Intimacy and humility

A friend facetiously asked me to teach him humility this week. Naturally, I rejected the humorous tenor of the request in favor of intense musing, "How on earth does one teach humility?" As a mother, I want above all to teach my daughters humility--the total submission of their lives to the Truth (who, we believe, is a Person). How? How can I, or even Todd and I together, teach them to the joy of humility when I myself struggle so much to be humble?

The answer is not to break the child's will. It is not to manipulate them to "do the right thing." All the parenting methods and philosophies over which we wage our little mother-wars in the end boil down to a matter of preference and personal temperaments. Attachment parenting, nannies, sleep training, bottles, breastmilk... saints have come from households practicing every imaginable parenting-style.

The one word that kept coming to my mind as I pondered humility was intimacy. In fact, my first response to my friend was that I could never teach him humility, only life with a spouse could teach him that. The problem was that he was not married, my children are not married, and I certainly hope they all learn humility before they are married (if they ever are at all). But intimacy can be pursued--and it must be pursued--regardless of anyone's state of life or "relationship status."

Intimacy is the mother of humility, because only in living with others and opening ourselves to them do we learn (ever so slowly) to forget ourselves. A life lived purposefully together with others--with God, with the saints, with the family, with others--is a life that has begun to submit itself to something outside of itself.

In the family, intimacy for my children means that a toy picked up by a younger sibling is not to be grabbed back, "MINE!" It means that at dinner we each wait until the speaker is done speaking. We share what we can afford to eat. Intimacy also means enjoying the others present as they are--not as we want them to be. It means laughing at the baby's "joke", because you love the baby, and when Mommy spills all the tomato sauce on the floor (Mommy has to laugh, too!).

I find myself thirsting, aching, to be alone during the day. Every chord in my being screams, "HERMITAGE!" I just want to do dishes without answering 500 questions; I want to spill the dinner all over the floor without four little hands splashing in it and two little throats laughing at me. But the intimacy of the life I've chosen calls me out of my impulses. It's not a comfortable lesson, but it bears more fruit than I can say.

Other lives pursue this lesson in the way the divine love has marked for them: the nun in her cell daily opens her heart to the Truth about herself, to mourn and rejoice. The single professional seeks those around him who need him, and to know those who are closer to God than him. There is an opportunity to open ourselves, to become vulnerable to the necessary death-to-self, everywhere and in every moment.

We must pursue intimacy, healthy intimacy. The divine intimacy within God himself is centripetal--drawing all of creation into its bond. Our souls were made to live only his life, and to do that we need to open our whole selves to him. In prayer, in obedience, in the daily self-sacrifice that is his will for each of us. Doing the dishes? His will. Spilling the sauce and laughing with the delighted infant? His will. A smile at the two extra pounds on the scale? His swill. The snatched moment of rest and prayer? His will. The joy in my husband's eyes? His will. 

Submission to such an intimate love can only be joy. And the measure of that joy is the measure of our humility. 

A woman too oft scorned...

Poor Douglas Kmiec. If he would only stop posturing as the poster-child for the tenacious 1960's American Catholic Rebels Without a Cause. If only. I have nothing personal against Kmiec, and I hope with all my heart to partake of the heavenly banquet with him, but his capacity for slothful thinking just begs to be answered.

I have to admit that of the mental gymnastics proffered thus far by Douglas Kmiec, this exercise, appearing in the most recent America magazine, takes the gold medal for pathos. The prose is affectedly breezy, but the overall impression is that of a desperate puppy wanting a pat on the head. His mission: To prove empathy as a primary qualification for the newest Supreme Court justice. (And perhaps to thus invite a nod of approval from our nation's leaders? I cannot say.) I thought the image above appropriate: This Lady Justice ain't blind.

