An Old One

An old xkcd, but one I thought you deserve to see:

Heroes

One of my friends who is a seminarian shared this article with me in the Washington Post. It discusses Catholic seminarians, always a fun topic; specifically, it covers briefly the idea of being a seminarian in light of the priest sex abuse scandals.

As you read, look for the quote by Matt Rolling. It made my night. Other than that, I won't comment much on the article, since it's a longer read than most of my posts.

Gives Me Hope 58615

Today, Google Reader streamed this Gives Me Hope to my window:

Today, I was at the mall with two of my friends.

Suddenly, we saw a mother, who was about 16, with her child. One of my friends started talking about how much of a whore she must be.

Then, my other friend said, "Don't make fun of her. My mom had me when she was 16 due to rape."

My friend immediately stopped. My friend's mom GMH.

As a pro-life person, I believe that we need to combat the stigma our society places on young and unwed motherhood. As a Catholic person, I understand the dilemma this proposition creates for religious and morally conservative pro-lifers. After all, pre-marital sex is morally wrong, and as a Catholic, I cannot, in conscience, condone it. However, no one should be driven to take the life of her child because she hates that people in the mall -- and people who supposedly love her -- will see her and talk about "how much of a whore she must be."

The potential for pregnancy creates a unique situation for a woman, whether she has consensual sex or is raped. The consequences of the action will be written on her body in a way that she cannot hide. No sin that I can think of (please let me know, dear readers, if you can think of any) is made so inexorably public as premarital sex that creates a child.

This fact does not make the sin any more grave than other sins which people might commit; her sin is merely no longer private. Even if she gives into temptation only once, she receives a worse part from society than people who have habitual and private sins. Indeed, the societal stigma doesn't come from the fact that the woman was sexually active, but from her pregnancy. The shame is not for the action, but for the consequence.

It doesn't help that right now, women bear the bulk of the responsibility for contraception. We fought so hard in the '60s and '70s for contraception as a mark of equality. Now that "victory" continues to reinforce the idea that a woman has sole responsibility for her pregnancy. Never mind that a man had to help her out there -- the sign of his sin is not on his body. No, it is written on the body of the woman. Even in the case of rape, where the woman bears no part in the moral wrong, the consequence falls on her body.

I believe arguments similar to this one have been used by those in favor of legal abortion : the woman has an unfair burden and to reach equality, we must take that burden off of her. Give her an eraser, to un-write the mark upon her body.

The problem is that pregnancy is not merely a pencil mark, and abortion does not "erase" it. Pregnancy is the existence of life and abortion kills that. That's the simple, "pro-life" answer.

The other problem is that legalized abortion does nothing to change the unfair stigma on women; it merely provides society another way to pretend it does not have this prejudice. If women can hide the fact that pregnancy comes from intercourse, society can pretend that it does not and continue to judge women who defy that lie.

Rather than hiding pregnant women and young mothers, we should support them. Again, I realize this course of action may seem tricky for pro-lifers who cannot, in good conscience, condone a sin. Providing help to a woman who needs support through her pregnancy does not condone any action other than compassion. The mark of a Christian is love, not condemnation.

Barbecue Festival

Ana took the 6 of us home for the annual Kentucky barbecue festival. We left after work Friday and drove through the evening and into the night. We invaded Ana's house and enjoyed her parents' gracious hospitality.

Saturday afternoon, the six of us and Ana's brother headed out to the barbecue festival, what has been called "Kentucky at its finest"... though that title may have been a tad tongue-in-cheek. We started off at the car show, where cars of all sizes, shapes, and colored were displayed for people more knowledgeable than myself to enjoy. I wandered it with my community, but that wasn't really my thing.

Next, we came to the vendors. Jewelry, clothing, yard ornaments, woodwork, metal work, and other crafts adorned booths along the sides of the roads. For those of you who are familiar with it, it was like Occoquan Days. But where Occoquan Days has a more upscale edge, the barbecue fest was unabashedly country.

I noticed mostly by the people who walked the streets. You could have taken any of the booths and transplanted it to any other street fair and it would have fit in. However all around me, voices spoke in country accents, more like Ana's than the southwestern Virginia drawl. The air was festive and people friendly. I even won a bag of Tabasco potato chips by throwing a tiny basketball into a hoop... on the 4th try.

Then we got to the food. Of course, we had our choice of fried anything. I chose something I'd never had before : fried green tomatoes. They were delicious! I highly approve and strongly recommend them to anyone in search of fried.

