Good Friday — Part I

"When approaching the great feast days, don't go quoting your own thoughts.  People don't want your drivel.  Give them Classics, give them the Masters, give them real beauty."

—a priest of the Diocese of Lincoln

We have grown so used

to looking on a crucifix.  We’ve seen

so many crosses: delicate and cut

in ivory, and holding up the white

Christ placed in all proportion.  We have seen

so much of symmetry and carven wood,

and we have come so many times to find

Him in a shrine.  We’ve worn this on our breasts

and clung to it —have gone to sleep beneath

it for a prayer— and walked again.  And we

have know Him crucified.  His head is upright,

and He stands upon a solid ledge

with arms extended, and with dignity.

And it is good.  Aye, it is good for us

to shape Him thus in meaning, and to leave

the stark remembrance covered in the years—

as once the darkness closed upon a plainer

sight.  We could not bear to see, no more

than others, older, nearer to His day,

could bear the naked horror of a cross.

They could not look upon a crucifix

so easily —His first of followers—

they could not look: for in their lifetime, they

had seen men nailed.  Beyond a city’s gate,

along a road, they’d seen them; bodies broken,

stretched and drawn and taut upon a stake

and a crossbar; nailed to it, and reddened, writhing,

like a raw scar cut against the sky.

They’d seen them: twisted, sinking of their own

weight pulled upon the nails, with tongues extended,

heads that swung in torture side to side,

that lifted up and cried for death in babbled

spurts of sound.  They’d seen them.  They had seen

men nailed.  This was a death that Romans gave

to slaves.  This was a death that held contempt

and pain and shame — all fastened into one

great spreading gesture, set and bleeding there.

And this was His death, done to Him upon

a hill, and they could not be quick in looking…

even on a sign.

John W. Lynch, A Woman Wrapped in Silence, p. 223f.

Prepping for Holy Thursday's Quiet Prayer Time

So, you wanna spend some time with Jesus on Holy Thursday night?  Of course, unlike His loser buddies, the apostles, you intend to stay awake and pray.  But how should you spend that time?  Maybe this is the first year you've decided to check out this unique prayer opportunity.  Or maybe you “stop in for a visit” regularly but praying for an hour, a half hour, or even ten minutes solid is a situation where you don't quite feel like you're "doing it right".  Well, here are some ideas for meditations, right after a brief explanation of Holy Thursday night.

Holy Thursday is the memorial and re-presentation of the Last Supper and the events that followed for Jesus and the apostles. It has, since my teenage years, been my favorite Mass of the year.  When Mass begins, the tabernacle is empty and the sanctuary lamp is out.  The Eucharist has not yet come to be; Jesus will give it this night.  We are "in" the 13th day of the month of Nisan.  To this day, Jews speak of their being "in" the night of Passover and of "having passed through" the Red Sea.  So it is for us; we are "in" the Upper Room— confused and in awe as Jesus subtly re-writes the beginning third of the New Passover: the meal.  Friday, He will change the sacrifice.  And on the third day, He'll give new meaning to passing from slavery and death to freedom and life.  Tonight, He will wash the feet of the apostles, and so the priest washes the feet of twelve men.  Tonight, He will give out to us the Body that will be given up for us tomorrow.  He'll pass around the Blood that'll be poured out tomorrow.  But, within minutes of our receiving Communion, Jesus will be on the move, as He was that night too.  The Supper ended swiftly and they departed, singing a psalm of praise as they hiked to Gethsemane.  We process with the Eucharist through the church singing Pange Lingua (Thomas Aquinas' hymn whose last two verses are the hymn Down in Adoration Falling which we know from Benediction).  The one vessel of Jesus' Body is then taken elsewhere, usually downstairs, and nestled among flowers and greenery.  As He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane before He was arrested, so there we can pray until midnight, when the Bridegroom will be "taken away" as He was two thousand years ago.  

Meditation Ideas

1) Read one, or several, chapters of John 13-17.

These are the Last Supper discourses.  They begin with the foot washing and go through dinner and onto the road to Gethsemane.  They culminate in the “High Priestly Prayer”— John, chapter 17.  If you just want a sweet, one chapter sample, go with 14 or 15.

2) Read Pope Benedict’s homily from WYD 2005.

If you want B-16 depth and clarity with a “youth homily” touch, try: Pope Benedict's homily at WYD in Cologne

“What is happening? How can Jesus distribute his Body and his Blood?
  By making the bread into his Body and the wine into his Blood, he anticipates his death, he accepts it in his heart, and he transforms it into an action of love.  What on the outside is simply brutal violence—the Crucifixion—from within, becomes an act of total self-giving love.”  

