Kakistocrat

Tony Campolo. Letters to a Young Evangelical. New York, NY: Basic Books, 2006. Pp. 280.

Campolo’s latest work is a series of 21 letters, addressed to two young Evangelicals, Timothy and Junia. Campolo admits the inspiration for such a concept (and the names too) lie with the Apostle Paul, who wrote for the same reason that he, Campolo, now writes today: "to keep [such individuals] from being swept up in movements within the church that distorted the Gospel…" Campolo’s biggest concern here, and it is one he has been talking about for years, is the rediscovery of what it means to be Evangelical, a discovery that has been overshadowed by the fac that  "American Evangelicalism today, in the minds of many, has become synonymous with the Religious Right."

Campolo says here, and elsewhere, that his intention is not to give the impression that there is anything wrong with Evangelical Christians predominantly voting Republican. Campolo however asserts that "to ally Jesus with either political party is idolatry [and that] the Jesus of Scripture will not conform to the ideologies of any party [but rather] stands in judgment of all of our political agendas…"

Hoping that Timothy and Junia will not be swayed into believing that the Evangelical faith and the Republican Party are synonymous, Campolo seeks to rediscover what it means to be Evangelical, but because of some uncertainly regarding whether the ‘Evangelical brand’ can be repackaged, he suggests instead the term ‘Red-Letter Christian’ might be more appropriate for those bothered by such an unholy matrimony. He suggests that the ‘Red-Letter Christians’ (those who focus on the red letters of the Bible [the words of Jesus]) cannot be seen as the Evangelical Left, because here again, this is no less an idolatrious claim than the ones that seek a Evangelical/Religious Right partnership.

Campolo strongly promotes what Cardinal Joseph Bernardin referred to as the ’seamless garment theory,’ one that embraces a comprehensive and consistent ethic of life. Therefore the pro-life movement, Campolo argues, cannot be confined to simply an opposition to abortion, but rather must extend itself to an opposition to war, capital punishment, euthanasia, and although (in his chapter on Abortion) he does not extend the pro-life movement to encompass a concern for health care, or the plight of immigrants who have made an illegal entry into the United States, it is hard to imagine how Campolo could view those disinterested in these matters as still being pro-life.

Campolo argues that it is high time Evangelicals overcome their homophobia (Campolo is clear that this does not mean watering down the traditional Christian understanding that homosexuality is disordered), their prejudices against those Islamic, their anti-Biblical defense of women being excluded from the ministerial ranks, and their abhorrence to caring for God’s creation.

One suspects that Campolo is not quite ready to give up on his fellow Evangelicals, and all throughout he reminds his readers that what Evangelicals have become is quite opposite to what the Early Church and early Evangelicals promoted (Jesus was a man of peace, and spoke in no uncertain terms about capital punishment, to site just two very quick examples…).

While I am not an Evangelical, and while one does not have to read and agree with Campolo 100% in order to come away a more informed person, Campolo’s central point, that the Evangelical community is not the arm of any particular political party, is a point worth defending.

The Evangelicals aren’t the first Christian community to have sold their soul in their quest for power, but in an increasingly polarized America, one with few bright spots in the near future for those more conservative, it seems quite foolish that any Church would want to hook themseles to such a sinking ship. And that’s only if we are speaking pragmatically. If we are speaking Biblically, as Campolo attempts to do, it is nothing short than idolatry.

K.

I have had a great deal of time over the last year to reaqcuaint myself with children’s literature (particularly that which appeals to those aged 9 to 13). I intentionally bypassed anything recent. An exception however is Lemony Snicket whose A Series of Unfortunate Events has brought me a great deal of enjoyment.

While each book in the Series is rather predictable (in fact, Snicket often explicitly tells in advance what will happen, as part of his continuous attempt to have the reader put down the book in favour of something less saddening), it is the process of investing something of oneself into Snicket’s characters (and particularly himself) that kept me reading through the Series. Snicket, as the narrator, leaves the occasional passing references to his rather extraordinary person life, and gives mention of a certain Beatrice. Hoping to discover more about her I read on and Snicket does not disappoint, but what I leave with you, are the dedications Snicket extends to his love.

One appears at the beginning of each book.

To Beatrice -
darling, dearest, dead.

To Beatrice -
No one could extinguish my love,
Or your house.

For Beatrice -
I cherished, you perished,
The world’s been nightmarished.

For Beatrice -
We are like boats passing in the night, particularly you.

