Author: Deacon Bob

In the past, my life as a liturgist, musician and cleric was so busy with rituals and Masses of Holy Week, that by the time I got to the last “Happy Easter” exchange following the last Mass of Easter Sunday, the two things that I felt were: 1) exhaustion, and, 2) a need to sip that Brandy Manhattan my dad would have prepared for me beforehand.

This is my second Easter without all the busyness of Holy Week. As Ruthie and I prayed our liturgy at home yesterday (Easter Sunday), I reflected with her that I still feel exhausted. The exhaustion is not from the frantic pace of Holy Week, far from it. Rather, the exhaustion of all the events of the past year because of the pandemic, the number of people I know who were alive last Easter and now lie in a grave this Easter is emotionally and spiritually exhausting. I wondered out loud with my bride yesterday is whether the exhaustion I am feeling this year similar to that of many citizens of our nation during those Easter covering the years of World War II, when families lived on pins and needles as their husbands, sons, brothers, cousins, and friends fought fierce battles in Europe and the Pacific. Did they experience the grand joy of Jesus’ Resurrection with so much death and destruction afflicting many of the families of our nation?

Am I the only one feeling this way, or are there so many others experiencing this same feeling this Easter?

During the first year of my retirement, tired of all the sexist language and prayers of the Liturgy of the Hours (formerly called The Divine Office), I reconstructed and composed my own Liturgy of Hours from Biblical and prayer sources using more inclusive language. The opening “hymn” I chose for Easter Sunday morning was a poem from Madeleine L’Engle’s collection of poems, The Ordering of Love. I found that this poem, “Pieta”, accurately reflects how I am feeling during this Octave of Easter.

PIETA

The other Marys radiated joy.
The disciples found the truth hard to believe. There had to be breaking bread, eating fish, before they, too, even Thomas, were lit with joyfulness. Not much was said about me.
I said good-bye to the son I carried within me for nine months, nursed, fed, taught to walk.
On Friday when they took him down from the cross, I held the son I knew,
recognizing him in my arms, and never saw him again,
not my body’s child. How could I laugh, weep tears of joy?
Like the others, I failed to recognize him;
the Christ who rose was not Bethlehem’s babe… And it was right. For this was meant to be.
Here in my head I would not have had it otherwise. But empty arms still longed for familiar flesh.
My joy, a sword that pierced through my heart. I understood, more, perhaps, than the others when he said that he could not stay with us— that it was better if he went away,
was one again with God, his Father. And when the Spirit came
I once again could love my son
and know my Lord. If Easter came later for me than for the others,
its brilliance was as poignant and bright.

As I prayed this poem yesterday morning, I marveled at how accurate it expressed what I am feeling this Easter. I also reflected back on the song I composed last year at this time, bearing the same name as the poem, though, as I composed the music, I was thinking more of the bittersweet feelings my mother had when my sister, Mary Ruth, died in 1997. Mom’s faith in the Resurrection sustained her when my sister died. However, the sorrow, the loss of a mother for her dead child could not be denied. Here is that song.

So, this is a bittersweet Easter for me, and I believe, so many others. Like my mother, my faith in the Resurrection sustains me, yet, I continue to mourn the losses of the past year.

I wish those who similarly feel this way, peace, and pray that the last sentence of the poem, “If Easter came later for me than for the others, its brilliance was as poignant and bright.” is true for you.

Last summer, I observed many in my community foolishly and dangerously celebrate graduation open houses without following any of the protocols meant to prevent the spread of Covid-19. It came as no surprise that days later many of those infected at those open houses were in their cars in lines of 22 cars and more stretched down the highway as they got tested for the pandemic. Many in my community were infected and a portion of them died from their infection. And, now, here are pictures of the living brain dead foolishly celebrating on the beaches of Florida, getting infected and then coming home to infect those with whom they have contact.

