The See of Baltimore

Last Sunday, I took the train up to Baltimore for the afternoon. My thesis at Catholic University involves developing a design for a museum of American Catholicism. My site is currently in rural St. Mary's City, Maryland, the first place in the Colonies where Catholics were free to settle. It's beautiful, but it is far from DC and is quite remote. It was suggested to me during my final review for the semester that I consider a more urban site, given the largely urban nature of American Catholicism as a whole.

To that end, a visit to Baltimore was in order. Baltimore is the oldest diocese in the United States. Its first bishop, John Carroll, was a cousin to Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only Catholic signer of the Declaration of Independence. During the 19th Century, Baltimore - like many American cities - swelled with Catholic immigrants from Europe, lending various layers of character to its many unique neighborhoods. In all, I am growing more convinced that an urban site for this museum makes more sense.

Below are a few photos of the magnificent old Cathedral of the Assumption, the first Cathedral in the United States. I thought it interesting that it was built in the Neoclassical style that was so often used for government buildings and Protestant churches. It was quite beautiful.

Je me souviens

"He thought of the war and the English with the same bitterness. How could French-Canadians -- the only real Canadians -- feel loyalty to a people who had conquered and humiliated them, and were Protestant anyway? France herself was no better; she had deserted her Canadians a century and a half ago, had left them in the snow and ice along the Saint Lawrence surrounded by their enemies, had later murdered her anointed king and then turned atheist. Father Beaubien had no fondness for the Germans and no wish for them to win the war; he knew nothing whatever about them. But he certainly knew if a people deserted God they were punished for it, and France was being punished now."

--- from Two Solitudes by Hugh Maclennan (1945)

The book Two Solitudes is apparently a landmark of Canadian literature (I confess my ignorance of all Canadian literature outright - unless you can count Life of Pi). It takes place during and after World War I in Quebec, and follows the soap-opera-esque actions of the aristocratic Tallards - an old French landowning family who practically run the small fictional town of Saint-Marc. Adding depth to the story are a Nova Scotia sea captain who buys land in Saint-Marc, causing a stir amongst the entirely French population; the parish priest who resents Mr Tallard's anticlerical streak; a prominent English banker in Montreal; and Mr Tallard's Irish wife and two sons. 

I remarked a few weeks ago about "the pre-revolution" and how interesting it is to me to see what gives rise to massive social change. In the 1960s, Quebec (and France, but that is a separate issue) went through a massive societal upheaval known as the Quiet Revolution. The Church and the conservative provincial government were swept out of politics and social life. What had been one of the most institutionally vibrant centers of global Catholicism saw all of its influence vanish almost overnight. Of course, the Quebecois still employ church vocabulary as swear-words, even if fewer and fewer of them understand their origin. 

In any event, Two Solitudes paints a rather convincing picture of pre-Quiet Revolution Quebec. The Church was The People and they both resented what they perceived as English intrusion on their land and their way of life. I read somewhere that apart from the various Native American cultures, the French Canadians and the American Confederacy are the only "defeated" peoples of North America. They are the only two groups who have been told that their way of life and their rights to self-determination are wrong. Of course, we can exhaust a lot of time arguing over the merits of each, but I present the comparison as a way of understanding the thinking of the time period. In any event, the Quebecois in the Nineteenth and early-Twentieth Century regarded the English in much the same way that a Southerner might've regarded a Yankee during Reconstruction. The difference, as you may have guessed, was the Quebecois saw their struggle through intensely religious eyes. Not only was their way-of-life being repudiated - their faith was as well.

Thus, it seemed only natural that Church and State would make an alliance to assail what both saw as a common enemy. Yet, not every French-Canadian refused to fight. And, after the war, Canada had begun to develop a cultural cohesion distinct from the rest of the British Empire. World War II sealed the deal, and the post-war economic boom brought prosperity to both English and French in Canada. Thus, what good were the old Church-approved nationalist arguments that hinged on English oppression? Hadn't the period of the Church's usefulness in French-Canadian society run its course? If the national government is going to allow our French schools and our French culture in our French province, why do our institutions still need to be in the hands of the Church?