Potential ways for discussion here could be to discuss the literary merits of the 14 books in the Series, or perhaps their moral or spiritual value, or perhaps an identification of some favourite moments, or lingering questions, or an evaluation of the film starring Jim Carrey which takes plot from the first three books, or even any questions you have about the books (perhaps if you are not familiar with them?). These are just ideas. I wonder whether anyone has read them?

I look forward to hearing from you.

K.

Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory (1940) is set in a southern state of Mexico, where an anti-clerical purge has the last priest on the run. He is heading towards the northern border, across which his Bishop has already journeyed, as have those priests who have escaped with their lives. However, this last priest is in many ways morally inferior to the general literary depiction of priests during the first half of the 20th century, and the Vatican noticed.

The book was denounced and the Vatican initiated a censorial investigation. Peter Godman, granted access to the investigation archives (not normally available for consultation by outside scholars) informs us of the concerns raised by the two censors.

The first censor viewed the book as "sad," because instead of God’s power and glory being on display, as the title of the novel suggests, all that is evident is despair. Godman summarizes his views:

‘Immoral’ or married priests; the ambiguity with which the central figure refers to God and the doctrines of the faith; the conviction of the virtue attributed to Protestants and atheists— all this made it impossible for Greene’s first reader in the Holy Office to see why the book was regarded as excellent literature.

The book should have never been written, according to censor, but since it had, Greene should be admonished by his Bishop and ‘"exhorted to write other books in a different tone, attempting to correct the defects of this one."

The second censor agreed with the first and thought that Greene should be told that "literature of this kind does harm to the cause of true religion [and that] in the future he should behave more cautiously when he writes…"

At this time, the high ranking Cardinal Giovanni Batista Montini inserted himself into the debate. Cardinal Montini (who would later become Pope Paul VI) wrote to Cardinal Pizzardo who was the head of the Holy Office (and in charge of all censorial investigations). Montini writes:

I see that it is judged a sad book. I have no objection to make to the just observations in the [censure of] this work. But it seems to me that, in such a judgment, there is lacking a sense of the work’s substantial merits. They lie, fundamentally, in its high quality of vindication, by revealing the heroic fidelity to his own ministry within the innermost soul of a priest who is in many respects reprehensible; and the reader is led to esteem the priesthood even if it is exercised by abject representatives…

Cardinal Montini suggested that a Monsignor De Luca be consulted for a third opinion before any action was taken. De Luca’s response was rather unambiguous. Greene did Rome credit, he stated, and that he was a sucsessor to Chesterton and Belloc (both English Catholic authors), and that in a country dominated by Protestantism, Greene strived to influence superior intelligences towards favouring Catholicism.

To condemn or even to deplore them (here De Luca refers to Waugh as well) would  be looked at askance in England, and would deal a grievous blow to our prestige: it would demonstrate not only that we are behind the times but also that our judgment is lightweight…

In the case of Mr. Greene, his harsh and acerbic art touches the hearts of the least receptive people and reminds them, however gloomy they be, of the awe-inspiring presence of God and the poisonous bite of sin. He addresses those who are most distant and hostile—those whom we will never reach…

Msgr. De Luca’s advice was never taken, and Greene was reprimanded by his local Bishop and told to take on a more constructive tone in his Books with regard to the Catholic faith.

Greene took it relatively well. He sent off a letter to Cardinal Pizzardo, slyly apologizing for not writing back sooner, saying he couldn’t because he was in the Far East doing his utmost to chronicle the "difficulties faced by the heroic Catholics of Indochina [who are] confronted by the Communist menace." He states that the aim of his book had been to contrast "the power of the sacraments and the indestuctibility of the Church on the one hand with, on the ohter, the merely temporal power of an essentially Communist state." On the advice of his friend Archbishop David Matthew, Greene also wrote to Cardinal Montini making him aware of the situation, seemingly unaware that Montini had intervened the year previous.

While Greene had interesting relationships with each of the Pope’s from Pius XII to John Paul II (John Paul II being the only one he extremely disliked), Greene felt closest to Paul VI.

In a 1965 letter to his daughter Lucy (who actually has a ranch somewhere here in Alberta…), Greene excitedly describes a recent audience with the Pope.

At the beginning of the week I went up to Rome because the Pope had sent me a message saying that he would like to see me.

The Pope talked to me for twenty minutes about why he liked my novels! He had read The Power & the Glory, The Heart of the Matter, Brighton Rock,& Stamboul Train. He gave me a rosary and a nice little case for Vivien…

In ways of Escape, Greene provides a few more details from this meeting:

When I met Pope Paul VI, he mentioned that he had read the book [The Power and the Glory]. I told him that it had been condemned by the Holy Office.

