August 2011 - Page 2 of 7 - The Rev. Kenneth Allen

The Ancient Route of St. Denis

August 26, 2011

A few years ago I found myself in Paris for several days. I went to as many Catholic sites as I could find, and that I could fit into my stay. One of those sites was St. Denis, the ancient necropolis of the royal family of France.

I had read in a guidebook that one was still able to walk the ancient route of St. Denis from the city center out to the suburb of St. Denis. And somehow in my mind this became a quasi-romantic notion, which took hold of me as a fitting tribute for a pilgrimage to the resting place of St. Louis, King of France.

I decided to walk the ancient route of St. Denis. I certainly needed the exercise after spending several days in Normandy.

And it’s not like you do enough walking in Paris anyway. (Not.)

I really spread out in a hotel room, and this cozy space was no exception. A great bed, a great desk, and a great tub; that’s about all I need in a room. It was a dark and overcast morning, and I slept in a bit.

But only a bit, because doesn’t everyone want to walk the ancient route of St. Denis while in Paris?

In fact, it was very overcast.

And, in fact, the ancient route of St. Denis is not a route I’d recommend to anyone. You walk through some interesting neighborhoods for sure.

But they include a red light district lined with adult theaters, and some other questionable areas intermixed with relatively nice ones. You end up near the Stade de France, and then walk into the ancient neighborhood of St. Denis.

Making a final bend into the ancient suburb, I passed an elderly Indian woman who was using the restroom under a tree, and cleaning herself. I was slightly aghast, mainly because of my stupidity in thinking this would have been a great walk to take.

You can see the Church as you continue walking, but once you get into the ‘hood, it’s actually pretty hard to find it, hidden from view by the buildings surrounding it, amidst the winding streets.

My exasperation grew until suddenly, a large alleyway opened up, and there it was. There’s a Metro station right next to it.

It’s really very beautiful.

The neighborhood is filled with Muslim immigrants.

I was filled with wonder, imagining the Masses and religious ceremonies which had taken place here. (Can you imagine how long it would take a wedding procession to enter in here? 30 minutes at least.)

These tombs were preserved in the Revolution, as artworks. The bodies within were removed, and eventually returned and reburied in a crypt in the basement. The ground level is filled with these flat tombs, or other tombs with bodies in repose…

And from the chapel on the higher level, the tops of some of the tombs have images of the deceased kneeling, so it looks as if they are assisting at Mass, or praying in Heaven.

I thought that was wonderful, though everyone I explained it to when I was showing pictures looked at me and said “Uhm, hmm,” as if it’s the most common thing in the world. And I then I felt ignorant. Though not very; I had simply never seen it before.

A small chapel in the very end of the Church contains the remains of Louis, a part of one of his fingers; an unfortunate result of dying in a foreign country, and having religious wars break out in your own. God bless him, and may he rest in peace. I stopped to pray awhile.

All in all, I’d highly recommend a trip to St. Denis while in Paris. I’d highly recommend against walking the ancient route of St. Denis.

But I felt that no trip to France would have been complete without a visit to St. Louis, and I’m very thankful for the entire opportunity.

Amen.

Louis, King of France

August 25, 2011

Two years ago I made a sacred pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Louis, King of France. It was fraught with both ignorance and wonder.

I’m intent on writing about that, but I’ve become convinced that tonight my computer is possessed and needs a thorough healing. Either that or I’ve got too many image files stored on it, and it needs a thorough cleaning, which is entirely posible.

Here are several things about St. Louis, culled around the net, which help to provide some insight into the remarkable man that he was.

