The Mark

Nearing the end of the semster, and the end of a course on Paul, one theme occuring to MFoD's warped mind is circumcision. It appears in Paul as a sign of a Covenant whose days Paul feels are over (wrongly, as it happens), and has as its biblical origin the response to God's promise to Abraham of land and descendents. More pragmatic origins may be found in the hygenics of the time: circumcized membra are easier to keep clean, therefore less likely to be infected and thus more able to realize the promise of descendents. Jewish boys receive the Mark of Abraham at the age of eight days or so.
Islam also circumcizes its boys, but later on in life, anywhere from late childhood to after puberty. Culturally, the rite indicates that the boy is "clean enough" to get married; its religious symbolism is less apparent, although it appears to have been an accepted practice in the 7th Century. In those cultures that circumcize children, the boys suddenly have attention paid to their genitals, and, in some ways, join the ranks of adult men.
Customarilly, infant boys in the US used to be circumcized as a matter of course. The reasons range from hygenic to "looking like other boys." The practice has recently been declared a sort of genital mutilation, and is being looked at from a medical point of view.
Female circumcision, that's another thing altogether. Rather than the removal of the vestigial prepuce, which serves no critical purpose, girls in cultures that practice female circumcision have their clitoris removed. In some African cultures, this is followed by a sewing-up of the vagina, allowing room for urination. The girl's eventual husband ought to be the only person to release the stitches.
Why does this practice occur? Cultural reasons, mostly. The cultures that use this practice feel that women are sexually insatiable and, if left uncircumcised, would run around uncontrollably, looking for sex partners.
It is easy for people in the West to oppose this practice (and indeed, it ought to be opposed), but, before we become too smug, please let us remember our own continuing struggles with gender equality, in the bedroom, the workplace, and in the sphere of public polity.
The very fact that Western men have to be taught to (and sometimes cajoled into) being reciprocating sex partners, that there is even a question about a woman being President of the US (this is not a plug for Ms. Rodham-Clinton), that calling a man a "woman" is still an insult, shows how far we have to go. Thankfully, we don't practice genital mutilation, but a mutilated soul is no more healthy, and quite often less so (at least the circumcised woman has the blessing of her society).
Before we start throwing those stones, let us put our own glass houses in order.

Image: student.bmj.com

Now It's Istanbul, Constantinople

As one of MFoD's closest chums is soon to be on his way to Turkey, it's a good time to deal with the country's most important city: Istanbul, or is it Constantinople?
With a with a 99% Muslim population, yet with a staunchly (some may say ruthlessly) secular government, Turkey is a bit of a paradox in today's world. This paradoxical situation is not new to the land area on which the Turkish populace live, as our blog shall discuss.
"Asia Minor" was the old name for Anatolia, Asian Turkey. Until the incursion of Islam, the region was Greek in language, culture and architecture. Indeed, one of the modern Turkish government's dearest charges is the guardianship of literally thousands of ruins from Hellenistic and Roman times.
When Emperor Constantine I decided that a distinctly backwater town, Byzantium, ought to be the new Rome, he brought into being a glorious city, one that today still glows under the mantle of "imperium." The town's strategic value, standing as it does on the Bosporus Straights, and controlling all sea traffic between the Mediterranean and the Black Seas, was chief in the emperor's mind. It was a brilliant decision, bringing the city, soon to be called (though never officially named) "Constantinople" into a position of world domination.
As the city prospered and took over Italian Rome's place in the empire, a question emerged among the newly-legalized religion of Christianity. At this time, the more important cities in the religion were Syrian Antioch and Egyptian Alexandria, not Rome or Jerusalem as might be expected. Both cities were powerhouses of theology, and wished for similar strength in the political realm. It was not to be. However, the cities had two points in their favor: they were the strongholds of a culture more ancient than that of Byzantium, and they were incontestably "Apostolic Sees."
For the uninitiated, an Apostolic See is a Christian community traditionally founded by one of the Apostles (Rome and, obviously Jerusalem, had that honor, but had not yet gained religious importance). Constantinople found itself at a disadvantage, for there was no record of an apostolic visitation, nor was there any reason for there to be one. The solution? Invent such a visitation.
The Apostle chosen to be the "founder" was St. Andrew. His history, as told in Acts of the Apostles, certainly did not rule out the possibility that he did yearn to convert those in northern climes. And, there were those rousing stories that appeared in the 3rd Century that had him converting cities full of cannibals and saving virgins from impropriety. Of course, such an heroic figure would found the Church that was to become the First City in the Roman Empire. Even then, he knew. His remembrance day (November 30) is looming as we write.
Today, the See remains the home of the Patriarch of Constantinople (while studying in Turkey, MFoD was entertained in his beautiful wooden palace). The new name, "Istanbul" is, believe it or not, Turkified Greek, translating very roughly as "City on the Hill."
Turkey, a land of delights, of excellent food, well-preserved ancient ruins, MFoD's favorite basilica (Hagia Sophia), and, for the most part, pleasant open-minded people. And a country with one of the most varied histories on earth. And above it, the mystery of the Apostles hovers. Such a glorious set of paradoxes.

