same kind Dr. Charlton touches upon in his comment above. It is not a pseudo emotion, and it is not certainly not altruistic.
St.Greta is convinced she is on the side of Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, but she isn’t. And, yes, I feel sorrow for anyone and everyone who chooses to walk down the dark path. Nevertheless, I remain vigilant, and I do not let this pity cloud my judgement because when all is said and done, nothing Greta Thunberg and the Establishment are striving for via the manufactured climate crisis is remotely Truthful, Beautiful, or Good.
There is a sense in which I feel sorry for almost everybody, including the servants of evil and the demonically possessed. That's fine, so long as we are not paralysed by it into avoiding difficult but necessary choices.
But this is just one of those abstract pseudo emotions that we have been trained into by the mass media - like the way we have instant opinions on everything; or that infinite universal abstract altruism that people have so glibly expressed since the middle 1960s.
In his comment, Dr. Charlton highlights the problems inherent in pity, which evil often employs as a manipulative tool. Nearly every stupid evil I can think of that has come to pass in the past four or five decades relied heavily on appealing to pity – in this sense, on compassion. If properly applied under the right circumstances, compassion is a virtue. Nevertheless, if it is improperly applied in the wrong circumstances, it can rank among the worst and most harmful of missteps. Perhaps it even ranks as a sin.
Evil relishes using the virtue of compassion against us. Evil often asks us to open our hearts, to become more lenient, generous, understanding, and accommodating. It offers a display of suffering, misfortune, or injustice and asks us sympathize and commiserate with it. This is an emotionally manipulative appeal to our sense of goodness and benevolence. At the very least, evil demands we be kind and understanding toward it; evil wants use to be nice. But niceness, like pity, is not a virtue. Nonetheless, evil brands as cruel those who refuse to partake in this coerced emotional outpouring.
I have seen this kind of pity referred to as benevolent pity. On its own, I'm sure there is a time and place for it, but it has been grossly exploited in our modern world, to the point of utter absurdity. And an inherent danger lurks in this kind of pity; it leaves one vulnerable to attack and harm, as this short clip from Star Trek The Next Generation demonstrates. In the scene, Guinan confronts Picard about his decision to allow a member of the Borg on board the Enterprise for "humanitarian reasons" : So, was this the kind of pity I was referring to when I remarked that I couldn´t help but pity Greta Thunberg? No, not in the slightest. If I harbored this sort of pity for her, I would not have published a post in which I indirectly pointed out that she might very well become the face of a totalitarian one-world government.
No, I didn’t mean that kind of pity. Perhaps the pity I feel for Greta Thunberg is of a more contemptuous kind? To a certain point, yes. Pity is basically an expression of sorrow. Benevolent pity is a tender sorrow that sympathizes with the suffering of another. Contemptuous pity is derisive sorrow that scorns the evil or stupidity of another. On the milder side, it is a taunt, a sneer, or a scoff leveled at an adversary or an enemy. A good example of this kind contemptuous pity is a rather memorable scene in an otherwise forgettable movie – Rocky III: Does this encapsulate the pity I feel for Greta Thunberg and her evil global climate crisis handlers? Do I pity them as fools? In a sense, yes, but perhaps there is more to it than that.
Perhaps my contemptuous pity is of the darker variety – the kind that scorns and despises. The kind that looks down upon. The kind that considers the other unworthy and despicable. Yes, my pity for St. Greta and her climate crisis posse undoubtedly contains traces of this.
But in the end, my pity for Greta Thunberg originates from a much deeper place. It is difficult for me to express what this feeling of pity is and where it stems from. I don’t feel sorry, instead I feel sorrow. Not a sympathetic sorrow; nor a scornful sorrow, but a deep, subtle, and objective sorrow – probably the same kind Dr. Charlton touches upon in his comment above. It is not a pseudo emotion, and it is not certainly not altruistic.
St.Greta is convinced she is on the side of Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, but she isn’t. And, yes, I feel sorrow for anyone and everyone who chooses to walk down the dark path. Nevertheless, I remain vigilant, and I do not let this pity cloud my judgement because when all is said and done, nothing Greta Thunberg and the Establishment are striving for via the manufactured climate crisis is remotely Truthful, Beautiful, or Good.