I don't think he realizes (at least I hope he does not realize) that inserting the idea of "empathy" into jurisprudence is actually selling out to an entirely anti-Christian (un-Christian, pre-Christian, post-Christian, whathaveyou) worldview. Some thoughts:

1. The notion of impartial justice, the rule of one law judging each human action, which goes hand-in-hand with the idea of equality before the law, arose only as a result of the Christian revolution. The coming of Christ, opening up salvation to all human beings, changed the whole notion of the role of government and law. "Render unto Caesar" did not demand that Caesar start feeling the pain of every litigant who felt wronged. It did demand that Caesar (1) exercise authority only where God authorized him (remember Pilate?) and (2) that his laws be in accord with or not contrary to the divine law.

2. God came and "stood on our shoes," as Kmiec puts it, not so that he could "feel empathy" when we came before him in judgement (I think he already had a pretty good idea of what we feel when we either sin or do good). He came so that we might become perfect in every way, living testaments of God's self-gift of love. He came to redeem human action and call us to a higher law than any government has the right to impose. He thus freed Caesar to be just Caesar--not a psychiatrist, not our collective savior--and he freed us to obey Caesar (insofar as he is just) and the Father at one and the same time.

3. The Supreme Court is not a place for a collective therapy session. It would be nice if we were not fallen, finite beings. Then, when someone felt wronged, we could all group together, express our sense of hurt, and enjoy the empathy of a group of justices who then made everyone feel happy by redistrubting to each according to his or her need. But this is not the way we are. I understand that litigants are real people with feelings and moral tragedies in their lives. Feelings, however, cannot be the measure of good jurisprudence, because that will necessarily result in injustice (inequality before the law). Law will no longer mirror the unconditional love of the Father in judgment, but rather the pathetically limited feelings of the individuals on the Court. Kmiec's idea that it is "possible to feel empathy for all parties involved" is ridiculous. It simply will not happen because every individual justice will feel more or less the pain of each side of the case. We are human, not divine, and cannot know the inside of every other human person. To ask the Court to feel everyone's pain equally would be asking them to play God, which they cannot do. Acknowledging our human need for an impartial law is simply acknowledging our nature. It is limited and fallen. (Further, Kmiec's invocation of Micah against justices who are simply trying to stick to the law--which is the limit of their authority--is self-righteous and violates one of basic tenets of a liberal democracy.)

4. St. Augustine would roll over in his exalted tomb at the idea that: "If the California Supreme Court, for example, chooses to uphold Proposition 8 in a way that validates the selective oppression of one class of citizens, the empathy animating federal equal protection will be put to the test." In the Christian tradition, just law does not arise when law-makers (or interpreters) feel the pain of the people. It arises when, again, the government acts within the limits of its authority (which does not include the definition of marriage) and in accordance with divine and natural law.

5. For Kmiec to suggest that decisions based on an attempt (however imperfect) to judge actions according to the agreed-upon law of the nation (the Constitution) rather than upon a judge's personal ability to "empathize" are somehow "cold" or "heartless," is infantile. It reminds, me, actually, of what Miriam hopes I will do every day. She may find me to be cold and heartless because I suppress my empathy for her in service of a higher good--her safety or the harmony of our family. Empathizing with Miriam when she is angry and hits Isabella is good. But it does not fulfill my vocation to bring justice to my home. Allowing Miriam to express her anger in that way would mean doing injustice to Isabella. Similarly, "empathizing" with an underqualified minority teacher and forcing a school to hire her is to do injustice to her students.

Now, I know I just posted Strunk's viatribe againt opinion pieces. But, really, an unjustifiable opinion requires the response of a valid one. (I smirk wryly as I type that.)

Abandon opinion, all ye...

