On Swiss Cheese

I don’t like Swiss cheese, and this isn't an issue of taste or texture. I don’t like that every slice is really less than a slice on account of the fact that it's spotted with holes. Allow me now to digress from my introductory digression so as to maintain the time honored tradition of silence towards the subject of cheese [1]. In early September of this year, I was enjoying the company of an Eastern Orthodox friend of mine when he mentioned to me his frustration with the Catholic Church’s allowance of abbreviating scripture readings in Mass. He mentioned that he had learned about this when he accidentally happened upon a Catholic liturgical aid with brackets around part of the text and the words “optional” over the second reading of the day. He was scandalized by what he viewed as “censorship” of the scriptures. Our discussion then evolved into a larger discussion about the reform of the Church’s lectionary following the second Vatican Council, work which was ultimately carried out by the Consilium ad Exsequendam Constitutionem de Sacra Liturgia between 1964 and 1969. The lectionary of the traditional Roman Rite [2] dates its origins to time immemorial whilst the lectionary of the reformed Roman Rite [3] has its origins in the 1960s. The reformed lectionary is quite larger than the traditional and contains more scripture passages on account of its multi-year cycles of readings. This is a laudable accomplishment, but not every aspect of the reform was necessarily for the better. The reformed lectionary of 1969 can at times unfortunately be marred by an insistent suppressio veri. Frequently it abruptly omits or, through the allowance of short form options, allows the celebrant to omit difficult or controversial passages in the scriptures which have enjoyed a place in the Latin lectionary for centuries prior [4] [5] [6].

Perhaps the most (in)famous example of omission in the new lectionary is the missing verses of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians warning them not to unworthily take the body and blood of Christ. The reformed rite curiously omits the verses that read as follows:

27 Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. 28 Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. 29 For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. 30 For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died. 31 But if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged. 32 But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world. (1 Corinthians 11:27-32, NRSV-CE) 

These verses appear thrice in traditional lectionary: Maundy Thursday, Corpus Christi, and the Votive Mass of the Holy Eucharist. This repetition typifies the nature of the sacred cycle of readings. To be clear, the Catholic Church still professes Paul’s words to be true (CCC 1385). Removal from the lectionary does not equate to denial of belief, nor does it indicate a removal from the canon of scripture itself. But, the law of prayer is the law of belief, lex orandi lex credendi, and removal from the lectionary is, in my opinion, a serious matter because it at the very least creates an edifice of disbelief. Omissions in the lectionary are themselves an indirect communication. Since we still profess the words of Paul to be true, we are even more so left to answer for our refusal to solemnly proclaim them in the liturgy. 

To cite another example of this phenomenon in the lectionary, let us look to October 2nd, the feast of all Holy Angels, where the Gospel reading is rather omissive. While the traditional rite assigns the entirety of Matthew 18:1-10 to be read, the reformed rite curiously lists the reading as Matthew 18: 1-5, 10 (i.e. read verses 1-5, skip verses 6-9, read verse 10). This is what the new lectionary omits:

6 “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of stumbling blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling block comes! 8 “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. 9 And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell of fire. (Matthew 18: 6-9, NRSV-CE)

Not only do these verses not appear in the reading for the feast of the Holy Angels, they appear nowhere in the reformed lectionary at all [7]. Scripture passages like this are difficult and intense, even when the distinction between the literal and the spiritual sense is established. Despite sacred scripture's array of difficult and challenging passages, the council fathers at Vatican II still wrote: “The Church has always venerated the divine Scriptures just as she venerates the body of the Lord” (Verbum Dei, 21). Passages like these would otherwise occasion pastors to instruct their flocks on how to read the scriptures, both the easy and the hard passages. The censoring of them in the liturgy presents a distortion of our Church’s scripture.

The importance of difficulties like these verses from Matthew’s Gospel reminds me of Kierkegaard’s “socratic task” described by the Boston College philosopher Peter Kreeft in his lecture series, The Great Debates of Philosophy. Kreeft begins by analyzing a passage from Kierkegaard’s Concluding Unscientific Postscript, wherein he concludes that “Out of love for mankind, therefore… I conceive it my task to create difficulties everywhere” [8]. Kreeft summarizes Kierkegaard’s task as “making things harder in a world that was trying to make things easier” [9]. Kreeft then goes on to note that “the one thing that Kierkegaard wanted to make harder above all was Christianity,” [10] the meaning of which Kreeft then clarifies by saying “not that he wanted to change it into something harder than it is, but that he believed his culture had changed it into something easier than it is, easier than Christ made it” [11]. The canon of scriptures, indeed, contains passages with difficult messages, but in an age where almost everything has been made easy for us, religion must remain difficult, just as Christ left it for us. Let us, then, earnestly encounter the difficult passages of scripture in the Church’s lectionary. 