This is in my mind when I read about people wanting to build "a Catholic culture" that simply stands in opposition to the mainstream. I think the experience of the French Canadians should give us pause to examine our motives. The Gospel is a freeing joy, not a hammer with which to pound away at a perceived grievance. A Catholic culture that rests on the joy of the Gospel - difficult though it may be - will be ten times stronger than one that has its basis in the negation of the current cultural climate. If that climate improves, at least one historical example warns us that the Church will have then have simply been viewed a means to an end.

L'église française

Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry wrote a provocative article in The Week here in which he ponders whether France is undergoing the beginnings of a Christian, and specifically, Catholic revival. On the whole, the article augments feelings and suspicions that I felt living in France for a brief time this past year. For all of our own problems that need our attention, American Catholics still tend to look with a rather unabashed smugness mixed with pity when we gaze across the Atlantic at our European coreligionists. "Well, at least we're not Europe" we are wont to say. On the face of things, I understand the sentiment. Across the continent, church attendance numbers dwell in depths that a US bishop would find flabbergasting if they occurred in his diocese. And, the overt and sometimes militant secularism of the European Union (and many French politicians) would make the ACLU blush.

And yet... Europe is under a spiritual malaise. Everyone with two eyes and a brain can deduce as much. The emptiness of consumerism and sexual libertinism have yielded only rotten fruit: an aging population that limps along with the tired economy in tow. These days, "the sick man of Europe" is Europe itself. The recent tragedies in Paris and elsewhere underscore another salient point: there is another force jockeying for the soul of Europe, and it ain't as pretty as Chartres, that's for sure.

So, before going to France, I was expecting a windswept religious landscape. My previous travels in Germanic Europe yielded such an impression, to be honest. Yet, France was different. I attended mass in Paris every Sunday I was there, and so did everyone else in Paris, it seemed. A few examples:

The nave of St. Germain L'Auxerrois

St. Germain l'Auxerrois: This historic church, which faces the Louvre in the heart of the 1st Arrondissement, was my usual church of preference. Many of my ancestors worshiped here, so I felt it only appropriate that I should honor their memory by doing the same. I typically attended the 9:45 Extraordinary Form Mass (i.e. the pre-Vatican II traditional Latin Mass). The congregation often numbered around 250 people. There were people of all ages and descriptions. Yet, this was not a tourist parish by any means. These were Parisians. The community was not as tight-knit as your average American parish, but it was obvious there was a vibrancy there. The priest was of middle age and, to the best of my French, seemed very orthodox in his preaching. He had one sermon that I found particularly interesting - he enumerated the goodness of God's plan for the family and explained how gay marriage and divorce damage our ability to truly love one another. Have you ever heard that from an American Catholic pulpit? I haven't. And, despite the parish offering the traditional mass, it is not what I would call a particularly conservative or traditional parish.

St. Cécile-St. Eugene: This parish is the heart of the Parisian traditionalist community. It was what you would expect in that regard: reverent liturgy, solid preaching, traditional devotions, etc. And it was packed. Always. Little mantilla'd old ladies and young professionals alike filled the pews. Yes it is probably an outlier, but an encouraging one nonetheless.

St. Laurent: I lived across from this small Gothic church at the heart of the 10th Arrondissement. The neighborhood is working class with a decent immigrant population and a certain hipster element. This church offered a mass that was what I would call the equivalent of your average American mass: some organ, some guitar, some incense, the exclusive use of the vernacular, et cetera. Again, the church was packed. The congregation was much more diverse than the other two churches, but I certainly would not call it an immigrant parish. I sat beside a young couple who looked like they had left the hipster capital of Brooklyn and somehow had gotten lost in northeast Paris. In the pew in front of me was a middle-aged man with his two young daughters. Beside them was an older woman. Behind me were two women of central African descent. The priest was quite young and preached about sacrifice and rejection of worldly comforts for the sake of the kingdom. In France? Where worldly comforts are part of the national identity? C'est possible?!