December 4, 2019
Is This The Face That Launched The One-World Totalitarian Government?
Saint Greta of the Climate Crisis I suspect most readers of this blog are about as averse to reading the news as I am; nevertheless I find it useful to scan headlines and articles once in a while in order to gather inferences and insights into what the Global Establishment are doing in their quest to establish a totalitarian one-world government.I believe the following excerpts from a New York Times opinion piece by film director Darren Aronofsky ("Black Swan"/"The Wrestler") published on Dec. 2. provide valuable insights into the means the Establishment is using to push the narrative of an impending, unavoidable climate catastrophe, one they will most likely end up orchestrating themselves as a pretext for an unprecedented power grab that will either usher in or take us all one step closer toward this one-world totalitarian government. Oddly enough, one of these means is in the form a teenage girl from Sweden. (Bold added by me.)
As a director, I’m in constant pursuit of the right image. And I’ll admit that I’ve often fallen prey to cynicism when looking for a visual to best convey the current state of the world, confronted as it is with such terrifying environmental challenges. It’s hard to be optimistic about the visual encapsulation of our dying planet.
Yet, as soon as I saw an Instagram photo of Greta Thunberg staging her first environmental protest in August 2018, I knew. There she was, a 15-year-old girl, sitting outside the Swedish Parliament, on strike from school to bring attention to climate change. Here was the image — one of hope, commitment and action — I needed to see. An image that could spark a movement.
I’m certain that future generations will look at the first few photographs of Ms. Thunberg — dwarfed in a yellow raincoat, calm but defiant, refusing to take no for an answer — as a representation of the early days of a major cultural shift. I have no doubt that she will become an icon for the climate crisis — if she isn’t one already.
I’ve long believed that visual language is the ultimate tool of communication and connection. In the face of climate change, however, it has become clear that images aren’t enough. We’ve all seen the documentaries and the countless photographs: melting glaciers, oil-soaked seal pups, beached whales. But nothing has changed.
Ms. Thunberg has brought the conversation on climate change out of the theoretical. She has made it human, tangible and urgent. Her protest is stark in its simplicity and brilliant in its lack of frills; she’s merely telling the truth. And for the first time, it feels as if people are listening.
We would be doing a great disservice to Ms. Thunberg — and the planet — if we failed to change. It would be criminal to continue ignoring the truths that she, and countless scientists, have so clearly presented to us. It would be a waste to do anything less than throw the full heft of our support behind her. We don’t need to wait for history to catch up and tell us what we already know. We have plenty of reports telling us how dire the situation is; we are being willfully blind if we don’t read them. We must act. We must vote for people who believe in science.
There’s a tremendous amount of work ahead. I know many of us feel paralyzed by the enormousness of the task, or too scared to look directly at the problem. I doubt the right path forward will be comfortable or clear; things will probably get worse before they get better.
We are in the midst of a crisis, and the only way we can combat it is to engage, human to human, with all the messiness and complications that are bound to arise. It won’t make for a pretty picture, but desperate times rarely do.
Of course, St. Thunberg is far more than a mere icon; she's also a popular children's book hero, as can be seen below:
Note added: I have vowed to avoid writing "outrage du jour" posts on this blog - rants that focus on some topical piece of media trolling meant to inspire a rise - but I felt this opinion piece provides a good illustration of how the Establishment goes about selling a "crisis" to the general public. And in all fairness, I haven't really engaged in any ranting . . . merely pointing something out . . .
December 3, 2019
The Writing Exercise That Didn't Happen
"Have your students watch this video and then instruct them to write a one-page response about how we are destroying the environment."
I don't remember what I ended up doing with the class that day, but I I didn't show the video, and the students never wrote the response.
'The writing exercise that didn't happen' ended up being one of my last acts of non-compliance as a secondary school teacher. I left the profession not long after. Both decisions rank among the best I ever made.
I don't remember what I ended up doing with the class that day, but I I didn't show the video, and the students never wrote the response.
'The writing exercise that didn't happen' ended up being one of my last acts of non-compliance as a secondary school teacher. I left the profession not long after. Both decisions rank among the best I ever made.