—Papa B.,WYD 2005

3) Read "A Meditation Before the Blessed Sacrament"

This beautiful dialogue of Jesus inviting the person in prayer to open up and speak familiarly to Him about her worries and intentions is one of the best introductions to prayer ever.  Fr. Tim Alkire introduced my friends and me to it in our youth.  Take your time.  Spend fifteen to thirty minutes on it.  Answer honestly.  You'll come out with a new sense of closeness to Jesus.  I don't know if anyone knows who wrote it, but I'm including the sources I've seen for its distribution.

MY CHILD, you need not know much in order to please Me; only love Me dearly.  Speak to Me as you would talk to your mother, if she had taken you in her arms.  Have you no one to recommend to Me?  Tell Me the names of your relations, of your friends; after each name, add what you wish Me to do for them.  Ask a great deal: I love generous hearts that forget themselves for others. 

TELL me about the poor whom you want to help, the sick whom you have seen suffer, the sinner whom you would convert, the persons who are alienated from you, and whose affections you wish to win back.  For all, recite a fervent prayer. Remind Me that I have promised to grant every prayer that comes from the heart; and surely the prayers are heartfelt which we say for those whom we love, and who love us. 

HAVE you no favors to ask for yourself?  Write, if you like, a long list of all your withes-- all the needs of your soul-- and come and read it to Me.  Tell Me simply how self-indulgent you are, how proud, how touchy, how selfish, how cowardly, how idle; ask Me to help you to improve.  Poor child I do not blush!  There are in heaven many saints who had the same faults as you; they prayed to Me, and, little by little, they were cured. 

DO not hesitate to ask for the goods of body and mind-- for health, for memory, for success, I can give everything, and I always give when the gifts would make souls more holy.  What do you want today, My child? Oh, if you knew how I long to do you good! 

HAVE you no plans to interest you!  Tell me all about them.  Do they concern your vocation! What do you think of!  What would you like? Are you planning some pleasure for your mother, for your family, for your guardian?  What do you wish to do for them! 

AND have you no thoughts of zeal for Me?  Are you not anxious to do a little good for the souls of your friends, for those whom you love, and who, perhaps, forget Me?  Tell Me who interests you, what motives urge you, what means you wish to take. 

CONFIDE to Me your failures, I will show you the cause.  Whom do you wish to see interested in your work?  I am the Master of all hearts, My child, and I lead them gently where I please.  I will place about you those who are necessary to you; never fear. 

HAVE you nothing to annoy you?  My child, tell Me your annoyances, with every detail.  Who has pained you?  Who has wounded your self-love?  Who has treated you contemptuously?  Tell Me all and then say that you forgive and forget; and I will give you My blessing. 

DO you dread something painful?  Is there in your soul a vague fear which seems unreasonable and yet torments you?  Trust fully in My providence.  I am here, I see everything; I will not leave you. 

ARE there about you friends who seem less kind than formerly, who neglect you through indifference or forgetfulness, without Your having consciously done anything to wound them?  Pray for them, and I will restore them to you, if their companionship is good for you. 

HAVE you no joys to tell Me?  Why not confide to Me your pleasures?  Tell Me what has happened since yesterday to console you, to make you look happy, to give you joy.  An unexpected visit has done you good; a fear has been suddenly dispelled; you have met with unlooked-for success; you have received some mark of affection-- a letter, a present; some trial has left you stronger than you supposed.  All these things, My child, I obtained for you.  Why are you not grateful?  Why do you not say "I thank you"?  Gratitude draws benefits, and the benefactor loves to be reminded of his bounty. 

HAVE you no promises to make Me?  You know I read the very bottom of your heart.  Men are deceived, but not God; be frank. 

ARE you resolved to avoid that occasion of sin, to give up the object which leads you astray-- not to read that book which wrongly excites your imagination; to withdraw your friendship from that person who is irreligious, and whose presence disturbs the peace of your soul?  Will you go at once and be kind to that companion who annoyed you! 

WELL, My child, go now and resume your daily work. Be silent, be honest, be patient, be charitable, love very much the Blessed Mother of Jesus; and tomorrow bring Me a heart even more devoted and loving.  Tomorrow I shall have new favors for you. 

The formatting I used, but site not updated in a years, I think.

Version on a more up-to-date website for St. Elizabeth Ann Seton parish.

