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I've been dreaming about zeppole all week. If not for my stinking vow, I would've headed straight over to Pasticceria Natalia. So imagine my surprise when a box of them appeared in the department this morning. I confronted the culprit, my direct supervisor, who says he was in his mother's neighbourhood this morning and couldn't help himself. I told him about my dilemma, and he replied, "Oh, dear, I've become a near occasion of sin?" But I took full responsibility for reaching in, slicing off a quarter of a zeppola, and scarfing it down.

I feel so dirty.
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So am I the only one who's puzzled by the furor over the "rehabilitation" of the Most Reverend Richard Williamson? I guess I shouldn't be--I mean, the media seem as constitutionally incapable of reporting accurately on religion as they do on science (or, really, anything besides celebrity scandals). And even if they did report it flawlessly, there's no guaranteeing that the vast majority of people--who have even less insight into the workings of the RCC's creaky mediaeval machinery than they do into the absurdist structures of legal systems that actually affect their lives--would grasp the fundamentals.

Which, as I see it, are these: In 1988, Archbishop Marcel-François Lefebvre consecrates four bishops without Vatican approval. This is an excommunicable offence--an automatic one, IIRC, so the five of them are booted from the Most Holy and Apostolic Church without the need for anyone in Holy See to lift a finger. (The four guys are still bishops, though, since in canon law parlance their ordination was valid but not licit.) Twenty years on, with Pope Benedict XVI rolling back the clock on Vatican II to let back in most the the innovations that have bedeviled Lefebvre and his followers, he makes a move to bring the schismatics back into the fold. Essentially, it's the same offer that's always been good--stop espousing heretical views, agree to accept my authority, and you're back in--but this time it's accepted; like the flipping of a switch, the excommunications are removed (or maybe they never officially happened--I admit, even I get vague about some points).

That's it--purely a technical legal matter. I've seen scorn for the Vatican's statements that the personal views of the individual bishops are a separate matter, but it's true; as far as I know, Holocaust denial is not now, nor has it ever been, an excommunicable offence. Does anyone care to speculate for a moment how many of the 400,000+ priests already ensconced in the Catholic hierarchy are Holocaust deniers? You can say--as many commentators have been--that this simply shows how fucked up the Church's priorities are. But isn't there something a bit surreal about seeing otherwise good liberals call for more squelching of dissent on the part of the Catholic hierarchy? I personally think that Holocaust denial renders a person unfit to hold a position of responsibility, for the same reason that denying the heliocentric theory or the germ theory of disease would; that is, if you can't accept that the Holocaust happened despite the existence of literally mountains of highest-quality historical evidence, then I really don't trust your powers of discernment in any matter more important than what to have for breakfast (and perhaps not even there).

But, as scandal after scandal--political, financial, sexual, etc.--sadly shows, the RCC really doesn't feel it has the luxury of mothballing any priest with more than two limbs and two dozen marbles. That's bad business in the long run, but I don't necessarily see it as "condoning" anti-Semitism any more than it's "condoning" paedophilia, embezzlement, collusion in politics, or any of the other sleazy shit Catholic clergy get up to without immediately losing their collars. Again, Papa Ratzi wins the Brass Ear for Intercommunal Relations by not considering how the whole matter would play to hoi polloi, but to hold the rehabilitation up as "proof" of his anti-Semitism is just perverse. Seriously, if this is the best evidence you can find, then you simply aren't looking very hard.
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I really wish more media outlets would learn to distinguish "Latin mass" from "Tridentine mass". The novelty of Benny 16's Summorum Pontificum is not that it allows the mass to be said in Latin; this has been possible all along. It's that it allows the Latin mass that our grandparents grew up with to be said without special permission. You see, Vatican II didn't just change the language of the mass, it changed the whole text of the liturgy: What prayers were included, the congregation's responses, and on and on. Older Catholics could always request the performance of Novus Ordo Latin masses, but they weren't the same as the masses they grew up with. Furthermore, even before these changes were made, the Tridentine mass was being performed in languages other than English. Nevertheless, a priest still needed special permission to perform a Tridentine mass regardless whether it was in English, Latin, Kikongo, or whatever.

Incidentally, it's up to the bishop of each diocese to decide whether to grant permission for performance of the Tridentine mass, so actual practice varies a lot in the USA and worldwide. In Chicago, Tridentine masses have been available for almost 20 years now at the parish of St. John Cantius in Ukrainian Village, so the effect of the Pope's letter will probably be minor. Perhaps the media coverage will prompt a few more nostalgic parishioners to seek out this parish, but I suspect anyone with more than a passing interest knew about it already.