‘Who condemned it?’  [Paul VI inquires]

‘Cardinal Pissardo.’

He [Paul VI] repeated the name with a wry smile and added, ‘Mr Greene, some parts of your books are certain to offend some Catholics, but you should pay no attention to that.

Years later, when aspects of the Church really did come under Greene’s fire, he could still look back without bitterness to this whole Holy Office censorial investigation ordeal.

I wonder whether any of the totalitarian states, whether of the right or the left, with which the Church of Rome is so often compared, would have treated me as gently when I refused to revise the book on the casuistical ground that the copyright was in the hands of my publishers. There was no public condemnation and the whole affair was allowed to drop into the peaceful oblivion which the Church wisely reserves for unimportant issues…

K.

I have been rereading Father Joseph Girzone’s My Struggle With Faith, which was wrongly savaged in the April edition of the Catholic Insight.

At one point Girzone mentions that once he became aware of the Church Fathers, they became an important part of his life. Yet he claims that what he read from and about them was rewarding, but that it was also disturbing. The reason:

Bishops back then were real leaders, unafraid of controversy and highly intelligent defenders of the faith passed on to them from the apostles. They were men of passionate faith, willing to sacrifice themselves totally, even to death, if need be, to defend their faith. As I was learning more and more about Church life today, I did not see very many bishops of that caliber. I saw them more as pious men who were rewarded for their faithful service—company men, as they would be called in industry. It was difficult to respect them; they seemed to be more concerned about their political future than about the priests or people under their care.

It was rare to here a spiritually inspiring sermon or one of a theological nature, discussing dangerous moral or unchristian ideas circulating among the Christian community. Bishops might mention them superficially if there was a current public issue, but they did not provide people with solid or rational theological arguments explaining what should be a thinking Christian’s understanding of such issues. I will never forget the night after a particular bishop was made archbishop; the man was being interviewed on television and was asked about his attitude to abortion. His answer was ‘I am naturally against abortion because it is contrary to the teachings of the Catholic Church.’ I cringed. What a sad reason for a religious leader to be for or against any issue…He could have at least said, ‘I am opposed to abortion because it is the destruction of a human life.’ That would have revealed a much stronger person who did his own thinking and could make a strong statement on a moral issue.

At the same time as the interview with the archbishop, there was an interview with the leading proponent of abortion in England. When asked if he believed the baby growing in its mother’s womb was a human being, he answered without hesitation, ‘You cannot deny that it is a human life; I admit that it is human. But….’ and the discussion continued from there. At least he did not just say, ‘I am in favor of abortion, because all my friends are in favor of abortion.’

Joseph Girzone, My Struggle With Faith (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2006), 105-107.

If people are concerned today about the state of the Church, they need not look to an increasingly empowered laity, nor is blame to be extended to politicians who scandalize their Church by particular positions they take. Rather, such concerned people should look no further than the Bishops, the successors of the Apostles. I suspect most concerned Catholics (and the irony here is that editorial board of the Catholic Insight are concerned Catholics as well) would agree with Girzone, that the caliber of Bishops is less than ideal. An exception is Archbishop Roussin of Vancouver, and his active opposition that was instrumental to Telus Mobility backpedalling in their plan to begin offering pornography sales through cell phones. Equally inspiring was his acknowledgment that he suffered from clinical depression. That showed courageous leadership as often the act of reigning over others is seen in terms of power, rather than as a humble call to serve others. Bishop Henry of Calgary is another, and can certainly not be accused of, to borrow a phrase from Girzone, being afraid of controversy. But these are exceptions to the sad general rule. We shouldn’t have to praise a Bishop for doing what he is supposed to do. Those who are mediocre should be the exception but right now they don’t seem to be. I am sure concerned Catholics in the archdiocese of Winnipeg cannot help but feel a little cynical about Archbishop Weisgerber’s reasons for refusing to allow James Loney to speak about peace at a recent Social Justice Conference. Could such concerned Catholics believe, for example, that the Archbishop’s actions were not related to the fact that he was at that moment in the process of being named the head of the Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops?

K.