In light of our humanity’s tendency to never learn from history, and history no more distant than 6 to 10 months, I composed the following poem and music. It is based on the human behavior that occurred during the many years in which the Bubonic Plague eliminated close to 5 million Europeans. The same “eat,drink and be merry” behavior was a major part of why so many people died needlessly at that time in history. As our scientists and our medical experts declare constantly, Covid-19 has no conscience and in terms of killing people shows no consideration for one’s education, economic status, or in what community one lives. Covid-19 is an equal opportunity killer, preying upon the weakminded and those foolishly defying the infection. It is reminiscent of a quote from the movie “Animal House”, in which Dean Wormer tells the student, Flounder, “Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life.” Dean Wormer’s observation should be heard and followed by the those on the beaches of Spring Break.

THE FEAST OF FOOLS: A Pandemic Danse Macabre

“Eat, drink, and be merry,”
the cry goes out,
as the party ensues.
Unsteady bodies, alcohol impeded
joints and limbs, numbed
commonsense, as they
dance, fornicate, and drink,
unknowing or ignoring
the Black Spectre of Death
who peers at these simpletons
through its beaked-face mask,
patiently awaiting the moment
its sharpened blade makes
its downward journey
upon the necks of the partying.

One would think
armed with historical fact,
the simpletons of today
would have learned
from the deaths of close
to four hundred million
human lives, who chose
to dance in drunken abandon
beneath the blade of the
Beaked-faced, Middle Age demon.
Stupidity, as infectious as the plague,
the one human constant
throughout the ages,
dooming the dimwitted
to foolishly dare pandemic demons
to strike them down.
Brazen stupidity will not
save them from fact.
The grim Beak-faced Spectre
grins at their challenge
sharpens its ax,
… and strikes.

(c) 2020 by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

I have had the great blessing in having many strong women as a part of my life. My mother was a strong and independent woman. My sister, Mary Ruth, was a very strong woman. I married a beautiful, strong and independent woman, Ruth. Ruthie and I raised our daughters, Meg and Beth, to be strong women. As a student, I had a tremendous respect for many of women who were students with me, and a great respect for many of my educators who were women. As a professional, some of the most profound people I have known and consider colleagues have been strong women. In a culture and in most world religions that remain and labor heavily under patriarchy, I find that hope for a better life and better leadership does not lay with men, whose egos have made a horrible mess of religion and human life, but rather with women.

I often have marveled at how women have risen above the obstacles and sexism that men have place in their way, to move humanity far beyond the limited, testosterone filled worldview of men. This is very evident in scripture. The strongest women in the Bible are not those in the Christian Testament, who, with the exception of Mary, Mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene, seem to cave under men. Rather, the strongest women in the Bible are in the Hebrew Testament. Deborah and Jael are wonderful examples of women to whom men would listen, respect, and follow.

I encourage you to read the story of these two women found in Judges, Chapters five and six.

A quick synopsis of the story. During a time when the 12 tribes of Israel occupied Canaan, as a loosely connected confederation, the tribes were easy targets of other Canaan kings. One Canaanite King, King Jaban wreaked all sorts of harm to the tribes of Israel. His general, Sisera, with 900 charioteers killed, sacked, and enslaved mostly women and girls (to be sexual surrogates) for King Jaban and his royal court.

Deborah was chosen by God to be Judge (more a political leader than an adjudicator) and Prophet to end the murderous campaign of King Jaban. Deborah’s court was not some grand building. Rather under a palm tree in the hilly area of Ephraim, she presided over the people. Hearing the cries of her people, she summons the elders and her general, Barak. She tells them that God wants Barak to lead his army of 10,000 infantry into battle against Sisera and his 900 charioteers (think of infantry up against a battalion of tanks). God would go ahead of the Israelite army and would defeat the Canaanite army. Barak says he will not lead the army into battle without the company of Deborah. Deborah she will stand by his side in battle, however, the victory will not be attributed to Barak, but to a woman. Barak agrees. The Israelites engage the Canannites in battle and roundly defeat them, killing them to a man. Sisera flees and takes refuge in the tent of the woman, Jael. She tells him that she will hide him in her tent. He asks for something to drink and she gives him milk. Sisera lies down in her tent and she covers him with a rug. As he falls into a deep sleep, Jael takes a tent peg and a mallet and drives the tent peg through the temple of the sleeping Sisera, killing him. Deborah’s prophesy comes true, the victory belongs to Jael, a woman. The Israelites wage war against Jaban and takes him out of power.