There are many verses missing from the new lectionary, but these two examples suffice to illustrate the point. A reform spurred by a desire for there “to be more reading from holy scripture” in the Mass (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 35), should answer to the fact that it removed a multitude of verses that had been prayed by the Church for time immemorial. It almost bears no repeating, but, lex orandi lex credendi. To pretend by way of omission that the Church no longer believes what she still claims to believe is dishonest to the faithful, and not only to the Catholic faithful, but indeed to all Christians. Rather than assisting the Church in “scrutinizing the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel” (Gaudium et spes 4.), the new lectionary tiptoes around difficulties; scrutinizing what should be read and what should be omitted according to the signs of the times. Like a slice of Swiss cheese, the new lectionary is full of unnecessary holes.

Endnotes 

[1] See Chesterton: “Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of Cheese.” 

[2] Also called the Extraordinary Form, usus antiquior, the Missal of Pius V, the Missal of John XXIII, or simply “the Traditional Latin Mass.”

[3] Also called Ordinary Form, usus recentior, Missal of Paul VI, or “Novus Ordo.” 

[4] Peter Kwasniewski, “Not Just More Scripture, But Different Scripture — Comparing the Old and New Lectionaries,” Rorate Caeli, January, 11, 2019, https://rorate-caeli.blogspot.com/2019/01/not-just-more-scripture-but-different.html. 

[5] For more on short form readings see: Matthew Hazell, “Short Forms of the Readings: Distorting the Gospel?,” New Liturgical Movement, October, 18, 2017, https://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2017/10/short-forms-of-readings-distorting.html. 

[6] For a complete side by side comparison of the traditional and reformed lectionaries see: Matthew Hazell, Index Lectionum: A Comparative Table of Readings for the Ordinary Extraordinary Forms of the Roman Rite, (Lectionary Study Press, 2016). 

[7] Matthew Hazell, Index Lectionum, 66. 

[8] For the full passage and context see: Søren Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript, trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 186-7. 

[9] Peter Kreeft, “Kierkegaard vs. Hegel on Religion and Individuality,” Word on Fire Institute, April 20, 2023, YouTube video, 25:49-54, https://youtu.be/9QHNodY8Ki8?si=cdJEoK_nACxAucaa.

[10] Ibid. 28:03-7

[11] Ibid. 28:08-18

Thoughts on Our Jesuit Inheritance, Part II: An Interview with Fr. Keith Maczkiewicz S.J.

In my endeavor to discover what makes us Jesuit, I had a helpful conversation with Father Keith Maczkiewicz, S.J., who serves as Associate Vice President for Mission and Ministry, and is a Jesuit priest on campus. I will include here the comments I found especially helpful.

First, I asked Father Mac what distinguishes Jesuit education from other forms of education, Catholic or secular, and what ways Holy Cross lives out that charism. His first point was the mission-driven nature of Holy Cross.

“Holy Cross has a distinct mission. It’s even different than Boston College down the road, even though that’s a Jesuit university, because of the unique mode of what we’re doing here in terms of undergrad-only, liberal arts… In a place like Holy Cross, the focus on the humanities is a huge aspect of what we’re trying to do here.” He compared our college to other Jesuit universities like Fairfield, where a large portion of undergraduates study things like finance, marketing, and nursing. Holy Cross, on the other hand, maintains the historical tradition of Jesuit colleges to pursue the liberal arts and humanities.

He continued that Holy Cross provides the opportunity for spiritual formation,

“I think that the phrase in the mission statement that carries a lot of weight is the phrase, ‘for those who wish.’ Because we have a lot of non-Catholics here. We have non-Catholic students or formerly Catholic students, that’s a huge number... And I think that in general the College is pretty good about providing opportunities for those who wish. Numbers at Mass the last several weeks have been pretty great. There’s the devotional life here. The fact that you can go to confession five days a week says something. There’s still Mass here twice a day… The fact that you can make the Spiritual Exercises four times a year, that the chaplains make themselves available for spiritual direction, that you can become Catholic while you’re here. There are all these opportunities for formation for students.”

In light of the diminishing number of Jesuits, I asked Father Mac if, hypothetically, Holy Cross could retain its Jesuit charism and identity with no Jesuits present. He reminded me that it is not just a hypothetical,

“The Jesuits on the East Coast are currently involved in a conversation about what they’re calling an “Apostolic Plan…” We [The Society of Jesus] are currently in 11 colleges and universities, 47 high schools and pre-secondary schools, 19 parishes and four retreat houses. We can’t stay in all those places… Every institution is going to have to do a deep dive into what it wants. First of all they’ll have to affirm that they actually want to remain a Jesuit school. There might be some places, I don’t think Holy Cross is one of them, who are like ‘yeah, I think we’re done with the Jesuit thing.’”

He said of Holy Cross, regarding our first lay president, “There is more conversation about mission and Catholicism with a lay president than there was with a Jesuit president, because there’s a recognition that, in some people’s minds it doesn’t sit in the person in the president’s office who is wearing a collar, even though president Rougeau is an active, practicing Catholic… Because of that, there are a lot of conversations about mission here. I think there are going to be gradations of things… could a place be ‘Ignatian,’ inspired by Ignatius and his spirituality, but no longer a Jesuit school?... We [Jesuits] haven’t really wrestled with this totally.”