Perhaps related to our recent discussions on human salvation, I may have received a ‘Guest Article’ for this blog, which, as its content, may have read, ‘Chantal Kreviasuk can go to hell,’ but if I did, I probably wouldn’t have posted it, partly because it’s mean-spirited, but particularly because I am not sure how many readers would have any idea who this particularly envious Winnipeg artist is. So instead, I will put forward some reading recommendations for the summer, and in light of the fact that reading tastes differ, I have chosen a variety of plot lines, though I have limited myself to the genre of fiction, and I have made good authorship a prerequisite to those books I will now recommend. Here goes:

1. The Power and the Glory (1940), by Graham Greene

In a southern state of Mexico, an anti-clerical purge (rather regular during the 1920’s and 30’s in Mexico) has the last priest on the run. He is heading towards the northern border, across which his Bishop has already journeyed, as have those priests who have escaped with their lives. However, this last priest is a ‘whisky priest’ and is in many ways morally inferior to the general literary depiction of priests during the first half of the 20th century. While the Church originally considered censuring the book, they did wisely retreat, for the book is itself a powerful testament to the sacraments of the Church, and suggests that the graces attached to such gifts are not, and cannot be, outweighed by the particular frailties and sinfulness of those who administer them.

Though fictional, the characters in this story have taken on lives of their own. The following letter was written to the genius author Greene in 1960, by a teacher in San Lorenzo, California:

One day I gave ‘The Power and the Glory’ to an even more specialized reader—a native of Mexico who had lived through the worst persecutions. She was so moved by your story that she volunteered to come into my classes with souvenirs of the period—photographs, communist propaganda, etc., to fill in the background of the story. She confessed that your descriptions were so vivid, your priest so real, that she found herself praying for him at Mass. I understand how she felt. Last year, on a trip to Mexico, I found myself peering into mud huts, through village streets, and across impassable mountain ranges, half believing that I would glimpse a dim figure stumbling in the rain on his way to the border. There is no greater tribute possible to your creation of this character—he lives.

2. A Burnt-Out Case (1960), by Graham Greene

The central character of ‘A Burnt-Out Case’ is Querry, rather, the Querry, a world famous architech, who has lost the ability to see meaning in his work, or experience pleasure in his life. Querry, a burnt-out case, arrives anonymously at a Leper colony in the Congo where Doctor Colin, an atheist physician administers medical care, and a cast of priests and religious brothers oversee all else.

3. The Heart of the Matter (1948), by Graham Greene

‘The Heart of the Matter,’ centers itself around the moral change in the character of Scobie, a colonial police officer in a West African town during World War II. I would recommend it, but am not sure what else to say, except to say that true to the genius Greene’s form, issues of faith and love are dealt with such complexity, that in matters of both, as Scobie find development, those who witness Scobie may instead see a behaviour that has degenerated.

4. The Honorary Consul (1973), by Graham Greene

‘The Honorary Consul,’ was one of the genius Greene’s favourites, and in fact, I find it a particularly good read when placed beside certain other books (about dreams or journeys of coming of age, for example) that are of questionable literary merit, but are still paraded around as the genius Greene’s books are.

The Honorary Consul is Charley Fortun, a divorced (though he quickly gets remarried, this time to his favourite prostitute from the nearby brother), self-pitying alcoholic, who misuses his figure-head position for his own gain, and is kidnapped as a result of his being mistaken for the ambassador.

The story is set in an unnamed town near the border of Paraguay, in northern Argentina, and features a very interesting crew of kidnappers, most particularly its leader, the rebel priest Father Leon Rivas.

5. Travels with my Aunt (1969), by Graham Greene

‘Travels with my Aunt,’ has the most peculiar cast of characters, even by the genius Greene’s standards. There is the 86 year old Aunt Augusta, who travels with her black lover Wordsworth (who calls her his ‘lil bebe gel);Curran, the founder of a Church for canines; O’Toole, a CIA agent obsessed with statistics (particularly those that monitor the length of time it takes to urinate); his hippie daugther Tooley; Mr. Visconti, who has been wanted by Interpol for twenty years; and the central character, Henry Pulling, a retired bank manager, who unexpectedly get caught up with each.

For those emotionally disappointed by the typical Greene ending (as I am almost every time), ‘Travels with my Aunt,’  is a relatively more pleasant experience, though the trade off is that the characters, however interesting, do not force us to invest something in them, as do characters like the whisky priest, Father Rivas, and especially Querry.

Plenty more could be said about each novel, and perhaps more will be in the comment section. Until then, I think this will suffice.

K. 

I read Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer the other day, and not simply is it an enjoyable tale, but it is masterfully (and humourously) narrated as well. The narrator makes very little attempt to conceal his (sometimes very sarcastic) thoughts on a number of issues. 

Of interest here is that which takes place towards the end of the Book when commenting on the death of Injun Joe, and how this death is reacted to by the citizens of the village. I find Twain’s sarcastic critique here very relevant to our own judicial state though I recognize that through his narrator Twain is criticizing citizens themselves while it is the judiciary itself that warrants our own critique.