Here is a poem I composed to tell the story of Deborah and Jael.

CANTICLE FOR DEBORAH AND JAEL

Deborah, woman of Lappidoth,
your name is greatly revered
you are the Mother of Israel,
and all hold your memory dear.

God searched for the perfect woman,
whose heart could embrace such a lot,
God chose you as mother and prophet
of this ragtag nation God loved.
Your love for your nation is equal
to the love for the children you birthed,
your love feeds your nation God’s wisdom,
as your love fed the babies you nursed.
Israel is an adolescent nation,
more often than not, a mess
of loosely confederated folly,
yet, you love them nonetheless.

Under the palm tree in Ephraim,
is where you lead in court,
listening to God speak to you
within the shelter of your heart.
Your ears hear the cries of your people,
anguish and fear they impart
tales of enslavement and slaughter
move and stir your heart.
The cruel and arrogant King Jaban,
has sent Sisera, his general,
to wage war, to sack and to kill
your children Israel.
A mother’s love is unconditional,
a love that is greatly revered.
When a woman’s children are endangered,
She becomes a mother to be feared.

You summon the tribes of the nation,
as God’s prophet and as their judge,
you reveal what God has told you,
a force which nothing earthly will budge.
God will be with your army in battle,
you summon your general, Barak,
but, Barak refuses to lead
unless by his side you will walk.
Accompanying him into battle
victory is guaranteed,
but the victory will not be a man’s,
but by woman’s hand victory will be.
God fills your troops with courage
but your enemies feel only dread,
your army is victorious
and Israel’s enemies lay dead.

To the tent of the woman, Jael,
the defeated general, Sisera, flees,
cowardice has crushed his heart
of its arrogance and cruelty.
He seeks to crouch in fear
under a woman’s skirt,
she offers him shelter
and milk to slake his thirst.
Sheltered by Jael’s tent
and hidden under a rug,
Sisera’s strength is spent
and sleeps as if he is drugged.
As he lays in slumber deep,
into her tent, Jael creeps,
and drives the tent peg she holds
into his temple as he sleeps.

Deborah, all you prophesized
revealed to the nation God’s plan,
the victory for your family Israel
was won by a woman’s hand.
Deborah, woman of Lappidoth,
your name is greatly revered
you are the Mother of Israel,
and all hold your memory dear.

© 2021 by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

The music I composed is comprised of three distinct themes or motifs: Deborah’s motif (heard at the very beginning), the Battle (the fugue that occurs in the middle of the song), and Deborah’s Song. You will hear Deborah’s motif three times: once in the beginning, repeated in the middle (though in a minor key), and at the very end along with a Coda. At about 9 minutes and 14 seconds, it is more like a symphonic overture than a mere piano piece.

Here is the music.

Canticle for Deborah and Jael (c) 2021 by Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved. Composed for my granddaughter, Alyssa.

On this Sunday, we hear in the first reading the all too familiar Ten Commandments and in the Gospel the also very familiar story of John’s account of Jesus expelling the merchants and money changers from the Temple precinct.

As the first reading was being proclaimed, it is easy to think of all the “Golden Images” we like to display as our gods in our present time. As human beings we are easily distracted from God, as the human made Golden Images proliferate our lives. It is equally easy to think of how many of the the other commandments are unceremoniously dismissed or at which we scoff with derision as being outdated modes of conduct. When we take time to examine the ten commandments, we must look deeper to the implications to what happens to human lives when these commandments are violated. How, without this guide to our lives, human lives would be rendered chaotic and unable to sustain both life physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Were all these commandments ignored, human life would be unlivable.