December 1, 2019
From Church to Church
No, this post isn't about any sort of church shopping or denominational hopping on my part, but rather about a walk I have been completing over the past two weeks or so. November brought much cold, heavy rain to these parts; the fields where I normally take my walks have become oceans of thick, sticky mud reminiscent of sepia-toned photos of First World War trenches. A few weeks ago, I made a rather foolish decision and attempted a walk through this landscape. Of course, I would hardly call what I did that day walking - it was more like wresting cold liquid lava.
After that rather harrowing but otherwise humorous experience, I realized my walks in the fields would have to until the deep frost solidifies the earth. I cast about for other routes and decided to try walking along the bicycle path that connects my village to the neighboring town of Fertőd. The path is a relatively recent installation. It is paved and runs parallel with the two lane road leading to the town. I have never thought of walking this route before because I do not care for the sound of passing vehicles when I'm engaged in a constitutional. Granted, the traffic along the road is light, but it annoys me all the same.
Although it took me some time to become adjusted to the hiss of passing vehicles, I found the walk along the bike path a pleasant one. The path cuts across a wide swath of fields and vineyards that expose the vastness of the sky and provide an extensive view of the hills and mountains in the distance. The clouds above have been moving like ice sheets, blotting out everything save for a narrow sliver between their ridge edges and the hills that rise like undulating waves along the visible borders. The sun makes its unseen presence known by filling this space with warm orange hues throughout the day.
The village church is one of the last buildings I pass when I leave my settlement, and as I round the bend in the road, the church in the neighboring town comes into view. It acts as a sort of beacon, this other church. It also marks the turnaround point in my walk when I begin to retrace my steps back to my own village. The second I turn my back on one church, the other comes into view, its steeple becoming a sort of guidepost tugging me forward. I have been enjoying this approximately six kilometer church to church walk so much in the past two weeks that I might incorporate it into my portfolio of routes even after the fields become passable again - sound of passing cars be damned!
After that rather harrowing but otherwise humorous experience, I realized my walks in the fields would have to until the deep frost solidifies the earth. I cast about for other routes and decided to try walking along the bicycle path that connects my village to the neighboring town of Fertőd. The path is a relatively recent installation. It is paved and runs parallel with the two lane road leading to the town. I have never thought of walking this route before because I do not care for the sound of passing vehicles when I'm engaged in a constitutional. Granted, the traffic along the road is light, but it annoys me all the same.
Although it took me some time to become adjusted to the hiss of passing vehicles, I found the walk along the bike path a pleasant one. The path cuts across a wide swath of fields and vineyards that expose the vastness of the sky and provide an extensive view of the hills and mountains in the distance. The clouds above have been moving like ice sheets, blotting out everything save for a narrow sliver between their ridge edges and the hills that rise like undulating waves along the visible borders. The sun makes its unseen presence known by filling this space with warm orange hues throughout the day.
The village church is one of the last buildings I pass when I leave my settlement, and as I round the bend in the road, the church in the neighboring town comes into view. It acts as a sort of beacon, this other church. It also marks the turnaround point in my walk when I begin to retrace my steps back to my own village. The second I turn my back on one church, the other comes into view, its steeple becoming a sort of guidepost tugging me forward. I have been enjoying this approximately six kilometer church to church walk so much in the past two weeks that I might incorporate it into my portfolio of routes even after the fields become passable again - sound of passing cars be damned!
November 30, 2019
My 'Nondescript' Little Village
The village of Fertőendréd with the Schneeberg - the easternmost mountain in the Alps - in the background. Photo - Attila Csigó I live in a small village near the Austrian border in northwestern Hungary. I have described the village as 'nondescript' on many occasions on this blog. To some degree, the description is apt - there is inherently nothing all that special about the place I call home. Nevertheless, a photo a neighbor posted online the other day has made me pause and reflect upon my initial assessment of this little settlement. Seems it is a bit more 'descript' than I originally assumed.