Injun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked there in boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and hamlets for seven miles around; they brought there children, and all sorts of provisions, and confessed that they had had as almost as satisfactory time at the funeral as they could have had at the hanging.

The funeral stopped the further growth of one thing—the petition to the Governor for Injun Joe’s pardon. The petition had been largely signed; many tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of sappy women been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the governor and implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was believed to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently impaired and leaky water-works.

K.

Those unfamiliar with Giovanni Guareschi’s tales about the parish priest Don Camillo and the Communist Mayor Peppone should really being to familiarize themselves with them. Here, in an unnamed town of the Po Valley, just after World War II, these two foes, despite their many verbal and physical altercations, force the reader (according to Karen Welbourn) to love both, to see them as loving one another, and to also see that something really is at stake when they battle one another.

All this to preface ‘The Meeting,’ and give it a shred of context (though Don Camillo does not feature prominently here). Mayor Peppone, noticing an advertisement stating that a representative of the Liberal Pary will be giving a speech in the town’s Square, summons his General Staff to issue a response. The suggestion of having the Communists burn down the Liberal Headquarters is reluctantly rejected as is the forbidding of the Speech.

Peppone exclaims: "Thats democracy for you! When an unknown scoundrel can speak in the public square."

By three o’clock the Square remains empty, and the Representative has not arrived, so Peppone and some of his men go down to the train station to wait for him. Only a "thin, little man," steps off. Believing the speech must have been cancelled, Peppone is suprised when the man approaches him and asks for directions to the Liberal Pary headquarters. As the train station is a mile away from the village, and since only Peppone has a truck, he ends up providing the ride for the Liberal.

Halfway to the village, Peppone stopped the engine and examined his passenger, who was a middle-aged gentleman, very thin and with clear-cut features. "So are you a Liberal?"
"I am," replied the gentleman.
"And you are not alarmed at finding yourself alone among fifty Communists?"
"No," replied the man quietly. A threatening murmur came from the men in the lorry.
"What have you got in that suitcase?"
The man began to laugh and opened the case. "Pajamas, a pair of slippers, and a toothbrush," he exclaimed."
Peppone pushed his hat onto the back of his head and slapped his thigh. "You must be nuts!" he bellowed. "Why aren’t you afraid?"
"Simply because I am alone and there are fifty of you," the little man explained quietly.
"What the hell has that got to do with it?" howled Peppone. "Doesn’t it strike you that I could pick you up with one hand and throw you into that ditch?"
"No, it doesn’t strike me," replied the little man as quietly as before.
"Then you must either be weak in the ear, or irresponsible, or out to bait us."
The little man laughed again. "It’s must simpler than that," he said. "I’m just an ordinary, decent man."
"Ah, no, my good sir!" exclaimed Peppone. "If you were an ordinary, decent man, you wouldn’t be an enemy of the people! A slave of reaction! An instrument of capitalism!"
"I am nobody’s enemy and nobody’s slave. I am merely a man who thinks differently from you." 

Having filled the square with 2000 men, all of whom were wearing red handkerchiefs (signifying Communism), Peppone explains that as there are only 23 Liberals in this area they don’t really stand out in a crowd. He sarcastically introduces the Liberal, but before the thin man can get out three sentences of his speech, a heckler has struck him in the face with a tomato.

The crowd began jeering, and Peppone turned whte. "Anyone who laughs is a swine!" he shouted into the microphone, and there was complete silence.

Peppone hands him his red kerchief from his neck saying "I wore this in the mountains. Wipe your face." (Peppone fought as part of the Italian Resistance against the fascists during World War II).

Meanwhile, the little man had shaken his head, bowed and approached the microphone. "There is too much history attached to that handkerchief for me to spoil it with the traces of this vulgar episode that belongs to the less heroic chronicles of our times," he said. "A handkerchief such as we use for a common cold suffices for such a purpose."
Peppone flushed scarlet and also bowed, and then a wave of emotion swept the crowd and there was a vigorous applause while the hooligan who had thrown the tomato was kicked off the square.

Though we may strongly disagree with people, Guareschi shows the beauty and universality of kindness both in Peppone, who defends his rival’s dignity, and extends the handkerchief that he wore in the mountains to him, and also in the rival’s basic humility and recognition of the heroism displayed by Peppone during the Resistance. I believe the line "I am merely a man who think differently from you," to be especially powerful.

K.