As the Gospel was proclaimed, we can also easily think of all the ways our religious institutions are in a great need of cleansing. The trappings of wealth and power are a major obstacle to the spirituality of all our religious institutions regardless of the religious traditions of Christianity, Judaism, Islam and other world religions. The trappings of religious institutions, and the behaviors of religious leaders to whom we give a demigod status can impede our own growth in spirituality.

Both of these readings force us to reflect on the choices that are at our disposal. We can, as Bill Maher regularly does, mock and hold all religion as foolish mythology meant to dull and control groups of people. We can also sit in judgment on human religious institutions demanding that they be “cleansed” of all the folly, the prejudices, and corruption that the humanity within the religious institutions cause.

However, in our listening to these readings today, we also have one other choice, that of using the ten commandments to examine our own lives and those which present a challenge to us, and cleanse ourselves of those behaviors that negatively impact the lives of those we love and those we encounter.

It is so easy, like the Flip Wilson character, Geraldine, to say, “The devil made me do it.” and so, avoid taking responsibility for the negative actions our lives cause others. Blaming others for our negative behaviors is just a “cop out” and we continue to commit actions that our harmful to others and to ourselves. It is equally as harmful to self-flagellate ourselves, like the Opus Dei monk does in the movie, The Da Vinci Code, to rid ourselves of our negative behaviors.

Rather, I suggest a truthful and less violent way to cleanse our own “temples” in which the Holy Spirit dwells. Ignatius of Loyola, a saint within the Roman Catholic tradition, gifted the religious order he began and the Catholic Church with a simple tool of metanoia (daily conversion of our lives to God). It is called the Daily Examen. This is a prayer reflection done preferably at the end of our day. It has six steps.

1. Become aware of God’s presence.
2. Review the day with gratitude. Walk through the day in the presence of God and note its joys and delights.
3. Pay attention to your emotions. Reflect on the feelings you experienced during the day. Ask what God is saying through these feelings.
4. Choose one feature of the day and pray from it. Ask the Holy Spirit to direct you to something during the day that God thinks is particularly important. It may be a vivid moment or something that seem insignificant.
5. Look toward tomorrow. Ask God to give you light for tomorrow’s challenges.
6. End the Examen with a conversation with Jesus. Ask forgiveness for your sins. Ask for his protection and help. Ask for his wisdom about the question you have and the problems you face. And, do all this in the spirit of gratitude.

As individuals, we don’t have a great deal of control over the cleansing of our institutions, political and religious. However, we do have control over the cleansing of ourselves. In the simple steps of the Daily Examen, we are able, with the help of God, to cleanse ourselves of those behaviors that have a negative impact on the lives of those we love and the lives of others. Our own personal cleansing is the important first step toward the collective cleansing of the other institutions of our lives.

In the first reading from Levitcus (13:1-2, 44-46), we hear proclaimed the horrible fate of isolation that the disease Leprosy placed on the one afflicted. Not only were the afflicted faced with the pain and inevitable death sentence the disease had in store for them, the afflicted lose their connection with their family, and with their community. Their family and their community must grieve the afflicted as already dead to them. The afflicted then are expelled from their families and their community and wander into their destiny of isolation, doomed to die a lonely death.

As Ruthie and I reflected on this reading, we were drawn to our present situation. A plague as deadly and as isolating as Leprosy is afflicting the lives of so many. Over 440,000 have died in many ways as alone and as isolated as those wretched mentioned in Leviticus. The grimness as palpable now as it was then.

And then, we get to the Gospel of the day. In Mark (1:40-45) we encounter Jesus responding to the entreaty of the Leper to be healed from the curse of his disease and the horrific isolation he is experiencing as a result. Jesus, instead of being repelled by the man, breaks Mosaic Law, reaches out to the man and touches him, skin upon skin. The man is instantly healed. Jesus then commands the man to go and show the authorities that he is free from disease, with the usual Marcan command to NOT tell anyone who cured him (the Messianic secret). Jesus did not only restore the man to good health. In healing the man, Jesus restored the man to his family and to his community. To his family and community, Leprosy made the man dead. Jesus, in effect, raised the man from that death, and restored him alive to his family and community.