I was browsing my beloved Elements of Style, by William Strunk, Jr. (see photo--what a prim little fellow!), and happened upon this piece of advice. Considering my blog activity, I found it most amusing:

"Do not inject opinion. Unless there is a good reason for its being there, do not inject an opinion into a piece of writing. We all have opinions about almost everything, and the temptation to toss them in is great. To air one's views gratuitously, however, is to imply that the demand for them is brisk, which may not be the case, and which, in any event, may not be relevant to the discussion. Opinions scattered indiscriminately about leave the mark of egotism on a work. Similarly, to air one's views at an improper time may be in bad taste. If you have received a letter inviting you to speak at the dedication of a new cat hospital, and you hate cats, your reply, declining the invitation, does not necessarily have to cover the full range of your emotions ... [Bear] in mind that your opinion of cats was not sought, only your services as a public speaker. Try to keep things straight."

I will try, dear Strunk, I will try.

More media for you.

And here's another ad from the Catholic Vote--apparently set to air during the America Idol finale. Pretty slick and sweet!

A little "reality" TV...

Thanks to Amy Welborn, I found this series of posts on YouTube: The Monastery 2005. Apparently, the reality TV craze in Britain actually bore some real fruit. A group of five men, none of them Catholic, enter a Benedictine monastery in England for several months. Their stories are quite impressive. You can watch the whole thing in nine-minute segments (which is just right for folding laundry).

The sin of exclusivity.

Well, it's happened again (and again and again): "The Church is so exclusive. They should acknowledge that we are all unique. Stop excluding gays! Stop excluding women! Stop excluding me!"

Oh, dearling.

There is a world of difference between being "exclusive" in the sense of "not allowing you in the club" and being "exclusive" in the sense of following a very specific (and dare I say narrow) way of life. That way of life, which is in part what Christ is ("I am the Way"), is open to anyone with a heart of adventure and a hand to the plow. It is a straight path, a narrow path, but anyone and everyone may enter upon it. And anyone and everyone who falls off the path may return to it.

In fact, the Way has accommodated through history human beings of every imaginable talent, gift, sin, past, parentage, state of life, and class. He--and his faithful sheep--delight in variety and the high adventure of the universal family.

There is not one human person excluded except by his own decision that his way is better than the Way.

But that Way does, yes, exclude other ways. "There is no other name under heaven by which we are saved." Just as my marriage to the Scientist excludes "all others," our union with God excludes all other gods. Not because God is a spoilsport or party-pooper, but rather because there is only one of Him. The others are false gods that cannot save, because they are simply creatures themselves, passing fancies, or--worst--nothing at all (as in, evil). So, sacred cows, idol worship, sexual pleasure (as an end in itself), child porn, gluttony, hatred... yes, these, among other things, are excluded from the kingdom of God.

Because if they weren't, to hell with the kingdom of God. To hell with it all, because there would be no meaning, no transcendence, no hope of the eternal. It's either Christ or ... whatever.

May 1st is St. Joseph.

I loved this excerpt from Caryll Houselander via Magnificat. She speaks of Joseph, the "just man," who is so often portrayed as the gray-haired, impotent, doddering old husband of a limpid-in-blue Mary. The Gospel portrait of this strong man, champion of justice is other:

"That which in our eyes seems unjust is often the extreme logic of love which is justice. It seems unjust to us, when young men in the Maytime of their lives, and often the gentlest of them, must go to war and be slain, when the poet must die with the poem still in his heart, the lover with his love still unconsummated [and surely this was Joseph, husband of the ever-virgin Mary].

"But it is Christ on the cross who dies all their deaths. In him, in the Word of God's love, all poetry is uttered; in him, Incarnate Love, all love is consummated. On the field of Calvary, the battle between love and death is fought which restores the kingdom of heaven to the children whom Satan has despoiled."

She goes on, and I, too, could go on. These few words on justice are my only response to all those "hot-button" questions: homosexuality, contraception, abortion, just war theory, the principle of subsidiarity. All the hard, moral questions lose their angst for me before the figure of Joseph, the silent one who "does such violence to himself" for the sake of the weak. All our various difficulties have no power over us under the shadow of the Cross, which finally made sense of Joseph's own sacrifice. Alleluia!