Finally, I asked Father Mac what I consider to be the most important question. That is, whether Holy Cross could retain its Jesuit charism or identity if the majority of the community no longer believed in or practiced the Catholic faith. He pointed out Pope John Paul II’s imperative that the majority of faculty at Catholic institutions should be Catholic. But, he says, “the horse has left the barn, at almost every Catholic school.” He continued with a clarification of what the mission of a Catholic institution is, primarily,

“The thing about Catholic higher education is that it’s not a parish… When I speak to new faculty, I say to them, ‘we do not relate to you as if you are a parishioner here, you’re not a parishioner at Holy Cross.’ Their job is to teach, to teach well, and contribute to the Catholic intellectual tradition, which says: ‘ask really good questions about your discipline. Let’s bring them to a dialogue with what we believe in the Catholic faith’… That’s how we maintain ourselves as an authentically Catholic place.”

At the same time, he cautioned adamantly against a separation between “Jesuit” and “Catholic,”

“I think we have to be really diligent because we can be very quick to say ‘Jesuit, yay, Catholic, boo.’ And I think we see that in multiple areas… People love the Jesuits, people don’t love the Church all the time, and I would say that Saint Ignatius is rolling over in his grave when he hears that. Because you could not conceive of the Jesuits outside the Church. Even just a few years ago, we said in a document coming out of our General Congregation, that the Jesuits are “for, with, and of the Church.” We can’t conceive of ourselves any other way. I think we run into problems when we try to divorce the two, to try to make people happy.

He brought up the example of the Jesuit response to the Dobbs decision,

“The overturning of Roe v. Wade is a good example. I think people were shocked when the Jesuit Conference of the U.S. and Canada put out a statement in support of the Dobbs decision… I think people felt shocked and betrayed by that. But that would say to me that we, Jesuits, have done a poor job reminding people that we’re also Catholic. These two things can never and should never have been divorced. And if we stress ‘Jesuit’ over ‘Catholic,’ we’re doing a disservice to the Church.”

As a final thought, Father Mac reminded me of our privileged position at Holy Cross,

“I think sometimes in these conversations around identity and mission, what I sometimes want to say to people is that we are in a privileged place to be able to have them. Because if you’re aware of the higher ed. landscape in general, there’s basically one institution closing a month… Three colleges in Pennsylvania closed in one month over the summer. The atmosphere for Catholic higher ed. right now… is punishing. So the fact that we can have these conversations means that Holy Cross is doing really well… It’s a privilege to be able to debate these things. Because many places are worried about keeping the lights on and not having paper in the photocopier.”

We are truly privileged to be in the position that we are in. It is a privilege that Holy Cross can focus on its Jesuit mission at all. Idealist Catholics like myself must recognize and appreciate that. At the same time, with the privilege of our resources comes the responsibility to use them well. This responsibility demands Holy Cross to use its resources in service of its Jesuit mission; service which is not just an exterior decoration or mere good works, but truly flowing from and aiming for the living Catholic Faith. Holy Cross has the ability, and thus the responsibility, not only to produce great scholars and successful alumni, but to produce saints. It can, and therefore must, not only work for academic excellence and social change, but labor ad majorem Dei gloriam, for the greater glory of God.

Thoughts on Our Jesuit Inheritance, Part I

Two summers ago, there was a display of lamppost banners around the Hoval, each one advertising a value related to Holy Cross’ Jesuit identity. At the top of each banner was the phrase: “Jesuit Heritage.” It did not say “Jesuit values,”  “Jesuit mission,” or “Jesuit identity.” The word heritage may mean a few different things, but it certainly suggests something received from the past [1]. It may or may not refer to something still living. A man may speak of his “Catholic Heritage,” but this does not guarantee that you will see him at Mass next Sunday. The question, then, is whether this inheritance continues as a living identity, a decorative heirloom, or something in between. Is Holy Cross “Jesuit,” or merely “raised Jesuit?”

The word “Jesuit” is often thrown around at Holy Cross, but there is not a clear understanding of what it means, especially as it relates to our college. If you asked a member of our community a hundred or even fifty years ago what made Holy Cross a Jesuit college, they probably would have looked at you strangely and replied, “Why, the Jesuits, of course!” Today the answer is not so obvious. One needs only to walk from Loyola to Ciampi, then to the new Jesuit residence to get a visual impression of the decline in the number of actual Jesuits who live at Holy Cross. The average student interacts with Jesuits rarely, if at all. We no longer have a Jesuit president, and few Jesuits remain in administration. There are only a handful of Jesuit professors, mostly in Religious Studies. And perhaps most surprisingly, only one out of our dozen chaplains is a Jesuit. This should not be surprising, considering our Church’s vocation shortage, but it makes the answer to our question much less obvious. Our “Jesuit-ness” is no longer incarnate in the collared figures who walk around our campus. It is now more abstract; we cannot point to it. We must recognize first, then, that it is unclear what makes a college “Jesuit” if not Jesuits, and that we are at risk of losing whatever that is.