We do not have to be afflicted with Leprosy or Covid-19 to experience hopelessness and isolation. We all have our afflictions, some of them hereditary, some of them imposed upon us, and some, we impose upon ourselves. Our afflictions can be as debilitating and as isolating as that of the plagues that has taken their toll on human life. As with the Leper in the Gospel, we are not doomed to live in isolation. Just as Jesus raised the Leper to new life, so Jesus offers to do the same for us. Jesus reaches out and touches our lives, letting us know that in spite of whatever afflicts us, we are loved eternally by God.

Jesus touches our lives and heals our lives in so many ways. We must be open to the different ways Jesus reaches out to us and heals us. So often we experience the healing power of Jesus through those who listen to us, who speak to us, who pray for us, through those who support us and our needs. Jesus, working through others, liberates us from the isolation in which our afflictions place us.

So on this last Sunday before we begin our Lenten journey, we celebrate the continuation of Jesus’ healing in our lives. In the Paschal Mystery that is a part of our lives, Jesus continues to restore us to life.

Here is a bit of a memory from my Biology class, my junior year. Mr Simmons, was my biology teacher. Following the prerequisite dissecting of fish and frogs, Mr Simmons gave us the assignment of a term paper. I was trying to figure out something that would be a little more creative than the normal term paper. The topic I ended up doing, with Mr Simmon’s approval, was “The Effect of the Bubonic Plague on World Literature”.

The Bubonic Plague, aka “The Black Plague”, which cut a horrific swathe through Middle Ages Europe influenced a lot of art, music, and literature. The Bubonic Plague was not new to Europe. It had inflicted great death upon European populations prior to the Middle Ages, however, not at quite the toll of death as it had in the Middle Ages (it is estimated to have killed 2 million to 4 million people over a period of four years). In ancient Greece, a war between Athens and Sparta ended because of the Bubonic Plague. Sparta was laying siege to Athens. The plague was decimating the Athenian population as greatly as the Spartans. However, some genius among the Athenians decided that misery loves company, and the Athenians started to catapult the dead bodies of those deceased Athenians who died from the plague into the ranks of the Spartans who surrounded the city. When the plague started to spread among the Spartan Army, the Spartans beat a hasty retreat back to Sparta. I learned this by reading the Greek Athenian General Thucydides account of this in his book, The History of the Peloponnesian War.

Of all the literature about which I wrote, the other book I really enjoyed was Boccaccio’s The Decameron (literally 100 tales). Boccaccio wrote about 7 young noblewomen and 3 young noblemen from Florence, who escaped from the Black Death to a secluded villa. Over a period of two weeks, each person was required to tell one story each night. Some of these stories had noble subjects, however, over the period of the two weeks, the stories got more raunchy and downright pornographic (for that time). I remember distinctly the story of one young hermit working out his libido on a young hermitess by putting the “devil into hell.” Needless to say, I enjoyed The Decameron far more than I had the rather dry account of Thucydides account of the Peloponnesian War. Not having quite mastered the 100 words a minute in Mrs Lewis’ typing class yet, my mother got to type the term paper. I think I saw her eyebrows raise a bit as I was describing some of the stories from The Decameron.

For whatever it was worth, I believe I got an A from Mr Simmons on the term paper.

I was thinking of this over the past year as we have been enduring the various surges of our current pandemic. As many of you, I have known quite a few people who have been infected, and sadly, known a number of people of various ages, who have also died because of this pandemic. While Ruthie and I have been sheltering in place throughout most of this year, I decided to spend the months of July and August of 2020 writing and composing music. The subject of the music and poems can be summed up in the title of the music, “Musical Reflections On A Pandemic”.