Kingdom Press 

809 McPherson Ave. 

Cincinnati, OH 45205

4) Read some parts of Holy Thursday, by François Mauriac

It is entirely possible that Mauriac is the best writer I've ever read.  He writes prose that rolls like poetry.  He takes huge ideas and makes them reasonable to children.  He draws awe and wrings your heart.  He's a realist about life, but a romantic about love.  Here are some samples of his brief book about this beautiful night for your meditation benefit. 

[These are in book-order.  My personal favorites are: A, E, F, H, I, L.]

A.) The anniversary of that evening when the small Host arose on a world sleeping in darkness should fill us with joy. But that very night was the one when the Lord Jesus was delivered up. His best friends could still taste the Bread in their mouths and they were going to abandon Him, to deny Him, to betray Him. And we also, on Holy Thursday, can still taste in our mouths this Bread that is no longer bread; we have not finished adoring this Presence in our bodies, the inconceivable humility of the Son of God, when we have to rise hastily to follow Him to the garden of agony.


We should like to tarry, to see on His shoulder the place where St. John's forehead rested, to relive in spirit this moment in the history of the world when a piece of bread was broken in deep silence, when a few words sufficed to seal the new alliance of the Creator with His creature. […]


But the Mass is already finished; we must enter the darkness of the Garden; it is impossible to give joy a single minute more. For it pleased the Lord to institute the Eucharist on the very night He was betrayed. This mystery was accomplished at the very moment when His body was to be broken like the bread, when His blood was to be shed like the wine. Without doubt, it was necessary that the small Host should arise on the world at that moment, in those shadows in which the traitor had already betrayed, in which Caiaphas's people were plotting their crime.

B.) Only once during His public life had the Lord spoken openly of the marvel conceived from all eternity by His love. He remembered how much this revelation had cost Him and knew how many should had forsaken Him that day. At the synagogue, in Capernaum (St. John relates) had been uttered strange, scandalous words. Not only the Jews but also the disciples objected in these words: "This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?" At first they had not understood, and when Jesus had said, "The bread of God is that which comes down from Heaven and gives life to the world," they had interrupted Him, begging Him always to give them of this bread. At that moment, it seems that the Lord made so bold as to lift up a corner of the veil. "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me shall not hunger and he who believes in me shall never thirst." Already the furious Jews murmured against Him because He dared to say that He was the living bread —this man, Joseph's son, whose father and mother they knew.


Everything then happened as if Christ, seeing that there was no longer any reason to spare them, would deliver His secret at once and throw the inconceivable challenge to human reason. "I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the desert and have died. This is the bread that comes down from Heaven. If anyone eat of this bread, he shall live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world."


And as from the stupefied and divided crowd arose the question that reasonable people will keep on asking until the end of the world ("How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"), Jesus overwhelmed them with reiterated, insistent, irritating affirmations. It was necessary to shout it. The lukewarm people would leave; the timid ones would be troubled: "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, you shall not have life in you. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has life everlasting and I will raise him up on the last day."


The mystery of Holy Thursday had therefore been foretold that very day before the whole synagogue at Capernaum. And from that moment, according to the Gospel, several disciples withdrew and they no longer followed Jesus. Being for every man the touchstone of faith and love, the Eucharist, like the Cross, divided minds as soon as it was announced.


Jesus must have seen those who withdrew, and not only these few, poor, hard-hearted Jews, but with them all those who were to be scandalized by this mystery throughout the ages. Jesus must have numbered among them the philosophers and the scientists who believe only in what they see; and the mockers, the blasphemers who, from century to century, would fight, with unrelenting animosity, the small silent Host, the defenseless Lamb.


When the renegades had withdrawn, Jesus was left alone with the twelve apostles. Then He asked them this question, and it seems that our ears can still hear His supplicating tone: "Do you also wish to go away?"  Thus, until the end of time, the Creator will plead with His creatures.




C.) This explains the mysterious mingling of conflicting feelings in the man who is about to receive Holy Communion: fear and confidence, open-heartedness and remorse, shame and love.  The small Host which the sinner approaches throws an impartial and terrible light on irretrievable deeds: on that which he has done, on that which he should not have refrained from doing.  No man knows himself if he has not looked at his soul in the light of the Host lifted above the ciborium.  In that moment, the Church, sublimely inspired, puts on the lips of the priest and the faithful the words of the Centurion: "Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed" — a prayer that has been answered since the first day when Christ heard it in Capernaum.