Three anecdotes do not a trend make, but three anecdotes that bucked my preconceptions so intensely do give one pause. One can speculate on causes and possible effects of this situation, but there are a few things that an American audience should understand when looking at French religiosity and society in general - things I was quite clueless about. The first and most important is that the Church in France has been through everything, sometimes twice. At the beginning of the last century, the State literally seized all of the Church's property throughout the country. Schools were closed, convents sold off, etc. This was in 1907. Today, in 2015, the government still owns every church property in the country. This is but one example. The atrocities committed against Catholics during the Revolution in the 18th Century and the Commune in the 19th would fill volumes. The result, in my opinion, has been that those who wish to remain Catholic are truly committed. They have nothing to gain from it socially or politically (occasionally, quite the opposite has been true historically). 

The other thing to keep in mind, on the more political side of things is that what James Joyce said of the Church is true in France: "Here comes everybody." The political landscape in France is far more fragmentary than it is in the US. You have a devoted Communist Party. You have not one but three monarchist movements of varying popularity. You have socialists, social democrats, nationalists, and everyone in between. Into this milieu, a vocal or vibrant Catholicism does not seem out of place - it is just one more movement standing by its principles. The Church is not pressured into political correctness because in France, by and large, there is no political correctness.

Realists will charm in at this point to say that mass attendance and seminary enrollment is still abysmal. I make no argument with that. But, I will say that the commitment of those who remain Catholic in France could change the country. We need only think of some of the fairly recent French saints to see how a few people restored - if briefly - the spirituality of their nation: John Vianney, Therese of Lisieux, Catherine Laboure, etc. Europe is not hopeless, and neither is France.

Saint Jean Baptiste Day

Meanwhile, the crucifix remains in Parliament

Today is the 180th celebration of the Fête National of the Quebecois - the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist. Though this midsummer festival was observed with feasting and fanfare from the earliest days of New France, the first "official" celebrations of the day as a 'national' holiday date to 1834. St Pope Pius X encouraged the public celebration of St Jean Baptiste Day and named the Holy Forerunner of Christ as the patron saint of French Canadians in 1908.

There is perhaps no better way to start to understand modern Quebec than through the lens of St Jean Baptiste Day. Since the so-called Quiet Revolution of the 1960s, which upended the Catholic Church's societal dominance throughout the province, the day has taken on a much more nationalist tone. Some years, depending on the provincial government, the celebrations are more separatism-friendly than others. Regardless, the religious undertones have been largely expunged and relegated to the sterile confines of "cultural heritage".

The same statement might as well be applied to the entirety of La Belle Province. Flannery O'Connor once described the American South as "Christ-haunted" - the same could be said of Quebec. Our Lord haunts the countryside in the names of His saints, applied to every little village. Our Lord's cross and His Blessed Mother's fleur-de-lys haunt the provincial flag (one of the most graphically-pleasing flags in the world, but I digress). Our Lord even haunts the chambers of Parliament, where a crucifix has been allowed to remain "as an important component of the historical character of the Province."

Yet, rates of weekly mass attendance throughout the province are among the lowest in the Catholic world. In a society where formerly large families were encouraged and commonplace (my French Canadian great-great-grandmother was one of eighteen), the birth rate now limps toward replacement rate. What can we make of the rapid secularization of what was formerly one of the most devout regions on earth?

It is indeed a riddle. On the one hand, I am wary of seeing the Church too powerful or too cozy with the political establishment, as this has often lead to abuses. At the same time, the Quebecois church was not an egregious offender in this way - society simply changed the government and threw the Church out with it, because they were viewed as such close allies. Political abuses were projected onto the Church. Now, there exists what the French term laïcité - religion may play a discreet and private role in an individual's life, but that is it. This model is decidedly more pointedly secular than our American model, which envisioned churches as operating more or less as they please outside of government interference, with free exercise being a well-defined right of all citizens.

The more important question than how we got where we are, is to consider how we might successfully evangelize in such a culture that has actively decided to privatize religion and sees any corporate, institutional religion as a threat to a culture's way of life. How can the Church in Quebec, which was once an institutional marvel, recenter itself on Christ and authentic discipleship? How can things grow from the ground up, so that people are attracted to the lifestyle of other people and not to the perceived "institution" and its historical baggage?

