Fly Me to the Moon....

This year's anniversary of the moon landing has come and gone, and yet, memories of my original, youthful impressions seem to be lingering overlong, as if to fill a void, something lost. Perhaps I'm grasping at continuity between the bright, shining moment of "then" and the somewhat dull and directionless "now."

The moon landing harkens back to a time when, as a people, we stood together on the seemingly immovable foundation of human tradition in uniting ourselves with the great explorers of history.

In the Catholic Church, the faithful were united in a form of worship which connected them to Catholics throughout the world as well as to Catholics throughout time.

In that moment, in the U.S., we stood for God and country. We shared an intention to resolve the ancient paradox of mankind by continuing the great gambit played out through a history of exploration and migration, uniquely consummated by Neil Armstrong's first words after he set foot on the moon: "...one giant leap for mankind," a declaration of victory and, yet, a challenge to go so much further.

In chess, a gambit is a strategy in which a player puts one or more pieces at risk to gain an advantage in position, and that's how anyone who grew up in the '60's thought of the space program: mankind's ultimate gambit. It was a national dream, a credo, in which we stated a collective belief that life must be accommodated. The future was where it had always been, even in the time of the ancient migrations: "out there."

The solar system was the unknown territory that would balance material resources and an expanding population. The astronauts had risked their lives to build a bridge to this new territory. Our country had invested time and money in this endeavor, but more importantly, our nation committed to a dream. There was much at risk, but, as a people, we believed there was a shining future to gain.

Then, a funny thing happened on the way to Mars.

The "spirit of Vatican II" turned the Catholic Church upside down by so radically changing the manner of worship as to impart a sense of subjectivity into our very faith. The law of prayer, for all intents and purposes, suddenly seemed malleable, the Mass being adapted diocese by diocese and even parish by parish. The law of faith seemed to follow suit.

Perhaps coincidently, or perhaps as a consequence, contraception became the norm across the country, and when abortion became legal, our collective approach to life on earth seemed to capsize. Our country's national dream turned away from accommodating life and became focused on containing it. The challenge and accomplishment acknowledged by Neil Armstrong's famous words on that historic day have been relegated to little more than a self-congratulatory victory lap, the hope of the Space Age eclipsed by the despair inherent in the precepts of the Age of Bioengineering--zero population growth, vertical living, synthetic/hormone-injected food, and genetically modified people.

The opening of mankind's gambit had been played out perfectly, but when the moment came to take our position "out there," to approach that unknown space which had held the gaze of Man from the beginning, we turned our eyes unto ourselves in our tiny slice of time, and there they have remained these past decades. Salvation and the moon have seldom seemed so obscure.
 

 

 

 

Remembrance of Things Past, USC's Review of _Brother Sun, Sister Moon_

Here's  a movie review from Unam Sanctam Catholicam, one of my "Recommended Catholic blogs."

I like the review, and these days I'm thankful for anything that brings up vivid memories of my youth. I also agree that anything good about this film is obscured by the "spirit of '72" coming through loud and clear.

But, that's not the point of this post--whether or not I agree with the review. Rather, I'd like to offer a written slice of my early involvement with charismatic protestant groups, something I generally try not to think about, but something of which the charismatic "renewal" in the Catholic Church, and this review, have reminded me.

Today, reading the USC review took me back...way back...

 ...I saw this movie in the Princess Theater in Eagle Grove, IA when I was in...9th grade, I think, near to when it was released. I was a Methodist at the time, involved with my first charismatic youth group. This movie, in combo with _Godspell_, set a few of us on a path that began with Superman T-shirts and playing "Jesus songs" on our guitars down by the Boone River, and took some of us to the punk/alternative music scene in Minneapolis MN of the early '80's...oh, by "some of us," I mean me. 

Movies like this in combination with youthful charismatic speakers and enthralling singer/guitarists gave us '70's adolescents who were inclined towards religion the sense that we were involved in a new approach to Jesus, unique to our generation. We embraced a certain sense of knowing something that no one else had ever really understood...well, except for maybe the apostles.

For me, it took a few years to realize the "1, 2 punch" that the charismatic approach to God represented and to which I had succumbed.

The music, words, and presentation created the emotional high (1 punch) and then the facilitators would convince us that the "high" was an authentic encounter with God, the Holy Spirit (2 punch). No matter what happened after that, we were directed to believe that the Holy Spirit made us do it!

Eventually, I realized that it was taking more and more "theater" to bring me to the desired level of emotional exuberance that would allow for the "holy singing," "holy weeping," "holy dancing," and most of all, the "holy hugging and kissing." I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the absolute faith that all of this was directly guided by the Holy Spirit was, dare I say, a bit arrogant.

I began to fixate on "free will" and consequences, which takes me even further back....

As Methodists, we had been presented with our first Bibles, the Revised Standard Edition (from the '50's, I think) when we were in 2nd grade. I, for one, started reading then and sort of grew into it. By the time I was in 6th grade, the page edges of my Bible were massively wrinkled, with the red coloring worn off, in three places: Creation, the story of Samson, and the Gospels.

Without realizing it, I had grown into an understanding of the importance of free will and consequences. Adam and Eve's bio included being created without sin, immortal, full of grace, and they talked to God on a regular basis. Yet, they made a choice which they thought would make them like unto God, and then, of course, we were all bound to the consequences.

Samson was frequently granted great strength by being filled with the spirit of God, and yet, had a tendency to fall for bad women.

And then, Jesus, God the son, the Word made Flesh, came to earth to save us from the consequences of free will by building a ladder (of Sacraments) to get us back into Heaven.

When left to my own personal interests, this had been my (young boy's) approach to the Bible.

So, years later, the charismatic idea of designating one moment in the midst of what seemed more like a 3-ring rock concert than God worship, as the moment when the emotional high we were all on was no longer a mere emotional high, but was the finger of God ready to grant us charismatic gifts if only we'd help Him out a bit, began to develop cracks.

I became indignant at what I considered to be the great lie of this charismatic voodoo. Having broken with the religious "establishment" to embrace the charismatic youth movement, and then having broken with the charismatic movement because it had stopped making (theological) sense, I went my own way. I wrote songs, played in bands, and if it came up between sets or after a gig, I'd tell 'em the truth, "It's only the music and the beer making you feel this way. You'll be back to normal by morning."