What does Holy Cross herself have to say? The “Jesuit, Catholic Tradition” section of our website [2] identifies three ways “we honor the Jesuit legacy” (again, suggesting the past). They are: “humanistic studies,” “solidarity with the poor and disenfranchised,” and “a diverse community of participants.” These are good and desirable things. They surely do flow from the Jesuit charism and tradition. But they cannot be what makes Holy Cross Jesuit; non-Jesuit colleges are just as capable of these things. Do we do them better? Maybe. But they are exterior. They are what we do, not who we are. They are, in soteriological language, Holy Cross’ “works.” Just as we are not saved by works [3], we are likewise not “made Jesuit” by them either. Holy Cross is made Jesuit by its faith, none other than the Catholic Faith, expressed through the particular Jesuit charism.  

It may seem obvious to some, but the Jesuits (the Society of Jesus) are a religious order within the Catholic Church. As a clarifying note, this means that “Jesuit” has a narrow meaning that does not apply to us students or the wider college community, despite the applicability of broader categories like “Jesuit charism.” More importantly, this means that Jesuits exist in the context of the Catholic Faith, and any identity that is not properly Catholic cannot, by definition, be a Jesuit identity. This means that when Holy Cross departs from the Catholic Church (not only in explicit matters of faith but also in ethical matters), it separates itself that much from its Jesuit identity. This is not to say that non-Catholics are or should be unwelcome at Holy Cross, but merely that any institution whose core is not Catholic cannot be Jesuit. With this in mind, I do not think it is controversial to say that Holy Cross largely departs from the Catholic Church on matters of faith in thought and practice, and a still larger portion departs on ethical matters. Insofar as this is the case, Holy Cross can only pretend to be authentically Jesuit. The name “Holy Cross” is not enough, our statues of saints are not enough, and the fact that many of our students grew up going to Catholic school is not enough when we are not Christians. As long as we are not Christians, our Jesuit heritage remains merely that, heritage.

But is that it? Shall we use the Jesuits rolling in their graves in our cemetery to power the PAC? Shall we Catholics be content complaining as Holy Cross becomes increasingly “progressive,” increasingly secular, and thus less Jesuit? Shall we be cynics, satisfied with our laughter when our friends and family ask, “So is your school, like, really religious?” A pessimist may say yes, but pessimism is not Christian. Any Fenwick Review writer could write a long and provocative article about all the ways Holy Cross fails to be authentically Catholic and thus fails to be Jesuit. Maybe that is necessary. But it is not enough. What we need is to identify where Holy Cross lives out its Jesuit Charism well, and work to strengthen these points. We need to claim our Jesuit inheritance. We must participate in and promote the sacramental life of the Church at Holy Cross. We must adopt authentic Ignatian modes of prayer. We must preach the Gospel. We must pursue academic excellence, and scholarship which seeks truth and advances the cause of faith, rather than subversion. We Catholics must live in such a way that reveals the fruits of the Jesuit charism so that Holy Cross will see what it means to be authentically “Jesuit.”

Endnotes

[1] The OED defines Heritage as “the condition or state transmitted from ancestors.” Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “heritage (n.), sense 4,” June 2024, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/5778821977.

[2] “Jesuit, Catholic Tradition,” College of the Holy Cross, accessed November 5, 2024, https://www.holycross.edu/about-us/jesuit-catholic-tradition. 

[3] According to the Council of Trent, session six, canon 1: “If any one saith, that man may be justified before God by his own works, whether done through the teaching of human nature, or that of the law, without the grace of God through Jesus Christ; let him be anathema.”

Letter from the Editors, Fall 2024

Dearest Reader, 

We thank you for picking up a copy of the Fenwick Review. We can think of no better way to introduce our first edition of the 2024-2025 school year than to expound on what the Fenwick Review is. Perhaps the via negativa is best taken to start this task. First, the Fenwick Review is not a monolith; our writers, staff and guests alike, frequently differ and disagree with each other about politics, religion, and more. Not every writer agrees with what is written in the pages of this magazine; indeed there has been and will continue to be fervent disagreement between writers about the ideas contained in each article. Second, as an entity, the Fenwick Review does not “say” or “believe” anything beyond its mission statement, rather, individual people writing for the Fenwick Review say and believe xyz. Now we are in a position to better say what the Fenwick Review is. First, as an opinion journal, the Fenwick Review is a platform for individual writers. Individuals who want to write from a conservative or Catholic perspective choose to publish in the Fenwick Review. Second, the Fenwick Review is partisan; we are both conservative and Catholic. We platform specifically conservative and Catholic thought to contribute to a culture of free and open dialogue on our campus and expose students to both the rich intellectual tradition of American conservatism and the Catholic intellectual tradition. Over the past year now we have been working to reform the Fenwick Review to better contribute to a free, open, and respectful dialogue on campus, while returning to our mission statement to better guide us in our operations here at the Review. We hope that reading our articles will at least inform, challenge, or inspire you. As always, we welcome disagreement and want our peers to interact with the ideas put forth in this edition of the Fenwick Review. 