As grim as the title may sound, neither the music nor the poems are grim, well, some of them are a little grim. Granted I did a prelude and fugue in two parts, relating a story from my nephew who lives in Chicago who recounted that as my grand nephew was being born in a Chicago hospital last April, two stories about the maternity ward, people were dying in droves from Covid 19. However, at the same time, I was musing as to how the pandemic was affecting the love life of adolescents, wondering do teenagers still park and make out these days, or don’t they? Below is the music and the poem that accompanies that musing, entitle “An Estampie For Would Be Lovers” (an estampie was a common dance during the Middle Ages).

AN ESTAMPIE FOR WOULD BE LOVERS

Ah, those isolated places where once
cars and bodies huddled together,
the “lovers’ lanes”, in which
submarine races were observed
with no winners posted,
“to score”, an abashed innuendo
of conquest and shame.
These secluded spots.
grass trampled down by
blankets and cars,
where sexuality was explored,
car windows fogged over
by the breath of its occupants,
shaky adolescent hands
fumbling with buttons and catches,
a stroke here, a grope there,
an indignant slap leaving its mark
across the cheek of the offending,
and the hickey, the mark of Cain,
adorning the neck of the willing.

Only overgrown grasses now
huddle together with overgrown weeds,
hiding from sight these lots
these lots vacant of humanity
and near occasions of sin.
A pandemic plucks the blossoms
off of young adolescent love.
Social distancing causing
near occasions of sin,
minor and major,
literally out of reach.
The facial mask, the chastity
belt for the lips, thwarting
even the most chaste of kisses.
The buildup of hormones threaten
to burst adolescents asunder.
Confessionals as empty as
hospital maternity wards,
I fear for the propagation
Of the human race.

(c) 2020, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

Music and Poem from Musical Reflections on a Pandemic include the following:

Juxtaposition 1: A Prelude for a Dying Love One; a Fugue for a Newborn Infant
An Estampie for Would Be Lovers
Song for the Unknown Dead
A Frolic for Children and Puppies
Juxtaposition 2: A Berceuse for a Deceased Love One; A Waltz for a Newly Married Couple
Sheltering in Love, A Rhapsody for Ruth
The Feast of Fools, A Pandemic Danse Macabre
March of a Solitary Sentry
A Nocturne for Our Medical Heroes
Hymn to Our God of Many Faces

If you are interested in the other music from this song cycle, you can find it for free on You Tube or stream it on Spotify and other streaming services. You will also find it on iTunes and Amazon, under the name Robert Charles Wagner (I know that sounds pretentious but it is the rule of those composing “classical” music to compose under their full names e.g. Johann Sebastian Bach, Ludwig Von Beethoven, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart etc).

I transferred my junior year to St Bernard’s the Fall of 1968. I had previously gone to a Benedictine high school in Lisle, Illinois (Benet Academy, formerly St Procopius), when my dad’s company transferred him from Chicago to St Paul. While the Benedictines taught at both schools, Benet Academy was a fairly high end Chicago suburban high school. However, St Bernard’s was an inner city high school. The campus of Benet Academy, located across the highway from St Procopius Abbey, dwarfed the small campus of St Bernard’s. It was a bit of a culture shock for me, but all for the better. St Bernard’s was earthy, grounded in the every day life of those who taught there and those who were students. There was no pretense at St Bernard’s. Benet Academy was a very good school, but much of what we have seen in all those John Hughes movies based in Chicago, was also a part of the culture at Benet Academy.

I could not have received a better education than that I received at St Bernard’s. However, as good an education I received at St Bernard’s, it was not my education from the school that I have valued the most. Quite simply, what I value the greatest from St Bernard’s is the beautiful girl pictured above, Ruth Ahmann. Ruthie was the first person who greeted me my first day at St Bernard’s. I think I may have been a bit of curiosity among the rest of my classmates, but not so to Ruth. When I got to band, Mr Nequette directed me to my chair next to Ruth. She flashed that beautiful smile at me and greeted me so warmly. I felt like I was at home. In those brief moments before band practiced started, I learned that Ruthie lived with her Aunt Ev and Uncle Harold on Marion Street. I learned she was a senior in high school. I also learned that she could play circles around me on the French Horn.