The answers to these questions are many and can be difficult to parse, but things certainly can get much worse in Quebec for the Church before they get better. That's not to lose hope, though. Among the first batch of cardinals named by Pope Francis was the Archbishop of Quebec, Gerald Cyprien Lacroix. The Pontiff allegedly told the Cardinal in an audience that "the Church needs Quebec!" Perhaps to underscore this point, His Holiness canonized François de Laval, Lacroix's predecessor - the first bishop of Quebec - who evangelized much of the province himself. The Pope knows what needs to be done. Let us pray for the day that the Church in Quebec will stand proudly with her patron, John the Baptist, announcing the saving presence of Christ!

A Church

After what seems like months away from my own personal drawing board, I've recently made a creative inroad or two. I've returned to my usual muse, Mater Ecclesia, for a few graphic thoughts on the relationship between tradition and modernity. The program chosen is that of a small parish church (perhaps seating 250-300 people).

click to view larger

I was inspired by a number of historical precedents in the development of this scheme. There are allusions to the Ottonian Hallenkirche of the former Holy Roman Empire. The material patterning hearkens to the playfulness of Siena Cathedral, while the alternating stone surrounding the altarpiece is a small (and very toned-down) homage to Mario Botta - one of the preeminent postmodern masters - and his chapel at Mogno, Switzerland. American Art Deco sensibilities play out in the relative streamlining and minimizing of detail throughout. The image of Christ used for the altar mosaic comes from the Medieval Codex Bruchsal. 

The sanctuary follows a very traditional layout, making it ideal for both the celebration of the Traditional Latin Mass, or a Novus Ordo Mass said ad orientem. Permit me a small digression on the orientation of liturgy. Notwithstanding all of the sound theological reasons for facing toward God as a whole community during worship, having the altar arranged in the more traditional manner often works so much better from an architectural standpoint. A freestanding altar necessarily requires a larger sanctuary, which, depending on the size of the church, can distort the cohesiveness of the sanctuary as a whole. In short - a freestanding altar has a higher probability of getting visually lost in a sea of objects. In this case, I have contrasted an ornately vested altar against a slab of gray stone, so that the eye is naturally drawn toward it, then to the tabernacle, the crucifix, and finally to the Son of God, occupying what in Old Testament theology would be termed the Mercy Seat.  

On a more mundane note, this project was entirely developed in SketchUp, with only the shadows and lighting added later in Photoshop. It's a technique I've been working on for about a year now, and I think I've finally been able to strike an appropriate balance.

Allergic to tradition

Yesterday, in a class I am taking, our midterm project was due. It was a fairly straightforward project: we were to design a small daily mass chapel for an ugly, sprawling suburban Catholic parish in Mt Vernon. Mine was quite small and plain (more out of lack of time devoted to the project than to any philosophical reason). I presented it well and the professor nodded approvingly throughout. It was going well until, while a section view of the chapel looking toward the altar was on the screen, he furrowed his brow.

"What is that thing in front of the altar?" he asked, referring to a horizontal line about 16in above the floor, with numerous vertical lines joining it to the floor every 2 feet or so.

"Oh, that's just where the section cut went through the first row of chairs in the digital model," I replied, truthfully.

"Oh!" he replied, looking very relieved. "I thought it was a communion rail! I would've had to fail you on the spot!" he laughed. "But, they're coming back, you know. Some of these priests these days are trying to carve out some sort of precinct for themselves. It's recidivism."

I attempted to muster the blandest expression I could before concluding my presentation and returning to my seat.

There you have, in one little portable story, summed up my frustrations with this class. It's not that the traditions of the Church are debated from a theological point of view, weighing the arguments for and against a certain practice - that would be an acceptable academic pursuit, in my opinion. It's that tradition is simply scoffed at and derided, as if having a communion rail was at once the silliest and most ghastly thing one could do to a church. 

A papal palace in Jerusalem

The idea of such a project is enough to get each and every hair on each and every conspiracy theorist's head to stand on end. But, apparently, someone in the early 20th Century did not think the project entirely too far-fetched. Glancing through my copy of The Master Drawings of Otto Wagner the other day, on an entirely different errand, I discovered these beguiling watercolors. The proposal was authored in 1912 by Josef Heinisch, an Austrian architect who was very much a devotee of the Jugendstil, as was Wagner. Further commentary and background information are not provided.