Pax vobiscum, 

Griffin Blood ‘26 and Briana Oser ‘25, Co-Editors in Chief

Letter from the Editors, Spring 2024

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up a copy of The Fenwick Review. As the academic year comes to a close, we bid farewell to our seniors and thank them for all their contributions to the paper. This edition features multiple senior pieces that share their reflections on their time at Holy Cross.

As we look forward to next year, we welcome a new co-editor: Briana Oser. We look forward to welcoming back our writers who studies abroad and meeting new writers as well. We hope all our readers enjoy this edition and have a great summer.

Reddens laudes Domino,

Griffin Blood ‘26 & Anna Moran ‘24, Co-Editors-in-Chief

The Review Reviews: Mania Interview

The Fenwick Review is grateful to publish this interview. The views expressed therein are not necessarily the views of the Fenwick Review or its writers and staff. It should also not be assumed that the interviewee shares or agrees with the views or mission of the Fenwick Review.

In addition to reviewing Mania, I had the opportunity to interview the show’s creator, writer and student Blake Sheridan. This transcript was edited for clarity and length.

Emma: Thank you so much for being here, Blake!

Blake: It’s my pleasure. Thank you for reaching out!

Emma: What was it like to create a musical and see it to production?

Blake: The story started in a very internal space. I was in my room right when Covid was happening, and it was a very personal thing I experienced within myself. Then it was a question of, “How do I communicate this idea so other people understand and experience it in the same way?” I’ve been writing Mania for four years, but that’s a misleading claim because it sounds as if I was writing nonstop for four years [laughs], which is not very true. There were months when I didn’t think about it at all. Every time I revisited it, I had to ask, “Does this impact me in the same way? Does it say what it did when I looked last? If not, how do I edit it to make more sense?”

Emma: Once ACT accepted the script, did it evolve much with their input?

Blake: The heart of the show has not changed since it was written, but the directing team and I did make some changes. Rachel Golden was a big help; she made the script a lot more concise and applicable to ACT. But so many people were involved: Maggie Baum, Wesley Smith, Vincent Sekafetz, Adele Feldberg… So yes, there was a process the script had to undergo. We learned a lot going forward about how to account for that process, because this was the first time we had done an original musical. It was a great learning experience.

Emma: Do you think ACT’s likely to do other original musicals now?

Blake: I think this experience will make ACT more prepared in the future, but I don’t think it will increase the possibility of doing an original musical again. This was a very unique endeavor where a lot of things had to align, and I don’t know if that’s likely to happen again. Although I do hope people feel inspired to write now. I hope they feel they can really explore, and put their work out, and submit it to ACT.

Emma: I read Mania as an exploration of the absence and presence of God. Does that surprise you? Can you give your own treatment of the themes you wanted to explore?

Blake: That brings such a big smile to my face. It’s weird, I wouldn’t say that was a theme I had gone in planning to talk about. But as I created these characters and lived in their world, it was something I found myself thinking a lot about, so I’m very glad those themes came through. In the show there’s no clear representation of God, and there’s not a clear representation of Satan, either, but there is an agent of Satan and there isn’t really an agent of God anywhere. That dynamic’s there; what it means, I don’t know. [Laughs.] But I think it relates to a way the world can be seen. There’s a lot of distractions around us, a lot of agents of chaos, and when we look to agents of God, maybe we don’t necessarily see them visually in front of us. But we have to look inwardly and see if we can become that ourselves. I don’t know how much you can gather that from the show, but that’s one way to look at it!

Emma: If it were only about the absence of God, I’d expect the agents of evil to not appear in explicitly religious terms. But the referee often cants his lines like he’s at a religious service.

Blake: One of the referee’s things is that he’s very outwardly charming. He has showmanship, and he tends to mock religious tropes. Some of his lines are pure puns on popular Christian phrases. This is not something that started with me; in Paradise Lost, there’s the idea of Satan mocking the good, or pointing fun at the good, or trying to shine brighter than the good. That’s definitely part of the referee’s character. He tries to make himself seem like he’s above it, or can make fun of it, or sees it as a joke. It’s one of the really annoying parts of his character because it’s funny, it’s charming, but there’s something malicious behind it.

Emma: Near the end, Lucy tells him, “You’re not going to get away with this.” I felt we were meant to take that somewhat seriously, not see the end solely as a triumph of evil, but it’s ultimately ambiguous. You spoke over email about not wanting to impose interpretations, but I’m dying to know what the ending means to you!