I overheard some kids on the el over the weekend discussing the change and calling it "a step backward". "I think what people want is for them to be more progressive." I wonder about that. If you're really interested in progressive Christianity, why would you turn to the church whose name is byword for backwardness and ossification? I'm curious what a brand analyst would say if hired to advise the RCC. I suspect he'd see more value in playing up the ties to tradition; after all, that's what makes this denomination unique in a sea of johnny-come-lately sects and congregations.
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Speaking to [livejournal.com profile] niemandsrose caused me to realise what a poor job I'd done of making clear the reason for my trip to the monastery: The ordination of Father Medlar, [livejournal.com profile] monshu's oldest friend in the world. I can't say I was overjoyed to learn that he was returning to religious life, but two things brought back from that trip have set my mind at ease: (1) Getting to know the monastic community, which impressed me as being not only extremely loving and supportive, but also intelligent and thoughtful (if not necessarily the most practical-minded). (2) Seeing his face when he was dispensing communion for the first time as a priest (though hardly for the first time ever, since even laypeople can do that); he was radiant.

Now [livejournal.com profile] ladytiamat has been clamouring for my review of the Mass of Ordination and I feel I must begin with a disclaimer. ) It's a novel thing for me to regard a mass as a performance, but that's what I'm going to try to do; it really cried out for a play-by-play à la [livejournal.com profile] welcomerain, but (a) I suck at those and (b) at two hours in length, it would've gotten tedious.

The Setting: I've covered this already. Classy old-style Church with all the trimmings. We had third-row seats. Groom's side (more on that later).

The Cast: Omigod I can't remember the last time I was around so many clergy. My entire high school (including brothers' residence) didn't have that many men in frocks. By some stroke of luck, all those who didn't fit on stage were seated just across the aisle from us. There were two real honeys, the "big leather daddy one" (in Boon's characterisation) and Padre Adán de San José. *su-WOON* But, as is usual with this big productions, the bears are extras and the speaking parts go to skinny, smooth-faced, weenies. The Bishop had charm bordering on smarm. His homily was something of a rambling mess that started with misquoted Latin and quotes from Presidential Inaugural Addresses. Near the end, the Abbot shone in a cameo role.

The Plot: Long on exposition and damned short on surprises. There was at least a half-hour of padding that should've been eighty-sixed. Tension was provided by wondering how long it would take the Bishop to correctly learn the new priest's names.

Memorable Scenes: The ordinands spent a notable amount of time prone before the altar. The pamphlet explains, "As our German confrere, Fr. Anselm Grün, tells us: 'This ancient custom symbolizes the priest's offering himself to God [and the Church] just as a husband offers himself to his wife.'"

(Would any husbands out there care to comment?)

A very promising scene of mass affection as every priest present rose and filed past in order to embrace and accolader the newly-minted priests was marred somewhat by overlength and the fact that everyone involved was wearing at least three layers of full-length clothing.

Memorable Quotes: Masses of this sort tend to end with a formulaic closing prayer along the lines of "Bless all bishops and pastors and those who hold authority in the Church, especially ___________ our Bishop, and the pastors of our sister congregations." This would be a completely unmemorable line if not for the fact that the Archibishop of LA is Roger Mahoney--and even then it made no impression on me until one of the Oxonians asked the Abbot, "How did you manage to say 'Roger our Bishop' with a straight face?"

The Abbot also got the best laugh of the day with the line, "Thank you, Bishop, for that wonderful homily. I wasn't sure where it was going at first..." (at which point the Bishop mugs abashedness).

Special Effects: Laughably poor. Particularly disappointing was the lack of any kind of dramatic visual during the Laying on of Hands. The transmission of sacerdotal authority from bishop to priest absolutely cried out for sparkling CGIed tendrils of heavenly force. An unforgivable missed opportunity.

The Soundtrack: Largely unremarable, even the "Te Deum". The cantor sang well but had a weaker voice than I would've liked.
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Fr Medlar totally owes me. Not because I flew out to LA--that I was glad to do. No, it's because he made me eat not one but two Catholic masses, which is twice as many as any of my other friends had ever asked. First there was the (two-hour) ordination mass on Saturday, then there was the (regular-length) mass of thanksgiving the next day--a real gyp because it was his first mass only on a technicality. He said only a token bit (two lines of the eucharistic prayer) and didn't preach, but I had to wait around to the very end for his two minutes of accepting the Oscar.

The longer mass was at St. Charles Borromeo--a known locale for star spotting in North Hollywood! Despite dating back only to 1956, it's a beautiful, ornate, Mission-revival church with everything you'd expect to find in a pre-Vatican II structure: Heavy carved wood reredos, choir loft with organ, Marian and Josephine altars, arched porticos, a baptismal font in an enclosed courtyard, stained glass for days. We saw its lovely steeple from blocks away and said, "That must be the church." The most surprising feature was an open, well-lit area to the left of the altar and separated from it by a portico. Sitting near the front of the groom's side of the church, I had a good look into it (at least until the apse became clogged with clergy). As we feared, there was no air conditioning, only the natural coolness of a shady stone structure.