I suspect that this was simply a student project, rather than any sort of official proposal sanctioned by the Holy See. However, at that time Pope Pius X was on the Chair of Peter and the papacy was still essentially a "prisoner of the Vatican". Relations with the Kingdom of Italy were chilly at best, and there was some talk throughout the years previous of the papacy moving. The Ottomans, who controlled the Middle East at the time, were not favorably disposed toward Italy, a stance which could have theoretically engendered an alliance with the popes. In any event, there was enough back story to make this pass muster as a decent theoretical project for a student to undertake.

An aerial view of the complex

The plan, as a whole, resembles that of one of the great French Gothic cathedrals

The elevation. Note the inscription. Rather interesting considering our current Jesuit Pontiff.

Section through the church.

The Holy Name of Jesus

The Monogram of the Holy Name of Jesus

"But Moses still pleaded with God: How if I appear before the Israelites with the message that the God of their fathers has sent me to them, and they ask me, What is his name? What answer shall I make? And God said to Moses, I am the God who IS; thou shalt tell the Israelites, THE GOD WHO IS has sent me to you. And he charged Moses again, That is what thou shalt tell the sons of Israel, that he who bears this name, the God of their fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob has sent thee to them, and this is the name he will be known by for ever; it shall stand recorded, age after age." - Exodus 3:13-15

"And she will bear a son, whom thou shalt call Jesus, for he is to save his people from their sins." - Matthew 1:21

"So that everything in heaven and on earth and under the earth must bend the knee before the name of Jesus, and every tongue must confess Jesus Christ as the Lord, dwelling in the glory of God the Father." - Philippians 2:10

"The beast is a number, and makes men numbers. But God has a name, and God calls us by our name. He is a Person, and he seeks the person. He has a face, and he seeks our face. He has a heart, and he seeks our heart. For him, we are not some function in a "world machinery". On the contrary, it is precisely those who have no function that are his own. A name allows me to be addressed. A name denotes community. This is why Christ is the true Moses, the fullfiment of the revelation of God's name. He does not bring some new word as God's name; he does more than this, since he himself is the face of God. He himself is the name of God. In him, we can address God as "you", as person, as heart. His own name, Jesus, brings the mysterious name at the burning bush to its fulfillment; now we can see that God had not said all that he had to say but had interrupted his discourse for a time. This is because the name "Jesus" in its Hebrew form includes the word "Yahweh" and adds a further element to it: God "saves". "I am who I am" - thanks to Jesus, this now means: "I am the one who saves you." His Being is salvation." - Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI), The God of Jesus Christ: Meditations on a Triune God

Churches of Quebec

La Belle Province is home to the finest collection of French Colonial architecture anywhere in the New World. Because of Quebec's relatively sparse population and largely undisturbed culture (away from the St. Lawrence, that is), the province is littered with hundreds of beautiful churches dating from the 17th century to the early 20th century. Here are a few to give you a taste. These are taken from the fascinating Flickr group Églises du Québec. Of course, I will remind the readers that I have 300 years of Québecois ancestry on my mother's side of the family, so I have a special interest in the history of that part of the continent.

 

As you can see, there is some stylistic variation, but the uniformity of building materials (granite walls, limestone details, tin roofs) leads to a fairly cohesive architectural genre. Much like the stereotypical white, neoclassical Congregational church of New England, the paroisse stood at the center of the cultural life of New France - first out of a necessity for social cohesion in the face of the wilderness, and later as a bastion against British imperialism. With these two exterior pressures largely gone, Quebec has become one of the most religiously arid places in the Catholic world. Though, in a typical display of Québecois contrarianism, the crucifix remains steadfastly affixed to the wall of the provincial parliament chambers in Quebec City. Only time will tell what the fate of these beautiful buildings will ultimately be.

Two Interesting Masses in Washington

This, the first, will celebrate the feast day of Bl. John Henry Newman. I was first exposed to Newman at Ball State, where I began to look into his works and learn more about him. He was a brilliant and holy man.

On Monday, October 21st at 7:30pm at St. Mary Mother of God Church there will be a Pontifical Mass in the Extraordinary Form in honor of Bl. Karl of Austria. Karl was the last emperor of Austria and apostolic king of Hungary, and he is someone to whom I have a particular devotion (perhaps given my largely Austro-Hungarian roots). I have written briefly about him here.