Blake: I’ll try not to give an interpretation, but an observation. Throughout the show, we see this split between parents and children. That’s a very simple reduction, but there’s a gang that gets swept up in the intensity of the plot, and there’s a gang that’s off in their own world. At first it’s very humorous. Then it takes a turn and starts to affect people’s lives. In Act II, there’s a group of Dinosaur and Meteor parents together, and they say, “And the kids, they’re better off posthumous.” It’s this moment of, “I don’t care, I’m only focused on what’s going on right now.” The observation I would make about the end is that we see Lucy over her son, and she’s kind of… giving all she has to him. And she’s, in a way, making a statement to the referee about what she values and what’s important to her now.

Emma: What’s your philosophy of art criticism? The “death of the author” seems somewhat in line with what you’ve communicated about authorial intent.

Blake: It’s very tricky. “Is there subjective or objective truth, which one’s the real truth, who has the power…” These questions have been asked for ages. I don’t know the exact number of people who saw Mania, but that’s how many truths there are of the experience of Mania. Then there’s my truth of Mania, which is how it came to be. I don’t really want to place value on which means more or is worth more objectively. There’s that saying, “Everything in the universe happens for a reason.” Whatever experience you had, that was what was meant to happen for you. I don’t know if some deity gave it to you, or just the spontaneity of random events, but now you have that, and you don’t necessarily need mine, if that makes sense. Unless you want it! You can also look for it and compare. That’s part of the game of humanity, we compare and we discuss and we share.

I have to add something, though. If I’m writing a line, I can be thinking of a play in which I saw that line done, and it means something specific to me, and I’m referencing it or turning it into something new. That reference is a big piece of art. Then let’s say there’s Bob. If Bob has watched none of the media I’ve watched, and Bob sees Mania, he might have one experience. But if Bob watches everything I’ve watched, it might make complete sense. It might be like, “Oh, this is exactly what he was trying to do!” Understanding someone’s history is just as important. If you want to understand what someone’s doing with art, you have to look at their history, and what they’ve learned, and what they’ve experienced.

Emma: What should readers look at to understand Mania?

Blake: Little League games, for one. [Laughs.] Then there’s two references I’ve always cited. Kicking and Screaming is a sitcom from the 2000s starring Will Ferrell. And Black Friday is a dark comedy musical by StarKid. It criticizes — not criticizes, but investigates — consumerism and capitalism. Those are the main references, but there’s plenty more out there.

Emma: Do you plan to get Mania performed again, or published?

Blake: When I started writing Mania, I didn’t know ACT was going to do it. I didn’t even have a conception I would bring it to Holy Cross. That’s important, because if I had written it for ACT, I don’t know if it would have been what it was. There’s something unique about doing it for the sake of doing it. When I first created Mania, I was creating it for the sake of creating it, in a way for God — you know, for what my understanding of God is. There’s something valuable in people creating things in that space and then offering it to the world, because, when expectation comes into play, it can really get in the way. So, in terms of next steps, taking it one step at a time, and just trying to keep finding that space where I can be in communication with my creativity.

“The Main Thing is to be Moved” : Lessons from Rodin and Rilke

Go to the Limits of Your Longing

God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

-Rainier Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God.

In the poem above, Rainier Maria Rilke offers incredibly powerful advice on how to live a life in Christ. Simultaneously simplistic and endlessly complicated, Rilke’s message is both inspirational and solemn: Live, do not be afraid. Be impactful, find meaning, seek truth. Persevere, experience boldly but stray not from the path. Seek greatness. Walk with the Lord in all you do.

The first pictured Rodin sculpture, which is nestled in Holy Cross’ Memorial Plaza, is outstanding in a similar way. It depicts Eustache de Saint-Pierre,  (as found in The Burghers of Calais, Rodin's best-known public monument) who was the oldest of the six burghers and the first to volunteer to be sacrificed to save his native city. The weight of this situation can be clearly felt, even today. The precise way the light hits it, the telling physicality of the figure, the depth of emotion, and the seriousness it exudes invite the viewer to adopt a contemplative attitude in a similar way that Rilke does.

The second pictured Rodin sculpture is active yet serene, depicting a youthful sprite. It is different from the somber Eustache de Saint-Pierre, but is equally enigmatic nonetheless. This is the genius of Rodin, able to portray a vast range of figures, perspectives, and emotions with the most careful technique and attention to detail. When observing his work, one is forced to pause, to think, to reflect, and to look beyond the present moment. Rilke incites this beautiful disruption in us as well, through the layers of meaning that lie beyond the surface of his words. 

It is not a well known fact that sculptor Auguste Rodin and poet Rainier Maria Rilke crossed paths numerous times during their lives. Their story, though, is one worth telling: it serves as a reminder for all of us at Holy Cross that we must orient ourselves to virtuous ends. Patience, strength, dedication, faith, purpose. These are traits that Rodin and Rilke embodied, and they are traits that should define us all. Moreover, Rilke and Rodin both embraced the apprenticeship model to develop their talents. They humbly grounded themselves in the greatness which came before them, acknowledging that this turn to the past is not only a worthy, but necessary endeavor. This is the lesson which I fear is missing from the classrooms of Holy Cross and from the hearts of Holy Cross students. 