D.) It is useless to know on which side peace is, for our miserable hearts love peace only when they are overcome by suffering.  Hardly has the Lord cured them when they long to avail themselves of their renewed strength to venture again on the high seas.  "The peace of God which surpasses all understanding": an incomprehensible text for young hearts ever eager for adventure, but a text that man meditates upon in his maturity without ever exhausting its substance."


E.) The twelve apostles are the first twelve priests; Judas is the first bad priest. They were themselves so keenly conscious of being no longer men like others that their first task, after Jesus had disappeared from their sight, was to replace the traitor, Judas: "Therefore, of these men who have been in our company all the time that the Lord Jesus moved among us, from John's baptism until the day that He was taken up from us, of these one must become a witness with us of His resurrection." "And the lot fell upon Matthias, and he was numbered with the eleven apostles."  

Now they are ordained, the first members of an innumerable family.  Holiness entered the world with Christ. The Church is holy and what matters to us the wretchedness of individuals, their falls, their betrayals? "The great glory of the Church," writes Jacques Maritain, "is to be holy with sinning members."


The grace of Holy Thursday will be transmitted unto the end of time, unto the last of the priests who will celebrate the last Mass in a shattered universe. Holy Thursday created these men; a mark was stamped on them; a sign was given to them. They are like to us, and yet so different—a fact never more surprising than in this pagan age.  People say that there is a scarcity of priests. In truth, what an adorable mystery it is that there still are any priests. They no longer have any human advantage. Celibacy, solitude, hatred very often, derision and, above all, the indifference of a world in which there seems to be no longer room for them-such is the portion they have chosen. They have no apparent power; their task sometimes seems to be centered about material things, identifying them, in the eyes of the masses, with the staffs of town halls and of funeral parlors. A pagan atmosphere prevails all around them. The people would laugh at their virtue if they believed in it, but they do not. They are spied upon. A thousand voices accuse those who fall. As for the others, the greater number, no one is surprised to see them toiling without any sort of recognition, without appreciable salary, bending over the bodies of the dying or ambling about the parish schoolyards.



F.) But if they did not find their joy even in this world, would they persevere?  "What are you going to do?" said Abbe Perreyve to Christ, the day before he was ordained, "You are delivering Yourself; You are abandoning Yourself to me. You surrender Your Body to me. I shall use it for my needs and for the needs of other souls.... I shall touch You, I shall carry You, I shall handle You and You will allow me to do it; I shall place You on the lips of whom I will; You will never refuse...." Indeed, priests, holy priests, are repaid by an immense love.  


[I put this quote on the back of the holy card for my Ordination in 2005.]


G.) Each verse which is chanted during the ceremony of the washing of the feet affirms the new law is to change the world, the law of love, unknown to antiquity: “By this will all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”  And furthermore: “So, there abide faith, hope, and charity, these three; and the greatest of these is charity.”  And finally: “Where charity and love are, God is also there.”  Nothing is less congenial than this love to the nature of man.  Since Holy Thursday, the charity of Christ has been making its way painfully against human cruelty.  Men used it for selfish purposes, even when they pretended to adopt it.  Love flourishes only in Christ.

Foolishness, St. Paul himself calls it.  Truly, it is a folly of love that Holy Thursday spreads in the world, but it meets with opposition that will end only with the world.  Paganism, apparently conquered (and even at that, only in one part of the planet), survives in its lowest forms in every living heart.  But it is, above all, limited human reason which struggles against the fire that Christ came to light during the night between Thursday and Friday.  Such reason fights against Him with all its might.  […]  The worshippers of he Sacred Heart claim that they rely on the reasons of the heart which reason ignores.  “The heart has its order; the mind has its.”  To Pilate who asks “What is truth?” Christ does not give any answer.  The state official, the serious and important man, could not understand.

H.) But even those who speak of this stumbling block with most hatred and fear do not know anything about it.  They are almost as puzzled by this enigmas the chief priests and rulers who ravaged the first little Galilean church.  The secret of Holy Thursday is spread over the whole world, but nevertheless it remains impenetrable to those outside.  One must be of it; one must be incorporated in it; one must be part of the vine; one must be among the branches.

Why do young girls accept the ascetic life of the Carmelites, of the Poor Clares?  Why do strong young men choose a scorned black robe, the sign of chastity and renunciation?  What motivates them?  Why do men and women suddenly stop in the midst of a dissipated life and turn from their evil ways?  And those who used to enjoy nothing but uncleanness become anxious to be pure in every one of their thoughts?

