My demon's name is Desdemona

I published an article last year about Dominique, the name I gave my muse, my creative force, my inner daemon (in the ancient Greek sense of the word). But this year, I encountered a destructive force. Encountered isn't the word--it's possessed. By Desdemona, a demon. A real one--not a daemon, that ancient lesser Greek entity at work in Plato's Symposium. No, a demon from within.

Before this year, honestly, I had trouble with the whole Satan/Devil thing. There's a dude opposing God? Since God is not a dude, not in any sense human minds can comprehend, how could there be an opposite dude? I prayed the prayer to St. Michael the Archangel with derision when our diocese started adding on to the end of Mass. Or I prayed it during the 2016 election with the images of certain politicians who shall remain unnamed as "all the evil spirits who roam about the world seeking the ruin of souls." And ruin, they have. 

But this year, this blasted 2018 with its dramatic overtones of loss and abandonment (my husband and partner of 25 years left to live with a woman half my age; my first born turned 18 and left the nest for college; my 15-year old feels abandoned by his father and disappointed in his mother's nightly cries of loneliness) has now turned catastrophic with the further revelations of abuse in the Catholic Church, my church, my home and the focus of my life. 

Archbishop Robert Barron of Word on Fire and all things Catholic media fame has also come to understand the actual "demonic" plague that infects our church. I don't always agree with Archbishop Barron, but I gotta hand it to him for being an intelligent and earnest man and a media genius. And the force that's plaguing the church is demonic. There simply is no other word for it. There are many ways to work towards healing the church--but, honestly, the demons must go. (I'm avoiding the E word because I still can't watch William Friedkin's 1973 horror film from beginning to end in one sitting). 

Demons are a bit overly anthropomorphic for my taste, but they are Truth. Evil, defilements, (the gospel reading from this last week in Mark, chapter 7 focus on the defilements which come from within), and darkness possess the heart and feed the demons. Revenge and resentment breed an interior demonic force that can take over even the most progressive, feminist, ecumenical, compassionate woman of faith. I am ashamed because of the part I've played in my own revenge tragedy. And I am devastated by the men who have perpetuated crimes in my Church. 

And I pray to St. Michael the Archangel now in a spirit of surrender--to God, to the Sacred Heart of Compassion in God's beloved child, and I join Mary as a mother, sorrowful and hopeful, that we can cleanse our own hearts and reach out in prayer and love to all of those whose hearts are broken and whose lives are devastated by demons, the ones born from within and those created by a culture of criminal silence. 

The Day after Healing with a Mendicant's Heart

Revenge tragedies. I saw a beautiful student production at the U of I's Krannert Center yesterday of Mozart's Don Giovanni. Voices and performances and orchestra and the SET were simply sublime. And so was the deep river of vengeful feelings I'm experiencing in the midst of grief. When a loved one dies, we go through anger, denial, acceptance, bargaining, depression--in no particular order. I know--I'm still cycling through all of those in the nearly twenty years since my mother's tragic death. But when a long-term loved one rejects love, rejects the present and the future, anger isn't anger; it's revenge. Watching Donna Anna, Zerlina and Masetto, and the Commendatore seek revenge on Don Giovanni for his callous sins and delighting in watching their revenge play out in the swirl of Mozart's overwhelming music was, well, downright cathartic. Revenge lures us into fantasies and the delight of imagined strokes of genius as we plot out a nasty comeuppance for those who have betrayed us. It would be easy to exact revenge. And I want to. 

But, as sensual as revenge is, gratitude and an open/begging heart must rule our individual cosmology. I know this. I'm trying to live it. But today, I may find some powerful versions of Don Giovanni to download on my newest Spotify playlist: Amy's Revenge Songs. 

Healing with a Mendicant's Heart

When the little man from Assisi stripped naked in the public square in the late twelfth-century and denounced his father's lucrative cloth-trading business, he became, at that moment, a beggar. Our culture doesn't like beggars. We ignore them. We walk past the homeless and those asking for money for food, train tickets, gas, or medicine for their children. They wander the streets, begging for our help. 

St. Francis of Assisi was a beggar, or more accurately and theologically savvy, one of the first to found a mendicant order. We like the term "mendicants." It sounds much better than "given to begging." But that's exactly what the earliest Franciscans (and Dominicans) were--beggars. They owned nothing. They relied solely on the open hearts and giving spirits of the people in Italy or Spain, or wherever their prophetic journeys took them. 

