The Sheepcat

Thomas Howard on Lord of the Rings as a Catholic Masterpiece

Just came across this interview with Thomas Howard, author of Evangelical is not Enough, talking about The Lord of the Rings.

“Vicarious” suffering is also, of course, central to the saga, as it is for Catholicism: the Company of the Ring endure what they endure for the sake of the salvation of the world, so to speak. This bespeaks what is central to our own story, namely Our Lord’s suffering, and that of the saints, on behalf of fallen humanity. One caveat: Tolkien disliked allegory most sedulously (he thought Lewis’s Narnia was too allegorical), so there is, in fact, the danger of “baptizing” the whole thing too eagerly. Frodo is not Christ, nor is Aragorn (the unknown, but legitimate, returning king). Galadriel is not an allegory for Our Lady, pure and lovely though she may be. But, at the end of the day, we may, with Tolkien’s approval, speak of the saga as a Catholic masterpiece. A postscript to this might be the observation that no Protestant could conceivably have written this saga, since it is profoundly “sacramental.” That is, redemption is achieved wholly via physical means–cf The Incarnation, Golgotha, the Resurrection, and the Ascension–and the tale is sprinkled with “sacramentals,” such as lembas, athelas, Galadriel’s phial of light, mithril, etc.…

[O]ne of the baffling aspects of our story is “the silence of God.” The Ring Company (like the saints in our story) have to muddle along, doing the best they can with their resources, without the luxury of some ready hocus-pocus that will dissolve Dark Riders or send orcs packing. Our story, often, seems to us mortals to be like this. Where is God? And Tolkien’s characters are not “religious.” No one says his prayers (there is one instance where Faramir and company pause before they eat, but this is, I think, as close as we get to prayer, unless the cry “O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!” may be thus understood). Readers may think the following observation somewhat capricious, but, as a latecomer to Catholicism myself, I recognize in this inarticulateness as to “faith” on the part of the characters a very Catholic quality. Catholics don’t chat about the Faith ordinarily. Protestants, especially evangelical Protestants, are stumped by this muteness. Catholics must not be believers, they think, if they can’t croak out at least some “testimony” to their faith. But Tolkien, as a cradle Catholic, would not, nay could not, have his characters forever nattering about God, any more than he (Tolkien himself) could have any part of a testimony meeting. The fugitive references to the West, and the spectacle of the elves “passing, passing, passing” to the West, tincture the whole narrative with the tincture of glory. Not here, not here, the word seems to be, is your ultimate home. Beautiful and appealing as the Shire, Rivendell, or Lothlorien may be, even they are not the final locale of felicity. All must go West. Here again, Tolkien has made the very fabric of his story virtually indistinguishable from the fabric of ours, and hence has gained a seriousness otherwise impossible.

Read the whole thing, especially the remarks about the film's omission of Tom Bombadil.

Link via Jimmy Akin's combox. The post was on Rick Santorum's LOTR analogy as parodied by Stephen Colbert.

The Execution of Antonio Rinaldeschi

On this day in 1501, one Antonio Rinaldeschi was hanged as punishment for committing sacrilege against an image of the Virgin Mary by throwing dung at it. Thirsty Scribe recounts the curious tale. From Sacrilege and Redemption in Renaissance Florence:

[A]s he was passing through the little piazza of Santa Maria Alberighi, he gathered from the ground a handful of dung from a horse, or rather an ass, and when he had left said little piazza and reached the small alley that goes into the Via di Porta San Piero, he turned to the figure of Our Lady Annunciate, which is painted above the side-door of said church, and he threw that dung, which was dry, since it had been by chance some days in the sun, and miraculously a bit of it remained stuck in the diadem above the nape of her neck, so that it almost resembled a dry rosette.

The image apparently became an object of devotion for generations of Florentines.

Day 5. Czestochowa (Shrine of the Black Madonna)

I was so looking forward to seeing the Black Madonna of Czestochowa.

On the Saturday morning we packed up and headed south. From then till we returned to Budapest nine days later, we travelled between cities by chartered coach.

Apple trees were in full bloom throughout the countryside south of Warsaw.

You might think roadside rest stops all look the same the world over (but wait till we get to Austria).

Because we arrived at Czestochowa on the Feast of Fatima (and the twenty-fifth anniversary of the attempt on the life of the Polish Pope), the Jasna Góra shrine was swarming with visitors.

Click to enlarge the panorama--I've been learning some new PhotoShop features.

For me the highlight of our tour was the advisedly grotesque Stations of the Cross painted by Jerzy Duda Gracz. The artist writes:

I am anxious to prevent the Golgotha of Jasna Góra from becoming a history of pictures dating back 2000 years, which we celebrate on Good Friday with a good frame of mind (believing that we are not the ones who crucified Jesus). This Golgotha is present today, now and here, in the Catholic Poland.

During our visit to the shrine, I felt cramped and rushed. We had time in the shop, where I did buy some holy cards and some artwork, and a beautiful amber rosary, but on the whole the commercial aspect of what I saw left me cold. Though I've largely gotten over my old Protestant suspicion of sacramentals, all the stuff for sale did precious little to help me feel any closer to Jesus, and only half-jokingly I wondered aloud, "Where's Martin Luther when you need him?"

In the afternoon we crowded into the chapel for Mass in the presence of the icon. The homily, by a deacon who had previously worked with nuclear weaponry, started out promisingly enough but fizzled out with a conclusion that had nothing to do with the lead-up to it. One member of our group became faint from the hot, stuffy air. After Mass was ended, a complete stranger thrust into my hand a photocopied information sheet telling me about a supposedly wonderful young Croatian priest who bears the stigmata. I found it terribly hard not to be cynical. Aside from a few moments of praying the Rosary with a group of U.S. pilgrims in the sacristy before the Mass, and the Eucharist itself, I found the visit hardly a meditative experience at all.

Back on the road south towards Kraków, we saw increasingly hilly terrain.

The canola fields were a brilliant yellow. The Photoshopped colour balance here looks pretty garish, but I think it's not too far off.

We missed an exit as we were entering the city, lost our way, and doubled back several times. Eventually, though, we got a magnificant view of the great Wavel Castle as we passed by the city centre on our way to the hotel.

Shroud of Turin Exhibit at Holy Family in Toronto

Holy Family has agreed to be host to Monsignor Ricci's travelling exhibit on the Shroud of Turin. The exhibit will be held in the parish hall daily from July 15-23. We will provide you with more details when we receive them. Admission is free.

I haven't had a chance to examine the whole exhibit, which just arrived, but one look at the full-size reproduction of the Shroud tells me that this piece of cloth is something very profound. I'm not in a position to declare that this is the cloth in which Jesus was buried, but I can say it sure passes the goosebump test.

Someone asked me today, by the way, whether the church was exhibiting the original  Shroud. If it were, the lineups would be around the block.