I.) Jacques Rivière says: “No other religion every used love as an intermediary between the faithful and his God; love with its tremendous disturbances, with its extravagant logic, with the confusion it puts in the soul.”  One should add, “love, with its flashing light, with the self-knowledge which suddenly awakens the soul and keeps it, as it were, standing on watch, on guard—love which compels one to remain armed, always ready, because the Bridegroom is at the door.”

Holy Thursday’s mystery of love gives strength to the weak, daring to cowards, freedom to slaves, nobility to vile individuals, purity to the debased, mercy to the implacable.  To all, it unveils both the wretchedness of human pride and the tremendous power of heroic humility.

J.) The blood of the paschal lamb was to be “put on both the side posts and on the upper door posts” in order that the death-dealing angel would recognize the houses of those who were to be spared.  In the same way, the blood of Jesus Christ is put upon us: after we have received Communion, the gate of our heart is dripping with the blood which wards off the evil spirit.

K.) [St. Thomas Aquinas said in his last words of adoration on receiving his last Communion:] “I receive Thee, price of my redemption, viaticum of my pilgrimage, for love of whom I have studied and kept vigil, toiled, preached, and taught.  Never have I said aught against Thee; if I have done so, it was through ignorance and I do not persist in my intention, and if I have done anything ill, I leave the whole to the correction of the Roman Church.  In that obedience, I depart from this life.”

L.) The God who, as the psalmist said, built His tabernacle in the sun, now establishes Himself in the very core of the flesh and the blood.  The ineffable union is nevertheless accomplished, and not only with the most holy souls but with the humblest sinners, when they are forgiven.  Thus the foolish demand of human desire is at once purified and satisfied.  “When enraptured by human love,” writes Bossuet, “who does not know that men consume themselves, that they waste themselves, that they wish they could mingle and embody their own substance in the very substance of the loved one?  As the poet said, they wish they could ravish even with their teeth what they love—in order to possess it, to feed on it, to unite with it, to live by it.”

M.) Just as the world makes us gradually men of the world, so, too, frequent Communion refashions our souls.  The Eagle hollows out in our being a nest commodious to Himself.  He impresses therein the shape He loves to repose in: the shape of His own body.  Thus shaped—or rather transformed—our heart will conform itself less and less to the demands of outward things.  But, irresolute a he may be, will not he who has known the ardent silence of the Eucharist conclude by leaving to God the final word?

"Hunger Games" Thoughts — Probably Will Offend Everyone A Bit

I was going to withhold my thoughts on the Hunger Games a bit longer for a couple reasons.

•  I've only read through them once, and until Friday I hadn't seen the first movie.      
•  There's a lot of layers to discuss: writing style, plot, tone, articulation of vs. encouragement of violence, written depictions vs. visual ones, age, maturity, parental control....       
•  Finally, because I'm trying to avoid social media this Lent (except on Sundays).

However, several good friends have specifically asked my opinion, and many more friends and I have conversed about the books and movie.  So, what the heck...


I'm going to address just three of the myriad topics that could be looked at: 

1. the series as a whole work, 
2. some moral and metaphysical dimensions of the work, 
3. and —perhaps a lot less lofty— my thoughts on the movie.  

Please feel free to skip around the ones you couldn't care less about.  

In all this, I take for granted that parents are the primary formators of their children's moral fiber and are essential in guiding their conscience-development.  When kids are younger that means saying "no" to some things, when they are older that may mean reading or watching things together, and when they approach adulthood —knowing that youth may check out even what you ban— it can mean just being ready to initiate discussion on what's out there.  


1) The Hunger Games as a Whole Work

I read the entire series in a 72 hours.  Wal-Mart checkers probably laughed at me returning each day to buy the next one.  I thought the first book was top notch.  It was well-paced and had great natural movement.  That vitality drove me to the second, which was still very good.  Collins opened up new doors in plot and internal drama, and, when revisiting previous themes, she gave a new enough spin so as to not feel like she was rehashing.  The pace was off a little though, and the trite parts of Section Three weren't the revisitation aspects; it was the simplistic nature of the problems and their solutions.  It was like a table of junior high boys developing a sequel to the first book: "Oh yeah! and what if we do this?  That'd be awesome!"  It wasn't that it was repetitive, it was flawed in that it was so nicely packaged.   

The third book was a true letdown for me.  I felt Collins ran aground on the problem so many authors have with sequels.  A writer makes a great story.  It clearly is not the end of any to the characters' troubles and it demands a sequel.  The temptation usually is to find bigger, crueler enemies, to kill off more of your darlings, to damage or conflict your heroes more, and/or to globalize the struggle.  In the first book, just sending teens to kill each other for adults' entertainment is revolting enough, but in subsequent books, following Søren Kierkegaard's "rotation theory", one has to create new horror by openly executing civilian dissidents, or have the police whip your friends, or even mistreat the costuming crew.  Ironically, in trying to show the horrors of oppression and war, Collins may actually have done the opposite, and numbed us out.

