Little Things

It was Gene's 69th birthday yesterday. He's the other grandfather for Seanna and Ryan, father of Tina, who married Keith, our son. A retired jeweler, now a master artist cabinet maker -- his gifts in wood are creations in art -- Gene frolicked with the 6 and 3 year old grandchildren, as if he were one of them. The grandmothers, parents and I looked on, while keeping up the buzz of catching up on family doings and events and plans for tomorrow. The room and its day were filled with little things.

Robin, Tina's sister, leaves for Haiti tomorrow, with seven others from her Methodist Church, to work in a construction crew building a new church for the village people. That impressed me, for up to yesterday, her vivacious appeal had given me different thoughts about her person. Her son, Trey , 10, reluctantly put on a demonstration of his skills after one year of Karate. The kid was good, very good. Quick kicks at my nose stopped a half inch from the tip.

Rita, mother of Tina and Robin, on my query, "How you doin' Reet?" said quietly that the cancer had returned after 2 1/2 years, lodged now in lymph nodes. Her decision was as quiet, even softer, "They want me to take Chemo, but I refused. I'd rather live alive and be in places like this watching the kids and their kids than drugged out, waiting." I thought a prayer for her would not be a little thing, but the thought came as quickly as if I were accustomed to the quiet presence of little things as normal reactions, inbred, indwelling for years and years. Another little thing popped into my mind: wonder how I'll react when the doctor tells me his final diagnosis.

We had a pasta feast: spaghetti with a shrimp and lobster sauce; the side dish was macaroni and cheese, Tina's first try at homemade rather than store bought. Old fashioned brownies and ice cream with chocolate sauce went down while Gene opened gifts and cards.

Quite a day, an unending series of little things: wisps of conversation across the room; a 3 year old boy taunting his big sister, 6; the old folk talking their language to each other and trying to grasp the language of the little people; two large dogs: a Retriever and a Lab, doggedly trying to snitch brownies when Karate kicks were flying all around the room; Gene opening a homemade card of mine, smiling at the little poem about his cherished hobby, adding a nod to the pointed finger wide receivers use towards the quarterback who threw the touchdown pass. A little thing, unnoticed except by pointer and pointee.

An artist, you see shape and form
In things that stand and do not move,
Sculpt them in wood, its grain so warm,
Give them to us, our treasure trove.

A day of little things. Life is that, right? A big thing at birth, and hundreds of thousand -- maybe millions? -- of little things, until the big thing when living slows down and stops. Living is the in-betweenpart, a big thing, yes, but filled with little things, countless as they tumble, tumble on.

You know, the Church is like this family of ours. A truly great and magnificent and wonderful big thing: pontifications, extravaganzas, princes of an old kingdom from yesteryear, cathedrals soaring everywhere. And yet, and yet, a Church, just putting along each day following each day with thousands and thousands of little things. Wooden pews with fold-down kneeling benches. Little kids coughing and whispering loudly, even at the Consecration, "Mummy!!!! Gotta go...." Candles.

The ancient ones, dangling rosary beads from hands worn with prayer. 14 Stations of the Cross, by Arcangelo Cascieri, if you're lucky to be in one of his churches. Friendly yet stern pastors, beaming as we offer a handshake and a "Nice homily, Father," on our way out the door. Odd looking plaster statues of gawky looking Saints, eyes always lifted upwards, not straight ahead into ours, as they used to when they were as alive as we are.

They were real people, you see, just like us, all wrapped up in little things, little ceremonious things we do, automatically yet prayerfully, like blessing ourselves with that strange criss-cross wave of the right hand, head to chest to shoulders and down, after finding the holy water font in a new church.

We're Catholics, you see. It shows in how familiar we are inside a Catholic Church, checking on entering to see if there is a red tabernacle lamp, and whether its glow tells us it's lit. Just a little thing. A different little thing that sets us apart, even though we are part of the crowd.

Boston College is doing that, David Gibson tells us in the dotCommonweal blog today.

dotCommonweal

http://www.commonwealmagazine.org/blog
http://www.commonwealmagazine.org/blog/?p=2812

Cross Purposes

Posted by David Gibson on February 15, 2009, 10:02 pm

Is Boston College Catholic? No, that's not a joke, at least not to those whose hackles start raising at the phrase "in the Jesuit tradition." But it seems that BC, and specifically its president, Fr. William P. Leahy, SJ, are moving to re-emphasize the Jesuit school's Catholic bona fides by installing crucifixes or religious art in all 151 classrooms. The administration is also installing religious art (such as the statue of St. Ignatius, which I like, in this Globe photo) around campus.

The crucifixes were put up over the Christmas break, and reactions have started bubbling up in news coverage. At his blog, Globe religion reporter Michael Paulson notes "Cardinal Sean's" online appreciation for the move, and there is Michael's own Globe story, plus a Herald story that (no surprise) stresses the conflictual angle more.

Non-Catholic, primarily Jewish faculty seem to be those most offended, understandably so, in my view. It's hard to tell how deep the controversy runs–BC's student body is 70 percent Catholic. Boston College folk like Fr. Imbelli and others would know more, though are probably tired of this story.

But I think it raises interesting questions–always the source of much debate–over Catholic identity, especially at Catholic educational institutions. In such matters as this one at BC. I think the sensibilities of the minority, especially Jews for whom the crucifix is a symbol with terrible historical echoes, have to be taken into consideration in a genuine way. The crowing by some (like the folks at the Cardinal Newman Society) and by voices in the conservative Catholic blogosphere about a victory for their side and against Jesuitical laxness is an unseemly triumphalism, to me. Using the cross as a battle standard isn't my idea of what Jesus had in mind. The (apparent) abruptness of the crucifix installation without widespread consultation seems to have been a mistake, if that was the case. Though I wonder if this move could ever have been made without controversy.

All that said, I like the idea of a visible Catholic identity like this, and I think the BC move a good one. I don't see how crucifixes in classrooms would automatically turn a first-rate university into a parochial backwater, intellectually (one of the critics' arguments). A Catholic university can be mediocre with or without crucifixes in classrooms. (And BC was doing pretty well before the crucifixes went back up.) And it seems to me crucifixes aren't talismans that guarantee a school's Catholicity or fidelity or whatever some think they will do. But they are reminders of a school's heritage, its orientation today, and of course a larger spiritual and Catholic vision of education and life–as well as the most profound sort of mnemonic for those who believe in the Cross.

How to take other views into account? I don't know. But it is a Catholic university, and presumably students and faculty know that when they apply. I do recall hearing a fairly convincing argument as to why crucifixes should not be part of classroom decor, but the fact that I can't recall the reasoning or its source means it didn't make that much of an impression. (Besides, I forget everything these days.)

In any case, I welcome dissenting views or enlightenment.