It took me eight month to gather up the courage to ask her out on a date. A junior in high school asking out a senior in high school? Yet, she said yes. On May 29, 1969, we went out on our first date, and saw the movie “Charly” at the World Theater in St Paul. It was not going to be our last date. On May 29, 2018, in honor of the 49th anniversary of our first date, I composed the following song for her.

This past December 27th, we celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary.

Back in 2011, when I was on a nearly year long medical leave, I remembered that first date on May 29th with this short poem.

FIRST DATE

Pouring down rain drenching the night
as I climb the steps to your  home.
With one knock, light from within
greets me, and there you stand,
the scent of herbal essence from your hair,
your brown eyes looking deep into my soul.
You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle,
open the screen door
and step outdoors.
The drenching rain suddenly
frozen in time
as your hand touches mine
and you laugh,
aware of the secret
I have hidden deep within.

What was the secret? It was quite simple. I was head over heels in love with her. I am still crazy about this beautiful woman.

Given the horrific events of the past four years, e.g. the KKK rally in Virginia, the separation and caging of refugee children from their families seeking asylum in our nation, to the failed rebellion we witnessed at our nation’s capitol on January 6th, I was reminded of a day back in the summer of 1974 in which I saw two movies in the same day, both revealing the face of evil to me.

As a young man, the only time that I would attend a movie was always in the company of Ruth. However, there was one time, and I only presume that Ruth was working a relief shift as a nurse at St Joseph’s Hospital, that I attended two movies in the same day. The Roseville Theater was showing two movies, namely, 1) The Exorcist, and 2) Blazing Saddles. Knowing that Ruth would not necessarily be open to attending either one, I decided to take that afternoon and evening in seeing the two films.

As I have mentioned previously in this blog, in Second Grade, Sister Angeline, a School Sister of Notre Dame, was intent in getting us kids to heaven one way or another. If we were not willingly wanting to go to heaven, she was going to scare us into heaven. To influence our choice, she filled us with all sorts of stories about the agony, torment and flames of Hell, demonic possession, and demons. Needless to say, a second grader is not going to forget any of that, and, those stories remain a part of my consciousness to this very day. She set the theme of the year by stating to my class of thirty children on the beginning day of school, that ten of us were going to go to Hell. Of course, we all knew whom the unfortunate ten would be.

I state all of this to give the frame of mind I was in the day I saw those two movies. I decided to see The Exorcist in the afternoon, take a break, and see Blazing Saddles in the evening. While The Exorcist definitely stirred up those frightening tales told long ago by the well-intentioned nun in second grade, what I discovered that amidst the belly laughs evoked by the Mel Brooks movie, it was his movie that revealed an evil greater than that which was portrayed in The Exorcist. Using comedy, Mel Brooks exposed the evil underbelly of the United States for all to see. In retrospect, I find what Mel did brilliant and at the same time devious in holding up a mirror revealing to people the racism to which they were either blind in their own lives, or tried to hide from society.

What follows here is a poem reflecting on the theme of evil I discovered that summer day in which I saw evil in two films, both equally explicit, but one more revelatory about the evil in the United States. The “you” is a reference to Ruth. This poem is part of a collection of poems dedicated to Ruth entitled appropriately, The Book of Ruth.

THE DEVIL AND MEL BROOKS

The span of time a journey makes
can last days or just a few hours.
My journey, one day, precisely,
an afternoon and an evening,
one I had to make alone, without
you. Most crippling of all human
frailty is that of fear, paralyzing
the human heart, striking blindly
without reason or understanding,
arising within the human spirit
a cruel, at times, heartless spirit.

This one day’s journey is
is marked in the present, but
began in the second grade,
well-meaning her intent,
stories for young minds,
woven by the old nun to
scare us into heaven.
Hell fire, demons galore,
demonic possession, the
tools in her spiritual chest,
to save our young souls
from eternal damnation;
tales placed so deep in our
subconscious, their roots
never eradicated by time,
lay dormant waiting.