Pace is another problem.  Mockingjay's first two sections managed to be running fleetingly through a great many places and yet still feel interminably bottled up.  The speedy punch of The Hunger Games was lost, and the knife-fight tempo gave way to drawn out, internalized, thought-and-word skirmishes.  And when the characters did bodily sally forth, the action again seemed nicely packaged...and predictable.  Section Three, on the other hand, moved way too fast.  The exponential throttling-up leaves the reader behind, and the crescendos seemed to be more of the same: ever greater pain, ever greater losses, ever greater confusion of allies and morality.  It reminded me of The Departed, a brutal modern mobster movie that seems to think a story is only "real" or "tough" or "dark" if people die in Hamlet-like numbers, but with a water-fight's rationale.   

Finally, my ultimate problem with Mockingjay as a work of literature is that I'm not sold on its conclusions.  I don't mean its themes; besides, those are for the next section.  And I don't mean who dies and who ends up loving whom.  I mean, if, in the end, Character A is going to do/choose/become thing X, the author has an obligation to get me there.  Permit me some examples far away from Katniss' land of Panem.  The twisting ruin of Othello is tragic, but reasonable; Shakespeare showed me how he gets there.  The heights and pits of MacBeth's life's arc are both realistic; they both make sense given the data.  On the other hand, George Lucas never came close to giving me reasons for Anakin Skywalker to leap from being a sniveling but hot-tempered and disobedient young man with fitful dreams about his wife's safety to suddenly want —much less be inclined to try to grab— rule over the whole galaxy.  Sorry, George, you didn't make a case for it.  And so it goes for Mockingjay.  Collins never really makes a strong case for the likely final destinies of any of the principal characters, nor any of Katniss' last four or five decisions in the book.  They neither resound with human nature nor with the character and plot arcs drawn up to those points.  


2) Moral and Metaphysical Considerations

The previous section was basically asking if the construction was good, if they flowed well, if they were fun to read?  Here we get to the question that most parents would be asking: "Is the content of the Hunger Games series good?"  

My answer would be: It depends on the age/maturity of the reader, and it depends on your definition of "good for a reader".  I mean, even a very flawed book, read by someone who could understand what was happening, may in fact be a very good book to have read.  I should warn you that this opinion comes largely from the armchair-philosopher in me that thinks that good people should consume bad media sometimes to understand what is wrong with its worldview.  For example, I think the whole world should watch John Q and have it pointed out what a really awful movie it is.  I fear this movie infinitely more than I do the avowedly atheistic The Golden Compass because Compass is a crappy piece of work, but John Q is an amazingly good movie with an incredibly bad idea.  

Now, that doesn't sound like I'm about to say anything good about The Hunger Games, but I am.  What it foretells is that I'm going to make a strong and constant distinction between portrayals of evil in themselves and portrayals of evil that make it attractive or sympathetic.  Schindler's List showed about as much evil as you can onscreen, but no one thinks it was an approving depiction.  The graphic brutality was nauseating, but that was the point, wasn't it?  Charles Dickens made a living, and a universe, by showing awful people doing awful stuff for awful reasons.  He may have been the greatest evangelist of the 19th century.  So the question with the Games is whether Ms. Collins always depicts evil in such a way that people will call it evil and long for good in its place.  If she does, then I think there is nothing wrong with kids/teens reading them provided that they are mature enough to understand this.  If not —if sometimes evil can appear attractive, excusable, or sympathetic— then readers need to be even wiser and be able to recognize the places where they can disagree with the author.  (e.g. Movie-goers should question Batman's decision to lie to cover up the D.A.'s crimes while having the Commissioner pin them on Batman himself.  You should not be nodding along at the end of The Dark Knight.)  I think parents need to decide this on an individual basis, but they should recognize that other people's kids will have already encountered the books, and it could be better to have your kids enter this conversation duly prepared.  