But it is the precise mentality from which Rilke began. Before his poetic career took off, Rilke traveled to Paris in search of inspiration and became Rodin’s secretary. Immediately drawn to the great sculptor, Rilke was willing to take any opportunity to observe Rodin’s masterful artistry. After days, Rilke was deeply and seriously inspired by Rodin. After years, Rilke was able to craft a beautiful and poignant monograph of Rodin’s art and Rodin’s life. Rilke also dedicated the second volume of his breakthrough collection New Poems (1908) to his mentor, without whom, he acknowledged, the work would not exist. 

What Rilke took away from Rodin changed his life. Rodin taught him to see the beauty and terror of the world at the same time and demonstrated the importance of committing fully to one's craft in pursuit of perfection. For these reasons, Rodin left an indelible mark on Rilke, who, in turn, opened his eyes, heart, and mind and allowed them to be molded. Their relationship moved from one of master and pupil to one of equals. Both were visionaries in their own right. 

Rilke’s monograph of Rodin includes a similar story of inspiration from Rodin’s youth. Rodin was influenced by legends such as Dante, Baudelaire, and Michelangelo, names which are notably inscribed into the walls of Dinand’s reading room. Rilke recounted:

 “After having read the works of these two poets they remained always near him, his thoughts went from them and yet returned to them again. At the time when his art took form and prepared itself for expression, when life as it presented itself before him had little significance, Rodin dwelt in the books of the poets and gleaned from the past. Later, when as a creator he again touched those realms, their forms rose like memories in his own life, aching and real, and entered into his work as though into a home.” 

These great men left an indelible mark on Rodin, so that he could leave an indelible mark on Rilke. Thus is the cyclical and generational- amazing- tide of influence. This is the kind of mark that a liberal education should make on each of us. It is the mark that Holy Cross should leave on us- the kind of experience that we should seek. To cite Rilke’s above poem once again, we should feel inspired–almost terrified–at the necessary pursuit of truth. Objective truth, rooted in objective goodness. 

Like the Rodin sculpture, many important things are overlooked and undervalued by this campus. We overlook our history, as made evident by the thoughtlessness with which we pass our campus’s art and architecture everyday. We overlook the liberal tradition, and with it the radical principles of the American Founding which gave birth to us and our freedoms. Lastly, we overlook the centrality of our Creator, without whom none of this would exist. 

But this is the age in which we live: utilitarian and ideological, rapidly changing and swaying with the tides of popular and fleeting beliefs and moral codes. The superficiality of Holy Cross is reflective of the superficiality of the American culture which surrounds it. This is the student body we have become, but it’s not the student body we have to be. 

To mitigate this problematic contemporary tendency towards easy, seemingly obvious short term solutions and understandings, one must dive into the richness of history and those who came before. It is only within this context that we can make sense of reality, yet this crucial fact has been largely forgotten. Following Rilke’s advice, we must take life more seriously. We must seek to fulfill our unique purposes. We must stand firm, and focused, in the face of a culture that values change, a culture that is inconsistent and shallow. 

Holy Cross physically embodies a time of the past, and for this we are lucky. The campus serves as a reminder of the school’s roots. Our roots. Great wisdom is undeniably preserved here, so long as it continues to be recognized, and sought, instead of rejected. Yet, figures from history are being erased and discarded at alarming rates. Names are wiped off the slates of time, here at Holy Cross, and around the country. Rodin sculptures are carelessly glanced over, Rilke’s words fall on deaf ears. If we can no longer look to history for answers in which to ground our humanity, where can we turn?

 It is clear that the vast majority of American society is turning the wrong way. Holy Cross should turn back and look to the past. We all stand on the shoulders of those who came before. We must acknowledge that there is truth to glean from history and tradition.

As highlighted in Rachel Corbett’s book, You Must Change Your Life: The Story of Rainer Maria Rilke and Auguste Rodin, Rilke offers advice for how to find meaning; 

“Search for the reason that bids you to write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places of your heart. Then ask yourself, would you die if it were denied you to write. This above all — ask yourself in the stillest hour of the night: must I write? If the heart utters a clear, I must, then build your life according to this necessity, but be prepared to surrender to the imperative forever, for art is not a choice, but an immutable 
disposition of the soul.”

So notice it all, the art around you. Think about what came before, think about what exists now. Take it all in, reflect on your own talents in the context of that which came before, and then turn that passion outwards. What kind of art are you meant to make? What gives your life meaning? Who do you draw inspiration from? 

This is a deep, reflective exercise. One that requires a liberal education and awareness of the important things; religion, philosophy, and history as mentioned before. Holy Cross must do better to inspire these contemplations. 