He was eleven years of age when the death of Louis VIII made him king, and nineteen when he married Marguerite of Provence by whom he had eleven children.
Saint Louis used to genuflect during the Nicene Creed to show reverence to the incarnation of Christ. The king’s practice became widespread and is now observed in the universal Church. It’s why we bow during the line of the Creed “by the power of the Holy Spirit, He was born of the Virgin Mary , and became man.” In the Christmas season we, too, genuflect.
Louis’ was a great patron of the arts, and that drove innovation in Gothic art and architecture. The style of his court radiated throughout Europe in the purchase of art objects from Parisian masters for export, and by the marriage of the king’s daughters and female relatives to foreign husbands and their subsequent introduction of Parisian models elsewhere.
St. Louis led an exemplary life, bearing constantly in mind his mother’s words: “I would rather see you dead at my feet than guilty of a mortal sin.” His biographers have told us of the long hours he spent in prayer, fasting, and penance, without the knowledge of his subjects.
He was renowned for his charity. The peace and blessings of the realm come to us through the poor he would say. Beggars were fed from his table, he ate their leavings, washed their feet, ministered to the wants of the lepers, and daily fed over one hundred poor.
He is the only canonized king of France.
His tomb at Saint-Denis was a magnificent gilt brass monument designed in the late 14th century. It was melted down during the French Wars of Religion, at which time the body of the king disappeared. Only one finger was rescued and is kept at Saint-Denis.
The Sainte Chappelle, an architectural gem, was constructed in his reign, and it was under his patronage that Robert of Sorbonne founded the “Collège de la Sorbonne,” which became the seat of the theological faculty of Paris.

He left a legacy as an exemplary King in Christendom, and was admired by almost everyone. France became a pre-eminent power in Europe militarily, financially and culturally. Napoleon said of him that he was the only king of France worthy of the title.

Louis IX considered himself, “God’s lieutenant on Earth”; he took that seriously and prayerfully, and left behind a wonderful legacy for the world to follow.

Joyce Harrington

August 24, 2011

A thousand years ago, or so it seems sometimes, I stopped smoking cigarettes. And it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. Being a quintessential introvert, I found help with an online support group.

After I had joined, the very first person to write me back was Joyce Harrington. She wrote the loveliest most encouraging note, and I felt immediately welcome.

About a year later I was still trying to stop smoking, and realized that I had no choice but to just finally quit, whether I liked it or not, and to suffer through the horrible effects of withdrawal and general misery that go with quitting smoking. (It’s a terrible feeling, FYI.)

Joyce meanwhile had started smoking again and was going through the same thing more or less, so we decided to become Quit Buddies. And we both quit! We laughed, we cried, we craved nicotine, we posted in the group madly (well, I did that, Joyce was much more composed than I,) and in general got on with our newly smoke free lives.

Many people in that group knew Joyce much better than I, even though we wrote regularly. She lived in Manhattan, and those in the area, or who travelled there with some frequency, saw her off and on. I had entered seminary the next year and had no business in New York, until a few years ago.

One of my friends had joined the Conventual Friars of the Renewal, and was making his Solemn Profession. And it was in New York City!

I made plans to go and wrote Joyce and we made a date and had the best time finally meeting one another over an extended lunch on the Upper East Side near the Modern Museum of Art. I visited with her and her friend Myra. And I’ll cherish the memories forever.

Earlier this year I found out that Joyce had died, and I became very sad. I found one of her sons and we wrote about it, and then I found some mutual online friends and we grieved together. Whoever thinks that meeting people online is not real life, has some things to learn.

Joyce’s son Evan has put together a wonderful site devoted to his mother’s work. She was a successful novelist, and an Edgar Award winning mystery writer.

She was a wonderful writer, a beautiful person, and I knew her as a wonderful friend.

Imagine

August 23, 2011

I’m about to commit a pop-culture heresy of major proportions.

And I completely understand that most people will never understand it, will never agree with it, and will never be able to read my weblog again.

But I have to.

You see, I can’t stand the song “Imagine”.

lyrics taken from “Imagine”, by John Lennon.

“Imagine there’s no Heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today”

I can imagine that, and I don’t like it.

Those facts of heaven and hell don’t constrict our lives, and are not bad things. Rather, sentimental musings set to mindless pop tunes, and contributing to zoned out states of wonderment in otherwise ludic people, if you can imagine that, constrict our lives. It creates a tension in people of Faith and draws souls into a popular culture which has at its core an age old lie of personal hedonism.

“Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace”

No countries. No religion. Just a big free for all where everyone lives in peace.

That’s a good idea.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to describe heaven, but saying that heaven doesn’t exist. …. You know, it’s perilously kinda sorta close to Christianity, but without Christianity. It’s kind of like, sugar coated hatred for religion.

“You may say that I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one.”

No, I’ll never be joining you. It’s not that I think your a dreamer John, it’s that I don’t like your music and, even more, your lyrics.