So the concrete question is: "Does The Hunger Games correctly depict evil as evil?"  I answer: "In Book 1, yes."  Most of the teens sent to the Hunger Games go utterly against their will.  They approach the Arena as self-defense and survival in awful circumstances (which can, no doubt, turn to opportunism too).  The beauty treatments and superficial body enhancements (including the violation of privacies by the frivolous cosmetic crews) are not voluntary; Katniss in no way desires a full body wax or eyebrow plucking.  One truly believes that the Katniss, Peeta, Rue, and even Tresh would have had a hard time offing each other if they were the last ones standing.  The only real controversies would be putting a slowly-dying person out of their misery and contemplating suicide rather than be bent to the will of the Gamemakers.  Yes, both are ultimately attempts to claim the end justifies the means, but only someone with an iron stomach and serious training in Natural Law morality could keep from a "I'm sparing you a worse fate" mentality when watching another be torn apart.  The misery-ending scene is identical to Nathaniel shooting Major Duncan Heyward as he burns alive in The Last of the Mohicans.  Few remember their Plato in such moments.  All the killing, cheating, plotting, betting, boozing, decorating, commercializing, white-washing, corruption, tyranny, coercion, and murder-for-entertainment-and-control is depicted as utterly damning.  The vapid Capitol citizens are either despicable or laughable.  Dickens and Chaucer probably wet themselves laughing at the living caricatures Collins writes—so reminiscent of their own.  There is virtue in Katniss' and Peeta's longings to persevere, to play self-defense only, and to retain their own wills and humanity in the Arena.  Evil is abundant, but it is rounded condemned.  Likewise, American "reality TV" shows are, as well as mixed-martial-arts events and Hollywood in general, too.

Catching Fire (Book 2) weaves a tighter web of intrigue, which necessarily results in more deceptions by the main characters.  A mature group could have some interesting discussions about societies, just and unjust laws, tyranny, and rebellion.  There's more non-Arena violence and it's uglier, but I don't recall any serious violations of claiming the end justifies the means.  Mockingjay, however, is a full-scale debate (or lack thereof) about whether two wrongs make a right, and yeah, I think Collins too often comes up short in her drawer.  Now, just because a character does or permits evil doesn't mean the author sanctions it (I'm not convinced that we should think Steinbeck condones how Of Mice and Men ends).  However, I think too many sympathetic characters do too much evil with too many good, reasonable motives in Book 3 to turn a blind eye to Collins' choices.  One character acts in a way that is inexcusably unjust even while they lament all the injustice they've suffered.  It's hard to clearly identify themes in the book, but let's just say some seem to come straight out of the final chapters of 1984 and Animal Farm.  Moral ambiguity, on the micro and macro levels, seems to increase through the three book series.  There are characters of virtue, and moments of aching beauty throughout all the books, but the worldview of Mockingjay is quite postmodern, ambiguous, self-flagellating, and borderline nihilistic.  

Now, does this mean to avoid them?  No.  At least not universally.  And given that this is the book of the moment, you couldn't dodge it if you wanted to.  Better to educate and elucidate people.  1984, The Lord of the Flies, Animal Farm, and Children of Men are horrible places to visit, and therefore everyone should read them before age twenty.  I read The Golden Compass because people need to be able to understand literature as well as critique it.  Teens reading and debating topics is good.  (Oh, there'll be debates, I promise!)  But it's hard not to feel confused by the last fifty pages.  Maybe "cheated" is an even better verb.  Collins has bought into the creed that to be real it must be painful.  In the end, I think The Hunger Games can be good food for social commentary, but realize that, after Book 1, you are on your own to generate the commentary.

3) Thoughts on the Movie

There are two important movie topics: "How well did they do?" and "Would you take kids to it?"

All in all, they did a pretty good job.  Pretty darn faithful to the book, great visualization of District 12 and the Capitol, impressive character realization.  The only real bummer was the last quarter of the movie, which was rushed and killed some of the best plot and character development.  No one watching on Panem's TVs, let alone the movie's actual audience, was going to believe there was anything going on between the "star-crossed lovers".  Both a lack of time (literally, days, in the book) and the absence of meaningful conversations left the movie's partnership cold and Platonic.  Consequently, the chilly post-match interview made sense, because the "Girl on Fire" never caught.  At least they didn't try to presume it without having remotely created it.  

The final battle was telescoped in time too, so much so that it lacked both the requisite response of repulsion and an odd, growing empathy.  Also they eliminated a huge plot piece for one character from the last fight which left the Arena climax more than a bit hollow.  They moved the movie quicker but lost all the urgency.  To their great credit, they did find a way to convey some empathy to the final opponent through the actor's desperation—a real coup because the short time eliminated the original point of empathy.  The key heartbreaking moment in the Arena was kept perfectly intact.  In fact, they did it better than I had imagined it.  I nearly teared up.  