During a time when people seek instant gratification, immediate pleasures, coddling, and exceptions, this task of the pursuit of meaning becomes even harder, almost unorthodox. Now, moral relativism rules the day, and with this, so does complacency, mediocrity, and a system of judgment which changes with the tide of popularity. What does it mean to be great in the modern age? 

According to Rilke and Rodin, to be great is to be focused, to better oneself and to grow in likeness to the image of God, and to take oneself and one's life seriously. Liberal education is the means through which this greatness can be cultivated. As Holy Cross students, we all have this special opportunity. It is our job to make the most of it. 

So I end where I began: In the words of Rodin, “The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.” This is how we become the people we are meant to be, how we find ourselves, and figure out our unique contributions to the world. The first step in this journey is to find inspiration in what is all around us. 

References 

“Go to the Limits of Your Longing” Rainier Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, 2005.

“Auguste Rodin” by Rainer Maria Rilke 1903, translated by Jessie Lemont and Hans Trausil, 1919. 

You Must Change Your Life: The Story of Rainer Maria Rilke and Auguste Rodin, Rachel Corbett, 2016. 

Thanksgiving for Summorum Pontificum Almost 17 years Later

           In 2007, Pope Benedict XVI signed a groundbreaking motu proprio which affirmed the right of all Latin rite priests to offer the sacraments according to the books in place before the second Vatican Council, restoring a liturgical unity within the Latin church and reconciling her to the principles of liturgical continuity. What comes to most peoples’ minds will be the liberty given to offer the old Mass (the 1962 Missale Romanum or Usus Antiquior), but it must also be noted that Summorum Pontificum (SP) gifted the Church all the traditional sacrament books (which includes all the traditional forms of the sacraments, breviaries, etc.) that were in use prior to the Second Vatican Council. Even other traditional Latin rites (e.g. the traditional Dominican, Carmelite, or Ambrosian rites) have since experienced their own revivals in the aftermath of SP. The heart of the Holy Father’s philosophical justification was articulated in his letter accompanying SP in which he wrote: 

What earlier generations held as sacred, remains sacred and great for us too, and it cannot be all of a sudden entirely forbidden or even considered harmful.  It behooves all of us to preserve the riches which have developed in the Church’s faith and prayer, and to give them their proper place.

As we see in  many of his liturgical writings and reflections, this principle of valuing what came before as sacred permeates Pope Benedict’s understanding of liturgy and the Church itself. Even in his pre-papal memoirs, “Milestones: Memoirs: 1927-1977”, then-cardinal Ratzinger, reflecting on his first hand-missal, writes of the Church’s sacred Liturgy: 

It was becoming more and more clear to me that here I was encountering a reality that no one had simply thought up, a reality that no official authority or great individual had created. This mysterious fabric of text and actions had grown from the faith of the Church over the centuries. It bore the whole weight of history within itself, and yet, at the same time, it was much more than the product of human history. Every century had left its mark upon it. The introductory notes informed us about what came from the early Church, what from the Middle Ages, and what from modern times. Not everything was logical. Things sometimes got complicated, and it was not always easy to find one's way. But precisely this is what made the whole edifice wonderful, like one's own home.

It is precisely this organic development which gives, and continues to give the liturgy her unity, beauty, and depth. Liturgy is not something static, but ever slowly developing and shaping the Church. Likewise, Liturgy, properly understood, is not the product committee or community, but rather of centuries of tradition and development. By reading the same readings and by praying the same orations over centuries it bridges Catholics of the past and the present. This unity of prayer between Catholics over history is both a beautiful and fitting characteristic of our traditional liturgy. It is what marks us as truly “Catholic;” that is, universal. 

           Because of the principles outlined in SP and its accompanying letter, Tradition was no longer to be relegated to a few isolated chapels and banished from diocesean life. Instead, it could be a part of the heart of the Church’s worship. SP served to normalize tradition, welcoming it back into the mainstream of Catholic life. What the Church regarded as sacred and great was once again recognized as “sacred and great for us too.”

           Benedict also had the foresight to see how the Church’s youth would be attracted to what were her normative liturgical rites for over 500 years. He wrote in his letter accompanying SP: “It has clearly been demonstrated that young persons too have discovered this liturgical form, felt its attraction and found in it a form of encounter with the Mystery of the Most Holy Eucharist, particularly suited to them.” Here I hear the Pope speaking about young people like myself who, until encountering the traditional liturgy, experienced a great deal of difficulty participating in and praying the Holy Mass. I can say from my own experience that I find the older liturgical books to be more accessible and that they communicate to me more clearly, both verbally and non verbally, this Fons et apex (Source and Summit) of Christian life. I’m not claiming that every young person prefers the traditional rite, but from my own experience I have noticed that there is both greater interest in and greater tolerance for the traditional rite among the youth. Despite the prejudices of some septuagenarians, I am certain that, under God’s providence, this trove of liturgical treasures opened up by Summorum Pontificum will survive for generations to come.

References: 

Ratzinger, Joseph. Milestones: Memoirs: 1927-1977. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1998.