November 29, 2019
It Doesn't Exist; That Speaks Volumes
The red star looming over Budapest I have mixed feelings about memorial days commemorating the victims of past atrocities. On the one hand, I am inclined toward these commemorations because they offer an opportunity to honor and dignify victims. They also have the potential to serve as warnings against the development similar atrocities in the future. On the other hand, memorial days also serve to exacerbate the already overinflated zeitgeist of victimhood saturating our world. We live in an age where almost anyone can claim to a victim of someone or something (with a few very clear, distinct, and notable exceptions, of course). The System likes memorial days and likes to promulgate the victim narrative, which it actively promotes, primarily for political purposes, in various guises around the world.For example, the United Nations has initiated and observes many such memorials, which it terms International Days. UN has designated International Days of Commemoration for the following: International Day of Remembrance of the Victims of Slavery and the Transatlantic Slave Trade; International Day for the Right to the Truth Concerning Gross Human Rights Violations and for the Dignity of Victims; International Day of Commemoration in Memory of the Victims of the Holocaust; International Day of Commemoration and Dignity of the Victims of the Crime of Genocide and of the Prevention of this Crime; and so forth. There are also international days to commemorate the victims of the Second World War, chemical warfare, road traffic victims, enforced disappearances, terrorism, torture, and the 1994 genocide in Rwanda.
The UN is clearly compassionate when it comes to victims of atrocities, so you would think it would have designated an International Day commemorating the victims of the most effective political killing machine ever devised – communism, which is estimated to have killed anywhere from 80 to 120 million people (maybe more).
Well, it doesn’t.
Three decades after the collapse of communism in Europe, the glaring omission is finally being brought to UN’s attention by Hungary, which is currently pressing the UN to designate an International Day for the Commemoration of the Victims of Communism.
Before I go any further, let me just say I don’t have anything positive to say about the UN, and I generally don’t give a rat’s ass about its officially sanctioned International Days, regardless of the victims these days commemorate (that is I feel compassion for the victims of these atrocities, but not within the framework of an official UN designated day commemorating them). In addition, I don’t care much for Hungary’s initiative, and I don’t think an official international day commemorating the victims of communism is a good idea at this point. In fact, I think it would be better if the UN refused Hungary’s initiative because at least then the water would not be muddied with conflicting messages.
The UN’s refusal to designate a memorial day for the victims of communism is not an oversight, or an omission, or even willful neglect – it is purposive evil. The UN does not regard victims of communism as victims. To the UN, the people communism murdered were more like eggs – eggs the communists simply had to break in order to create a much revered utopian omelet.
The UN is favorably disposed to utopian omelets; in fact, it is heavily involved trying to create one right now through its continual promotion of a one-world totalitarian government. This push to enslave the world appears to be growing increasingly desperate with each passing day (as Dr. Charlton points out in this recent post). I am sure the UN hasn’t the slightest interest in designating a day of commemoration for the victims of communism: Partly because this would betray its own motivations; and partly because it is far too busy with other things at the moment.
So forget about an international day for victims of communism and keep your eyes focused on what is happening in the world right now because omelets require eggs.
November 27, 2019
Marriages Up in Hungary: A Step in the Right Direction (Maybe)
There are some encouraging signs in the Hungarian government's massive programs to promote marriage and childbirth in an effort to halt the demographic decline in this small, landlocked nation. According the Central Statistics Office, marriages are up 20% in Hungary in the first nine months of this year. Certainly encouraging if the statistics are accurate. Sadly, the birth rate has gone nowhere within the same time frame. So the big question now is, will this surge in marriages lead to a higher birthrate in the short-to-mid term?
Well, that all depends. As I have mentioned before on this blog, the communist regime launched similar schemes in the mid-1970's. These programs caused a spike in birthrates for three or four years before the rates dropped to even lower levels. The communists learned the hard way that material incentives are simply not enough. Orbán's initiatives, though admirable and noble, will mean and do very little in the short-to-mid term if it is not supported by the right kind of motivation, that is by a spiritual awakening or, in some cases, spiritual deepening among the newly married couples.
If the newlyweds approach their marriages and (hopefully) children from a spiritual perspective, then the efforts the Hungarian government is currently expending stand a chance. If, however, the vast majority of these newly married couples are motivated to marry and have children for purely materialistic (economic) reasons, then Orbán's programs will end up exactly where the communist programs ended up - in failure.
For those interested, link to the article describing these developments is here.
Well, that all depends. As I have mentioned before on this blog, the communist regime launched similar schemes in the mid-1970's. These programs caused a spike in birthrates for three or four years before the rates dropped to even lower levels. The communists learned the hard way that material incentives are simply not enough. Orbán's initiatives, though admirable and noble, will mean and do very little in the short-to-mid term if it is not supported by the right kind of motivation, that is by a spiritual awakening or, in some cases, spiritual deepening among the newly married couples.