Blessed John Henry Newman, pray for us! Blessed Karl of Austria, pray for us!

St Anton Kirche

Zurich is not particularly renowned for its Catholicism. The reformer Huldrych Zwingli succeeded in converting most of the city to his version of Protestantism during the course of the Reformation. Catholics in Zurich, as in Scandinavia, Britain, and other Protestant nations, were largely marginalized until the mid Nineteenth Century. Yet, there are some Catholic gems to be found even in iconoclastic Zurich. This church, in Zurich's fashionable Hottingen neighborhood, was built at the beginning of the Twentieth Century. Karl Moser, the foremost proponent of the Art Nouveau (or Jugendstil) in Switzerland, was the architect.

It's reserved exterior is quite handsome. It preserves the traditional facade of a church, while introducing bits of modernity in terms of the detailing and the materials. It is a very elegant exercise in architectural continuity. The tower is especially lovely, and bears a striking resemblance to the campanile on the campus of Cornell University.

The interior provides many lessons on how church architects today, often faced with tight budgets, might make the most of a parish's resources. It is not overdone in terms of ornament, yet the ornamental scheme that is employed is sound, unified, and beautiful.

Expensive materials are used sparingly around the sanctuary, while the remainder of the iconography is basically all painting. Yet, the richness of the colors and the clear orientation of the painting prevent it from seeming too "tacked on" to the whole. It is a shame that a meager Ikea-table-altar is used instead of the magnificent original high altar.

Tolkien on Holy Communion

"Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament… There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves on earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man’s heart desires.

The only cure for sagging or fainting faith is Communion. Though always Itself, perfect and complete and inviolate, the Blessed Sacrament does not operate completely and once for all in any of us. Like the act of Faith it must be continuous and grow by exercise. Frequency is of the highest effect. Seven times a week is more nourishing than seven times at intervals.

Also I can recommend this as an exercise (alas! only too easy to find opportunity for): make your communion in circumstances that affront your taste. Choose a snuffling or gabbling priest or a proud and vulgar friar; and a church full of the usual bourgeois crowd, ill-behaved children – from those who yell to those products of Catholic schools who the moment the tabernacle is opened sit back and yawn – open necked and dirty youths, women in trousers and often with hair both unkempt and uncovered. Go to communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same (or better than that) as a mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people. It could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand – after which our Lord propounded the feeding that was to come."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, in a letter to his son

Four views of the Basilica

My favorite building in Grand Rapids is the Basilica of St Adalbert, a church I have written on previously. The sturdy building was constructed one hundred years ago by Polish immigrants. It remains a solid presence in the neighborhood and the city. I biked to the church from my house today. It was an eight mile round trip.

Puritan Connections

Though I am at most a fourth generation American citizen, my family's history on the North American continent goes back much further - some 400 or so years - via the French presence in the province of Quebec. The settlers of Nouvelle France were a "priest-ridden people", which has ensured that copious parish records have survived through the ages. Hence, that portion of my family is rather well documented all the way back to those intrepid souls who left the fishing villages of Normandy in the early 1600s. There is, however, an interesting hiccup in this rather uniform narrative of French ancestry. It turns out I have one or two Puritans lurking in the family tree. The tale of John and Hannah Swarton is the bizarrely intriguing link between Puritan New England and French Montreal.

John Swarton hailed from Jersey, one of the Channel Islands - British territories that lie off the northern coast of France. In the chaos of the English Civil War, King Charles II fled Britain for the continent, perhaps stopping off at Jersey along the way. In any event, John Swarton joined the military forces of Charles II in Flanders (modern day Belgium) and was a part of the army that helped restore Charles to the throne in 1660. The historical record is relatively silent until 1687 when John Swarton was awarded a grant of fifty acres in North Yarmouth in the Massachusetts Bay Colony (North Yarmouth is now a suburb of Portland, Maine).