"Should we let our kids go?"  "Is it too violent?"  "Is it gruesome?"  Honestly, I would say it wasn't particularly violent or gory.  Certainly there's violence.  I think it all is in the clearly-depicted-as-evil category.  I think it was all quite fleeting.  I think Suzanne Collins described worse details in the book than the camera shows.  Luckily, the animal-to-human-attack gore is minimal.  That being said, I think I understand why so many say it's brutal.  First, it's because it's hand-to-hand combat.  The movie is about 1/10th as gory as Saving Private Ryan, but Ryan used bullet and bombs, and for whatever reason, the visceral reaction to using mêlée weapons is a lot stronger.  The other reason is that it's teenagers doing it.  Children of the Corn gets most people in a way that Friday the 13th doesn't.  Kids breaking each other's necks is disconcerting.  Overall, the average teen sees worse in his daily video games.  Frankly, I'd say to cut a deal with your teens and preteens: You must read the book, and we will discuss it either before or after you see the movie.  

Conclusion:

The Hunger Games are here.  And they're going to stay around at least three years.  Take advantage of the situation and read (and possibly watch) the stories with your young people, presuming they're old enough to do some critical thinking.  Be ready for hard questions and possible disagreements.  Seize the opportunity and meet your thirteen year olds on the fields of the cultural Now.  The first book at least is a perfect critique of the postmodern "Rome on the edge of disaster".  Folks, we're living there right now.  Collins will fail to have clear answers in the third book, but by then hopefully you've created a place to talk about what the right answers should be.  Confusion and nihilism only hang around because people don't offer anything else in answer.  Don't flee this cultural phenomenon, but don't go toward it unaware.  And for crying out loud, don't just tell your kids to dive in without you ever discussing it before or afterward.  Yeesh!

Real Fears and a Leap of Faith — Lent #4, Jesus

Final homily in my series of four on How Different People View the Cross.  It runs 17 minutes, but that's because I included the Gospel, because it really should be read in a specific way.  


Click here to listen or download  (15-17 minutes)
On the download page, click the "4.2MB" in the lower right corner


Usually people think of Jesus as being brave or generous or loving because He came to earth and suffered for us.  Nice thing for a God to do!  But because they unintentionally forget His humanity, they don't see that He also had real human courage in the face of pain and loss, and real human faith in the face of darkness and doubt.  St. Paul speaks of Christ's faith; Hebrews commends Jesus and Abraham for their faith that God can raise up beyond the grave.  Faith has to do with what we cannot clearly see.  How can we speak of any fear and doubt for Jesus to overcome?  The Letter to the Philippians says Jesus "emptied himself" to become like us, possessing a fully human mind, body, will, and emotions.  Somewhere in the mysterious interplay of the human and divine, Jesus could really feel "abandoned", and yet He chose to belief, and commended His life into His Father's hands.

How Can I Make Up Anything That Christ Lacks? — Lent #3, Christians

This is the third homily in my brief series How Different People View the Cross.


Click here to listen or download  (12.5 minutes)
On the download page, click the "3.0MB" in the lower right corner


The first week was the Father's view, and last week was "the world's".  This week (4th Sunday of Lent, Laetare Sunday) uses John chapter 3 to begin to look at how Christians should view the Cross of Christ: to love the Cross, to live the Cross, and to "make up in our bodies what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ".

We Preach Stumbling Blocks & Foolishness — Lent #2, the World

Homily #2 in the series on How Different People View the Cross.  (I apologize for my reading stumbles.  A creeping migraine aura was making page reading somewhat tricky!)


Click here to listen or download (13 min.)
On the download page, click the "3.3MB" in the lower right corner


Last week, we saw Abraham and Isaac as a lens for how the Father sees the Cross.  This week (3rd Sunday of Lent), it's St. Paul's words about how the Cross is foolishness and weakness to the Greeks and Jews, that shows us how "the world" sees the Cross.  More importantly, we need not fear that it seems that way, for the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of the world, and His weakness is greater than its strength.  In the end, the world is crazy, and Saints Francis and Maria Goretti are the sane ones.

Far More Than Blind Obedience — Lent #1, "The Father"

I can't write out all my homilies like some of the previous ones, but if you can spare 11 minutes or 3MB you can listen to this week's.


Click here to listen or download


I'm doing a 4-week series for these central weeks of Lent on four different views of the Cross.  This first week is the crucifixion and death of Jesus from God the Father's point of view.  It centers around the untapped riches of Abraham and Isaac's story, the Transfiguration and the Father's words there, and Paul's reflections in Romans, chapter 8 ("if God is for us, who can be against us?")