If the newlyweds approach their marriages and (hopefully) children from a spiritual perspective, then the efforts the Hungarian government is currently expending stand a chance. If, however, the vast majority of these newly married couples are motivated to marry and have children for purely materialistic (economic) reasons, then Orbán's programs will end up exactly where the communist programs ended up - in failure.
For those interested, link to the article describing these developments is here.
November 26, 2019
Help With Finding The Source For "Russian Literature is About Good and Evil"
When I was still in university back in Canada, I enrolled in a course called "Literature in Crisis", which was led by Professor Barry Callaghan who is the son of novelist Morley Callaghan. The course focused primarily on the Holocaust and the Gulags. Being an unorthodox and hospitable man, Barry chose to instruct the course in the living room of his Rosedale home where he graciously served us wine and snacks while we discussed books such as Kolyma Tales; This Way For the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen; and The Gulag Archipelago. Barry was a perceptive and insightful instructor, and it was through him that I began to engage with Solzhenitsyn, who remains one of my favorite writers to this day.
Anyway, to get to the point of this post - I once heard Barry utter a quote from Solzhenitsyn that went something like this - "Western literature is about careers; Russian literature is about good and evil." The quote stuck in my mind, but I have never been able to find its source. The short video below features Barry speaking the quote for those interested.
Does anyone out there know which Solzhenitsyn work, speech, or interview contains the quote above? Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Anyway, to get to the point of this post - I once heard Barry utter a quote from Solzhenitsyn that went something like this - "Western literature is about careers; Russian literature is about good and evil." The quote stuck in my mind, but I have never been able to find its source. The short video below features Barry speaking the quote for those interested.
Does anyone out there know which Solzhenitsyn work, speech, or interview contains the quote above? Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Revisions Are Getting In The Way, But . . .
These days I spend most of my free time revising my novel, which I hope to republish in the next three weeks or so (yeah, fat chance). Unfortunately, the revisions consume a great deal of time, time that I am borrowing from other pursuits such as this blog.
Before I began this revision project, I was tempted to put the blog on pause, but I resisted the urge. I have learned that daily (okay, almost daily; cut me some slack) blogging is very much like training for a sport – take a few weeks off or months off and you are bound to lose some of the gains you have made. Take several months off and it’s like starting from ground zero all over again.
In light of this, I made the decision to continue blogging while working on my book revisions. Granted, the quality and quantity of my posts in the past month have not been stellar (as frequent readers have no doubt noticed), but I do get some comfort from maintaining the blog all the same.
It goes without saying that I apply what I have said strictly to myself. Other bloggers may find it more beneficial to rest a blog and dedicate their time exclusively to another project. I personally have no objection to this approach for it obviously has its advantages. In fact, there have been times when I was motivated to hit the pause button in the past few weeks. Goodness knows it would simply things. The problem is, I know my bad side a little too well. If I put the blog on hiatus for a few weeks, I might never return to it after I finish revising the book.
And what would I do then? Watch television? Crochet? Go on a paleo diet? Read Fifty Shades of Grey? Actually do something at my job?
Best to keep blogging . . .
Before I began this revision project, I was tempted to put the blog on pause, but I resisted the urge. I have learned that daily (okay, almost daily; cut me some slack) blogging is very much like training for a sport – take a few weeks off or months off and you are bound to lose some of the gains you have made. Take several months off and it’s like starting from ground zero all over again.
In light of this, I made the decision to continue blogging while working on my book revisions. Granted, the quality and quantity of my posts in the past month have not been stellar (as frequent readers have no doubt noticed), but I do get some comfort from maintaining the blog all the same.
It goes without saying that I apply what I have said strictly to myself. Other bloggers may find it more beneficial to rest a blog and dedicate their time exclusively to another project. I personally have no objection to this approach for it obviously has its advantages. In fact, there have been times when I was motivated to hit the pause button in the past few weeks. Goodness knows it would simply things. The problem is, I know my bad side a little too well. If I put the blog on hiatus for a few weeks, I might never return to it after I finish revising the book.
And what would I do then? Watch television? Crochet? Go on a paleo diet? Read Fifty Shades of Grey? Actually do something at my job?