I admit it, I just don’t like this song. From the first time I heard it, I’ve thought it was one of the most inane and boring things I’d ever heard in my life. I was 10 years old, the Mass had just changed into the new Mass, and this song was floating over the airwaves.

To this day when it comes on, I’ve seen intelligent people of good faith get dreamy eyed and start bobbing their heads back and forth singing “Imagine there’s no heaven…”

I just don’t get it. I tried to like it, I even pretended to like it when I was younger and trying to look like I knew what was going on in life.

Imagine this….

Imagine there is a heaven, and it’s a great and beautiful place where there are no more tears and every sadness is wiped away.

Imagine there is a heaven, and everyone has perfect physical health, radiant and whole; and the music is more enjoyable than anything ever heard, and that a love more profound than anything you may ever recall fills your entire being with a peace so full and profound that you wish to share it with all the men and women there. And, it’s great fun.

Imagine there is a hell, and that if you want to go there you are entirely welcome to go, of your own free will.

Imagine that for God time does not exist, and that He, and his angels, can come into any and every moment of our life and look at it in its fullness, and inspect whether or not we are the living work of art he created us to be. And that in His mercy, he understands our weak moments and loves us all the more for trying so hard.

Imagine that every moment is an opportunity for wholeness and completeness, for healing and growing into the fullness of who we are destined to become.

Imagine that religion is not a man made thing that constricts you, but that it is a God made things that sets you free, and that gives you tools to overcome the complications of life.

Well, would you imagine that?

I remember when John Lennon died, I was studying for an American History exam in college (I loved that course.) The girl I was studying with went to answer the phone in the hallway (can you imagine that?) and came back in tears. “J-John Lennon’s been shot!” “What?” I was completely in the moment.

“He.. he’s been shot!” She dabbed a tear from her eye.

“That’s terrible, I said.

We paused.

“So… What did you think of this discussion about the “The Muckraker”?”

She stopped studying and was on the phone for the next two hours. (I aced the exam.)

Understandably, people will always love the song, and the man. And I do understand that, and respect his musicianship and talent.

I just never want to imagine the world as John Lennon saw it. Sometimes life just boils down to profoundly simple choices. I can choose the view of John Lennon, or I can choose the view of Jesus Christ. The views here are not compatible, and I choose Christ.

Beloved Margaret Haughery of New Orleans

August 22, 2011

I’ve taken an interest in Margaret Huaghery. She was a humble woman of extremely humble origins who, through hard work and prayer built a small empire and dedicated her time and wealth to helping the poor and the orphaned.

Margaret’s Birthplace has been preserved.

There’s a Margaret Huaghery site.

And there’s even a Catholic Encyclopedia Article on Margaret Haughery.

In New Orleans there’s a Restore the Monument organization.

There’s even a musical!

Well, there are lots of others it seems.

But the one I find most interesting is on Facebook, from the “Beloved Margaret Haughery of New Orleans” page.

Here it is, for future reference:

(reprinted from the Facebook page, Beloved Margaret Haughery of New Orleans.)(Well, it’s evidently also on the page over at Vieux Carre Productions, for the musical.)

Margaret Haughery (1813 – 1882) was a philanthropist known as the “Mother of Orphans.”

She opened up four orphanages in the New Orleans area in the 19th century. Many years later in the 20th and 21st centuries several of the asylums Margaret originally founded as places of shelter for orphans and widows evolved into homes for the elderly.

Margaret Gaffney Haughery (pronounced as HAW-a-ree) was a beloved historical figure in New Orleans, Louisiana, in the 1880s. Widely known as “Our Margaret,” “The Bread Woman of New Orleans” and “Mother of Orphans,” Margaret devoted her life’s work to the care and feeding of the poor and hungry, and to fund and build orphanages throughout the city. The poor called her “Saint Margaret.”

An Irish immigrant widow of many titles, Margaret was also commonly referred to as the “Angel of the Delta,” “Mother Margaret,” “Margaret of New Orleans,” the “Celebrated Margaret” and “Margaret of Tully.” A Catholic, she worked closely with New Orleans Sisters of Charity, associated with the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New Orleans (the second-oldest diocese in the present-day United States).