Image: Icon of St. Andrew

A Latin Beat

The new papal permission given to the use of the Tridentine Rite of the Latin Mass can only bring happiness to the more artistic among Christians and those lovers of Christian language and ritual. While news outlets (even the New York Times, which should know better, though it rarely does) are heralding the return of the "Latin Mass," their usage is imprecise. The post-Vatican II Eucharistic Liturgy's first language is Latin; what people hear in their own countries is a translation into the vernacular. Pope Benedict XVI has sanctioned the use of the rite that was replaced by the liturgical reform.

There were reasons for this replacement, not the least being the shockingly negative view of the Jewish people promulgated in the old rite, especially in the Good Friday prayers; one hopes (and prays) that they will not be allowed back. Another reason, as Pope John XXIII (the last pre-media-savvy pope?) said, was to bring a breath of fresh air back into the Church.

MFoD is as fond of fresh air as anyone else, but, having learned the liturgy as an altar server in the original Latin, has missed it ever since. Although now not a Catholic, MFoD treasures a Catholic Latin Missal, with all of the Tridentine flourishes intact. Just reading it brings one back to the days when Catholicism had a liturgical language, a set of beautifully-composed words and prayers that, in the words of Joseph Campbell, "pitched (one) out of the everyday connections of one's domesticity," and sent one into the realms of mystical communication with the Divine. Just opening the Missal sends MFoD to those halcyon days when Church was a beloved mystery.

There are those, however, whose welcoming back of the Tridentine Rite is fraught with heretical overtones. Those people, as one priest of their ilk recently said, "were the crazy old aunties in the attic," but he feels that they are no more. Sorry, Padre, but you are as much a nutty auntie as before; the "traditionalist" rejection of any Liturgical Prayer not said in Latin is still a scandal among the Catholics. As if Jesus spoke in Latin himself!

No, the possibility of Gregorian Chants returning (they don't "travel" well to other languages), the glorious prayers being intoned with medieval splendor, and the priest facing in the same direction as the people ("pitching out" once again) do not represent the only way, but they do represent a beautiful alternative.

Saints and Souls

Following right on the heels of Halloween are two Christian celebrations: All Saints Day and All Souls Day. Both were almost certainly conceived as palliatives to the pagan Sabbat that precedes them, yet both keep the same theme as Samhain: the connection of the physical world to the spiritual world.
A day to remember all those who have led exemplary lives, especially those whose lives are not officially recognized by organized religion, is a good thing to have, and can lead us to a game of, "Who are your Saints?" Almost everyone can, with only a little thought, come up with a list of answers to the question. Sainthood is recognition. Each of us has, or aspires to, individual qualities that we appreciate seeing in others, especially others who exemplify those qualities. These people, living or dead, are Saints for us. They lift our world into sanctity, that is, a realm or position above the mundane. They touch our souls, allowing us the vision of accomplishment, whether it be personal, professional or artistic accomplishment. Like incense, they evoke the cloud of otherness while at the same time tickling the senses. A Saint is an embodiment of the best that is in us.
All Souls Day, on the other hand, refers to those who, in the Catholic tradition, are experiencing Purgatory, or those still living, not yet officially sanctified souls. Here, we look to Latino cultures to get it right. They don't spend the day in some stuffy old Church; they go out to the cemeteries, bringing with them picnics, offering food and rink beloved by their departed relatives and friends. Then, right at the grave site, they have a party, celebrating the life of the Soul, sanctified or not. Indeed, the very action of celebration sanctifies those who have gone before us. For Latinos, El dia de los muertos is the experience of making a Saint, for Sainthood is recognition.

Image: geocities.com