Best to keep blogging . . .
November 24, 2019
In Praise of the Misfits
If my parish priest were a baseball player, he would have batting average of .250; this means he would manage a hit once out of every four turns at bat, which is a fairly respectable in baseball. Unfortunately, my parish priest does not play baseball.
He does, however, step up to the altar once a week to deliver a sermon during Sunday Mass, which means he delivers four sermons every month at my village church. I have come to realize that only one of the four sermons he gives each month manages to connect with me in any meaningful way. One in four is considered satisfactory for batting in baseball. Does the same apply to sermons?
Now, before anyone berates me for criticizing the man, let me just add that I am well inclined to my parish priest and consider him a hardworking individual. He celebrates Mass four times each Sunday; one in my village - the three others in neighboring villages. He is an astute individual who is well-versed in Christianity, the Bible, history, and the Catechism of the Catholic Church. On top of that, he adheres to a rather resolute vision of what the Church should be and spurns liberal encroachments into Christianity.
Nevertheless, I find his sermon 'average' disconcerting and somewhat dispiriting. In all fairness, I doubt my blogging 'average' even comes to his sermon 'average' in terms of interest, profundity, and insight, but I am a mere abecedarian layman whereas he is a trained professional. Don't get me wrong; when my priest manages to hit the ball, he tends to whack it clear out of the park; but the other times . . .
Of course, my Christian faith does not hinge upon the effectiveness of sermons; in fact, I would continue to consider myself a Christian if I never heard another sermon or never set foot in a church again for the remainder of my earthly life. In other words, I do not need the church or any organized Christianity to be a Christian, and I will not stop being a Christian because of any perceived weakness or corruption in any church within organized Christianity. I approach Christianity from the personal level and build up from there; but at its core, my Christianity does not depend on many external sources to validate it.
Having said all of this, I must stress that external sources can be extremely helpful, stimulating, compelling, and thought-provoking. My experience as a Christian has taught me this - the most helpful, stimulating, compelling, and thought-provoking discourses today are not happening in churches or in sermons, but in the isolated and overlooked corners of our shattered Christendom. And they are being delivered by the misfits, the solitary, the heretics, the non-denominational, the seekers, and the mystics.
Here's to them.
And here's to hoping my parish priest eventually encounters them.
He does, however, step up to the altar once a week to deliver a sermon during Sunday Mass, which means he delivers four sermons every month at my village church. I have come to realize that only one of the four sermons he gives each month manages to connect with me in any meaningful way. One in four is considered satisfactory for batting in baseball. Does the same apply to sermons?
Now, before anyone berates me for criticizing the man, let me just add that I am well inclined to my parish priest and consider him a hardworking individual. He celebrates Mass four times each Sunday; one in my village - the three others in neighboring villages. He is an astute individual who is well-versed in Christianity, the Bible, history, and the Catechism of the Catholic Church. On top of that, he adheres to a rather resolute vision of what the Church should be and spurns liberal encroachments into Christianity.
Nevertheless, I find his sermon 'average' disconcerting and somewhat dispiriting. In all fairness, I doubt my blogging 'average' even comes to his sermon 'average' in terms of interest, profundity, and insight, but I am a mere abecedarian layman whereas he is a trained professional. Don't get me wrong; when my priest manages to hit the ball, he tends to whack it clear out of the park; but the other times . . .
Of course, my Christian faith does not hinge upon the effectiveness of sermons; in fact, I would continue to consider myself a Christian if I never heard another sermon or never set foot in a church again for the remainder of my earthly life. In other words, I do not need the church or any organized Christianity to be a Christian, and I will not stop being a Christian because of any perceived weakness or corruption in any church within organized Christianity. I approach Christianity from the personal level and build up from there; but at its core, my Christianity does not depend on many external sources to validate it.
Having said all of this, I must stress that external sources can be extremely helpful, stimulating, compelling, and thought-provoking. My experience as a Christian has taught me this - the most helpful, stimulating, compelling, and thought-provoking discourses today are not happening in churches or in sermons, but in the isolated and overlooked corners of our shattered Christendom. And they are being delivered by the misfits, the solitary, the heretics, the non-denominational, the seekers, and the mystics.
Here's to them.
And here's to hoping my parish priest eventually encounters them.