In the last few weeks, I have found it is actually more healing to receive than to give. When in the midst of my own losses, of love and of the home life I had and hoped was secure, I felt stripped of everything I had known: my husband's love, my sense of security, my own life. But healing is happening because of the pure open hearts and giving spirits of friends who, without me even asking, have given me meals, gift cards for more meals, help, love, advice, wisdom, and genuine and deep friendship. I cannot imagine how I'd have gotten through these last months without friends like Tammy and Kim, Denise and Peg(s), the Carolyn(s), Traci, Lori, Paula, Deanna, Amber, Patti, RuthEllen, sweet Jane, Joel's crocheted critters, Angela, Jennifer, Jan, Barb and dozens of loving members of Forty Martyrs Catholic Church in Tuscola, Lisa, Tanya, and AnnaMaria, plus many others. Someone said that when you lose a love, a long-term relationship or marriage, people don't swoop in and help like they do when you lose someone to death. But I have found, with my begging and desperate heart, people do swoop in to help and love and feed, both spiritually and literally. 

But we must be open up to be a mendicant--a beggar. We aren't always good at accepting help. Most people prefer to give it--to make that lasagna and deliver it to a family in need. Mendicancy is a treasure of the spiritual life and one we can count on in times of sorrow. We must be truly and deeply grateful for the salvific power of brokenness which can lead to new life if only we are willing to open our brokenness up to others and to receive their love. 

Original Screenplays

They're uncommon. At least in feature film releases for those of us who don't live in "selected cities" (by which film companies mostly mean New York, L.A., and sometimes Chicago). But we lucked into being a selected city (by we I don't mean my hometown of Tuscola "sans movie theater" Illinois, but rather Champaign-Urbana, which is where you go to do anything if you live in Tuscola). But this year, I've seen two incredibly original screenplays. Not a story based on true events. Not a re-write after a re-write after a re-write of tired stories like Ben-Hur or the Magnificent Seven (I haven't seen those yet--but really, Hollywood, those needed to be remade?). But earlier this year, I was stunned by the originality of Bryan Sipe's script for Demolition, and yesterday, I was blown out of my seat by Taylor Sheridan's screenply for Hell or High Water. I hadn't heard of either writer, though I loved last year's Sicario, Sheridan's biggest film credit to date. What worked in these screenplays that stood out? Economy for Sheridan and outstanding creative idea-making from Sipe. Sheridan created rich and deep characters through short powerful lines of dialogue. So much so that even the annoying dude next to me rattling his SweetTarts wrapper stopped to listen to Chris Pine and Ben Foster portray two troubled Texans looking for a better future. Economy of language, but plenty of punchy lines for veteran Jeff Bridges, a shoe-in for this year's Supporting Actor nominations. Giles Nuttgens camera work is stunning. The film is flawless. Bryan Sipe's Demolition script has heart-stopping emotion buried inside an intriguing story about a recent widower who demolishes his life to see if he can put it back together (the demolition is literal and figurative). And if Demolition's star Jake Gyllenhaal is overlooked again this year, well, I'm not saying what I'll do, but it won't be pretty. Not to be forgotten this year so far is also Yorgos Lanthimus and Efthymis Filippou's quirky fantasy The Lobster. I'm starting to have hope that Hollywood (but really the indie filmmakers we've been seeing carry the ball lately) will at least give me some real stories without relying on tired plots, explosions, car chases, and sad adaptations of books because no one will take a risk on a story written directly for the screen. Hell or High Water is getting oodles of buzz and that is nothing but a good thing for film and for original screenplays and the people who love them. 

Dissatisfaction with unexamined life

Thomas Merton's journals have guided my contemplative journey since their publication between 1995-1998. The seven volume set guides me, and all contemplatives, through his early conversion and joy, to mid-life angst and doubt in his vow of obedience, and into his later fecund spiritual awakening before his untimely death in 1968. This political season, with its focus on anger, petty bickering, disdain for the Other, and alpha male partisan gamesmanship, especially in reference to the SCOTUS nomination process, has garnered attention for the unexamined life in ways Merton may never have dreamed of. Our culture's worship of ignorance and its disdain for educated leaders will be our ultimate downfall. If we are to "win" the wars we fight (against ISIS, terrorism, hatred, bigotry), we must be wise and thoughtful, examining our public discourse and pronouncing our repudiation for men and women who advocate torture, hatred, and violence against enemies and Others. I find it difficult to stay in the moment, especially the public moment, when I'd rather retreat to a hermitage and ignore the public square. But that's not what Merton taught. Engagement is a must, even when those with whom we must engage are enmeshed in what can only be called the behavior and attitudes of the anti-Christ. 

I do not refer to the anti-Christ in the same way my Fundamentalist brothers and sisters may inherit; rather, look at political candidates' revelry in popularity, poll numbers, wealth, exclusionary rhetoric, and suspicion of the Other. Does it match Jesus of Nazareth's beatitudes: blessed are the meek, the humble, the mourners, the poor in spirit, the peacemakers, and the persecuted? If you are preaching success, money, and power, can you be a follower of the One who denied the efficacy of all of those?