Swarton had married a certain Hannah Hibbard in Beverly, Massachusetts on January 6, 1671, meaning he must have emigrated from England rather soon after Charles' restoration (most likely during the reign of the Catholic King James II before the Protestant resurgence of power under William and Mary during the Glorious Revolution in 1688). Hannah Hibbard was the daughter of Robert Hibbard, a weaver's apprentice from Salisbury, England, who had settled in Salem, Massachusetts, sometime before 1640. The Hibbards were an interesting family in their own right since they were distantly descended from King Edward I through the Earls of Devon - but that is a story for another time.

John Swarton and Hannah Hibbard were living in North Yarmouth during a tumultuous period of colonial history known as King William's War (the colonial outgrowth of Continental European wars spawned by the Glorious Revolution and the accession of William and Mary to the English throne). The French and their Native American allies were eager to stop English encroachment symbolized by the new settlements around Fort Loyal (the site of modern-day Portland). The French mounted a raid on those settlements in 1689, which was repelled by forces under Major Benjamin Church. The next May, the French returned and captured the settlements and killed many of the settlers - including John Swarton. The rest were taken as prisoners and hauled off to Quebec.

Hannah Swarton was, by all accounts, a very pious Puritan woman. She kept a journal of her captivity that was published in 1697 as an appendix to a book by prominent Puritan minister Cotton Mather entitled "Humiliations Followed With Deliverances". Hannah and her three surviving children, Mary, Samuel, and Jasper, were pressured to convert to Catholicism while captives in Quebec. Hannah Swarton described the ordeal thusly: "The lady, my mistress, the nuns, the priests, the friars and the rest set upon me. . . to perswade me to turn Papist." She remained steadfast and was eventually allowed to return to Massachusetts Bay, though her children did not accompany her.

Her daughter, Mary Swarton, stayed in Quebec and eventually married John Lahaye, an Irishman from Tullow. He was raised Catholic, despite having a Protestant mother, but he later strayed into Puritanism before finally being readmitted to the Catholic Church prior to his marriage:

"On Monday, 19 March 1696, Jean Lahe born in 1670 at Tollo in Ireland of the marriage of Thomas Lahé, Catholic, and of Catharine Williams, Protestant, and baptized in his country in the Catholic religion & later having professed the Puritan religion until last year, when he was taken in the month of July among the Flemish of Corlar and living now in the service of M. le Ber, Merchant, solemnly made abjuration of heresy [renounced heretical ideas - i.e. Puritanism] into the hands of Mre. Henri Antoine Meriel, Priest of the Seminary of Ville Marie, authorized to receive it by M. François Dolie priest, Grand Vicaire etc. And this in the presence of M. Yves Priat, priest of said Seminary of Ville Marie [Montreal] and of several others." (Signed by all herein named.)

The pair were married in Montreal on the 9th of Septermber, 1697, and eventually had eleven children (two of which I directly descend from - yes, that means that distant cousins married at some point along the way - it happens).

An interesting anecdote regarding Mr. Lahaye regards him and another English captive attempting to counterfeit money. The charge was sent in a letter to King Louis XIV, who dropped all charges because of the "great service he has already rendered to the colony" and because the bills "were so badly made, no one could've been deceived."

 *     *     *

I'm unsure whether this story has a moral or not, but it is always interesting to look back at the unfathomably large tapestry of consequences woven by our actions. We cannot see all the ends of our decisions. If one little circumstance of these events had been slightly different, I would not be here as I am today. A tiny genetic part of me comes from Mary Swarton and John Lahaye. I would not have that part if Yarmouth had never been attacked, or had the Swartons all been killed instead of captured, or had John Swarton never bothered to leave the Isle of Jersey with Charles II. That's the fascinating thing about history and about genealogy in particular - you are looking at the story of yourself.


Source: New England Captives Carried to Canada between 1677-1760 During the French and Indian Wars by Emma Lewis Coleman

"They took the body down from the cross and one of the few rich men among the first Christians obtained permission to bury it in a rock tomb in his garden; the Romans setting a military guard lest there should be some riot and attempt to recover the body. There was once more a natural symbolism in these natural proceedings; it was well that the tomb should be sealed with all the secrecy of ancient eastern sepulture and guarded by the authority of the Caesars. For in that second cavern the whole of that great and glorious humanity which we call antiquity was gathered up and covered over; and in that place it was buried. It was the end of a very great thing called human history; the history that was merely human. The mythologies and the philosophies were buried there, the gods and the heroes and the sages. In the great Roman phrase, they had lived. But as they could only live, so they could only die; and they were dead.