By contrast, Sunday's house of worship was about as characterless as you can expect to find. Even the monks dismissively referred to it as "one of those round churches", the kind that began to mushroom in American suburbs starting in the 60s. Only later did I learn that this one didn't even date back earlier than the 21st century. Antelope Valley is apparently experiencing explosive growth as ever more people prefer an insane commute to living south of the San Gabriels. When I was told the first day that the mass would be in Lancaster, I pictured a quaint rural town; only the day of did I discover it was actually in an endless maze of brand-new subdivisions, where we counted a total of three pedestrians during our midday approach.

I didn't even realise I was looking at the church until we were nearly ready to turn into the parking lot. It was stuccoed the same dusty orange as the walls around all the subdivisions; at first, I thought it was something municipal. The interior is pleasant enough--thrusting wooden beams and good use of light, central AC, the biggest and nicest cry room I've seen--but as sterile as a shopping centre atrium. Outside of a jarringly traditional crucifix, there's not a single religious icon on display. When I stepped out for a bit during the communion procession, I realised I had no idea who it was dedicated to. I began searching for any clues--if not a statue, at least a sign--and didn't find anything, not in the vestibule, not on the front of the church, not anywhere around the parking lot. Only when I picked up a registration form for religious instruction inside the door did I see that I was at Blessed Junipero Serra Catholic Church. (I didn't find out the name of the town, Quartz Hill, until we were leaving it.)

The one unexpectedly humanising element in this wasteland was bagpipes. [livejournal.com profile] monshu had been exploring along one side of the church and called me over to listen to them float over the subdivision wall. At first we thought they might be a recording, but soon we heard enough stops, starts, and minor error to realise that someone must be practicing "Scotland the Brave" in their backyard.

On top of everything else, we learned that the pastor was a crotchety old priest who begrudged renting out the huge parish hall for weddings, baptisms, or celebrations of any kind. I'm not sure how the monks talked him into feeding us Chinese food in it and it's just as well that he didn't see all the Filipino and Samoan children have a grand old time chasing each other around it. (As far as I could tell, he wasn't present, only the assistant pastor.)
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This morning on the radio, I heard what might just be the most specious defence against clerical child molestation judgements to date. A lawyer representing the Roman Catholic Church pointed out that if the courts continue to rule again the various California dioceses in the dozens of outstanding cases, then the Church will do forced to close many parishes and suspend charitable services in others.

Well, boo fucking hoo.

Don't get me wrong, I think it sucks that simple parishoners are seeing their donations go into multi-million dollar abuse awards rather than re-roofing the rectory or keeping the food bank operating. But that's hardly an argument against compensation of victims. I mean, can you imagine applying this to other liability cases, like say the recent Firestone scandal? "Your honour, if you award this amount of damages, my client will have to close dozens of factories." Well, um, that's kind of the point, this being a punitive measure and all. Yes, it sucks that thousands of workers who can't be held responsible for making defective tires (including those in firms that supply and service the tire factories) will be thrown out of work. But that's hardly a reason not to pay money to the families of people who died because they bought those tires.

Somebody (and I've got a little list of names right here, most of 'em with "Bp." in front of 'em) should've used their damn head and seen this coming. "Hey, maybe if we let priests serially molest youngsters, sooner or later they'll stop taking hush money and just turn around and sue our asses off." And I don't completely excuse the laity either. Plenty of them knew this was going on and did little or nothing to publicise it or challenge the hierarchy to change its ways. Heck, I was in this category when I was a teenage Catholic.

I don't pretend it would've been easy. I was stymied by a lack of evidence and nerve. [livejournal.com profile] monshu agrees that Keating hit the nail on the head when he called the American bishops "la Cosa Nostra" (though he suggested calling it la Cosa Nostra clericale for clarity). The only way there's ever going to be accountability among the Catholic clergy is if parishoners get really, really furious--like they'll be when their parishes are closed while the architects of the coverup go scot free. The drop in donations is starting to hurt, but it's not enough. No, what should terrify the priestly establishment is what I heard from a Catholic father: That he's not sure whether he wants to raise his children in the Church. If that doesn't prompt reform, then there's basically no hope for the RCC. (Did I say "Boo fucking hoo" already?)

So, one way or another--by forcing the RCC to reform or by forcing its members into better-run organisations--these huge judgements will improve things. Not that I'm wild in my support for the kind of compensation that's being paid. One lawyer representing the molestation victims said, "What are the costs of someone whose childhood has been stolen? How do you even put a number on that?" You can't--and yet we do all the time. We regularly put a price on people's lives. We've done that for the victims of 9/11 and most of them weren't valued at nearly the sums of the "stolen childhoods" of a few select plaintiffs. (Again, our rampant fetishising of childhood yields some wildly disproportionate outcomes.)
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