Long steeped in fear and
ignorance, our nation
no different than I, though
possessed by another
spiritual force as evil.
Racist roots sunk so deep,
that no amount of Civil Rights
passed by law could attack
the evil at the heart of
our nation. Evil, as ancient
as the dark heart of Evil
personified, is hard to extract,
lay camouflaged, awaiting
the moment to strike.

Like Dante’s poetic journey
of redemption, passing through
the Inferno, Purgatorio, and
Paradiso, a descent, I, too,
must make, no Virgil as my
guide, alas. Passing through
the double doors of the
theater, no sign posted
saying, “Abandon Hope,
Ye Who Enter Here,” I take
my seat in the darkened
auditorium, this not the
occasion for Red Hots and
Milk Duds. The dark grows
even darker as “Tubular
Bells” signals the beginning
of the story, a young girl’s
play with a Ouija Board
opening the door of her
soul to an Evil sworn
to tear apart her spirit
and the spirits of all
whom she loves.

One priest battered in body,
the other, battered in faith,
encounter the epitome
of Evil malignant, no simple
haunting, no mere ghost.
The absence of light,
ironically glaring shows
how Evil inhabits dark
places and dark hearts,
the sound more horrific
than the visual, relentless
the hope of a mother
much stronger than those
empowered to exorcise,
self-sacrifice out of love,
the final tool used to uproot
and eradicate the Evil
from the girl. Climbing out
of the theater in the
manner of Dante, I reach
the lobby, the blessed
brightness of the sunshine
outside takes the edge off
the darkness of the film.

I pause to reflect prayerfully
at the concession stand,
what nourishment to take.
Guided to the Coca-cola
and buttered popcorn,
I walk through another set
of double doors only to be
met by Mel Brooks, my
guide and mentor for the
next journey. Fooled into
thinking that Purgatorio, be
far easier than the Inferno
through which I just had
walked, I was confronted
with an ancient Sin, one
that had broken my nation
asunder just a hundred years
earlier, a necropolis of Sin
that continued to swallow
alive the souls of so many people.

The Evil of racism,
a pandemic striking the
souls of white American
society crosses the screen
in images both meant to
amuse and to accuse.
The humor highlighting
all the more the façade
of respectability, the
racist’s shell game
playing the suckers,
drawing them into their
own sickness. Hucksters,
like the demons of Dante,
use the beans they eat
around the campfire to
trumpet their asses emitting
a substance just as putrid
and foul. Only relentless
goodwill and hope frees
the hearts of those manacled
to the pillar of racism.

I, seeing this comedic vision
examine whether my hands,
my feet are as manacled
as those portrayed in the film.
While bound by chains
not quite as thick and strong,
the chains are there, and
the manacles intact.
I rise and pass through the
doors back into the lobby,
the humor of the film
taking the edge off the
darkness that lay outside .

Confronting one’s fears
does not always defeat
but makes one aware of that
which is hidden inside.
True victory over Evil’s darkness
comes only with allying in trust
with the primal source of love,
the love that overwhelms
all darkness with light.
It will take more than
this Dantesque day’s cinematic
journey to defeat the fear
that is present within my life.
You, will play a big part
in the future triumph
of my spirit over darkness,
our God revealing in you,
so clearly that my eyes
may see, the source of love,
the center of God, who
conquers all darkness.

©2015. The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

This poem by Chesterton begs the question as to where we will find Jesus Incarnated in our present time. The Incarnation of Jesus is certainly not found among the wealthy and powerful of our nation. The Incarnation of Jesus is not found among those gathered on Wall Street, or in the halls of our legislatures. The Incarnation of Jesus is not even found in the mansions of bishops and other religious leaders. As those of spiritual wisdom have found, the dwelling of Jesus is among the poor. If we are looking for Jesus, we need to search out the poor.

GK Chesterton (1874–1936)

The House of Christmas

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost – how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.

This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.