Past the food vendors came the churches and groups competing for the best meat and burgoo -- the highlight of the festival. Prizes are awarded for mutton, pork, chicken, and burgoo. The three meats are pretty straightforward, but the last in the list... The men cook meat and some veggies and spices in huge pots to create a soup/stew that is full and savory and like nothing I've ever tasted, but that ought to be canned and sent to me often. We ate at Ana's church's tent and I tried mutton for the first time, stealing a bite from Em's sandwich. We later found out that we were eating the best mutton and burgoo in town -- Ana's church won first in mutton and burgoo and grand prize at the barbecue festival!

We went home for a fun dinner with Ana's parents, brother, and grandparents and went and raised trouble at Wal-Mart; then Ana, Byrd, MeeMaw, and I returned to hear one of Ana's friends singing back at the festival. He sang acoustic country, which is pretty much my favorite. It was cold though, with a cold wind off the river, which is pretty much not my favorite, so we bolted as soon as he was done.

The weekend ended with another procession to crown Mary for Mother's Day, a brunch with Ana's family, and a trip to a labyrinth on the way home. And then we were back in Saint Louis.

Perspective

The school at which I teach follows the NativityMiguel model. I may have explained it already, but the long and short is that we keep middle school students in school for an extended day. At Central Catholic, that means until 5pm (6pm next year), though in other schools the extended day can go as late as 9pm. The long school days serves a dual purpose : to provide educational opportunities (guided study halls, teacher assistance, electives, etc.) and to keep kids off the streets. The after-school hours are the most dangerous for the demographic we serve.

Of course, if I got antsy waiting for 3:15 each afternoon, I should not be surprised when my students rebel against 5pm. Most of them have no idea why we stay so late, and, being myself, I want to explain, especially to the bright ones, who will listen when I explain.

However, the explanation poses a challenge. While most students have a heighten sense of their race, they have very little sense of their own disadvantage, socially and economically, in society, and I like that. I like that they feel empowered, motivated, capable. But how do you cast a vision of something that exists because they are disadvantaged, endangered, vulnerable?

Luckily, in my most recent attempt at an explanation (to 7th grader, whom I'll call So'Journy), I got a reaction to mentioning that some schools let out at 9pm. I then could play up the idea of safety as a reason for the extended day, without it directly applying to So'Journy. I spoke in terms of "kids at other schools" and "other kids in this school" coming from bad neighborhoods. Of course, So'Journy defended her own neighborhood :

"There aren't even gunshots that often. Only a few every now and then."

Well. What do you say to that? I didn't want to put down her neighborhood -- that is a sure way to alienate one of these children -- however, I did tell her that "I never heard gunshots in my neighborhood growing up."

"Not even at New Year's?" she asked, clarifying that people shoot off celebratory shots, the same way my neighbors light firecrackers. I confirmed that even New Year's Eve was gun-shot-less.

I don't want So'Journy to start to think poorly of her neighborhood, because it is her life and part of her. At the same time, part of the cycle of poverty comes from the fact that these children might see themselves in good jobs, but they don't visualize the simple things that other children take for granted : a quiet night when you do not hear people shooting at each other. If nothing else, I hope this thought sticks in the back of So'Journy's mind : that one day, she can raise her children in a neighborhood where they do not hear guns.

For Your Enjoyment

It made my morning:

Ave Maria

On the first Sunday of May, some Catholics follow the tradition of a May crowning. We got invited to the May procession and crowning at the National Shrine of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, in Perryville, MO.

The May procession and crowning is a way of saying, "WE LOVE YOU, MARY!" with a coronet of flowers and lots of song and pomp. The local Catholic school lined up their first Communion children (in suits and dresses), Confirmation class (red ribbon), and graduating seniors (royal blue boys and sky blue girls) to present roses, petitions, and a crown to the Blessed Mother. The whole procession, starting at the church door and winding its way to the grotto (modeled after Lourdes), was very idyllic and felt like it should have been set decades ago in some picture-perfect film. Its beauty and simplicity contrasted both with the charismatic turn some groups within the Church have take and the "traditional" solemn ceremony that counterbalances it.

Before the procession, we got a tour of the church that contains the Shrine. Because the church holds the Shrine of the Miraculous Medal, it has a distinctly Vincentian flavor. And because I have been learning the Vincentian tradition, including the Saints and holy people, I could almost have given the tour myself. The side chapels, in honor of various Vincentains, were beautiful, but they faded away in comparison to the Shrine.

A larger rich blue side chapel, it stood out in color from the rest of the Church. The imagery, from the statue of Mary showering grace upon the earth, to the Immaculate and Sacred Hearts, flowed from the Miraculous Medal. It also depicted the apparitions of Mary to St. Catherine Laboure. In the chapel, I could feel the peace of my Mother and the presence of the thousands of prayers that had been prayed here. In a tiny room next door, thousands of tiny electric candles twinkled, votives of some of these petitions.

The Shrine immediately pulled me in to pray, and I fully believe I could spend an eternity there, at Mary's feet, asking for her intercession and her Son's love.