On the third day the friends of Christ coming at daybreak to the place found the grave empty and the stone rolled away. In varying ways they realised the new wonder; but even they hardly realised that the world had died in the night. What they were looking at was the first day of a new creation, with a new heaven and a new earth; and in a semblance of the gardener God walked again in the garden, in the cool not of the evening but the dawn."

- G.K. Chesterton, from 'The Everlasting Man'

First Impressions

I think the pope has carefully provided a positive first impression of himself while he has the world's attention (apart from those of a more traditionalist bent who are breathlessly watching every twitching finger of the papal court for signs of the imminent implosion of All That Is Catholic And Traditional and who bemoan the fact that His Holiness does not have the correct number of angels dancing on the heads of the pins of his pallium - I digress). Media coverage has been widespread and generally positive concerning the Supreme Pontiff. He looks friendly, he acts without arrogance, and he has expressed a genuine love of the poor. I have a hunch, given the cleanup that needs to happen in the Roman Curia - the central government of the Church, that Pope Francis may be storing up some positive press for the future. In our information age, when images can be spread around the world in an instant, the Pope has carefully crafted his first - and most memorable - impression. That way, when he goes to work cleaning out the Augean stables in the Curia (and perhaps in the Jesuit order as well? Dare we hope?), he will have some public good will stored up.

I am not suggesting at all that the Pope is being disingenuous in any way. I think that what we are seeing is a true portion of his character, but, that said, I think like all human beings he is a creature of complexity. Having read through some of his statements and homilies from when he was Archbishop of Buenos Aires, I can say with confidence that this man has a backbone and says what he means when the appropriate time comes. He is a staunch, vocal, and straightforward defender of the faith. This, as well as his affable public image, will serve him well when the hammer needs to be brought down on certain things in Rome.

At least, that's my first impression. I could be completely wrong.

Heraldic Musings

The coat-of-arms of Pope Francis I (yes, I know he won't technically be the first until there's a second) has been released by the Vatican today. Heraldry is an interesting field in which symbols can reveal a good deal about a person. Examining Francis' armorial bearings is the way I have chosen to read the tea leaves about his papacy. Because, you know, I'm a visual learner and all that jazz.

Now, lest anyone squawk about the inclusion of the papal tiara (the crown), please bear in mind that there are several permitted ways to display heraldic achievements. Yes, Pope Francis has personally chosen to follow Benedict XVI's lead in showing an episcopal mitre (bishop's hat) in place of the tiara, but in the realm of heraldry, it can still be appropriate to display papal arms with the traditional regalia of the tiara and the crossed keys - even if the pope doesn't choose to do that himself. Plus, this is one of the only comparatively high-res pics I could find.

The arms of His Holiness are the same that he used when he was Archbishop of Buenos Aires. The blue field is dominated by the symbol of the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits) which shows the IHS monogram of Christ's name surmounted by a cross and supported by three nails, all within a radiant sun. A star and a flowering Spikenard fill out the bottom of the arms.

A few initial things that strike me about this choice of arms:

It emphasizes the Holy Family - the main symbols point to the three members of the Holy Family: the Jesuit monogram shows Jesus as the light of the world, the star refers to Mary (traditionally, though infrequently hailed as the Star of the Sea, and more recently as the Star of the New Evangelization), and the grape-like Spikenard flowers are a traditional South American symbol for St. Joseph, to whom the pope apparently has great devotion. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph - the family as the center of God's plan for humanity. 

It is Marian - Pope Francis has already shown his devotion to Our Lady through his actions as pope. His arms reinforce this devotion. The field is blue - the traditional Marian color. Again, the star is a reference to Mary leading the way to Christ.

His motto - Though not depicted here, Pope Francis has chosen to keep his archiepiscopal motto Miserando Atque Eligendo, which translates loosely to Lowly, yet chosen. It is a reference to St. Bede the Venerable's commentary on the calling of St. Matthew. Our pope apparently had a strong conversion experience on the Feast of St. Matthew in 1953 at the age of 17. Pope Francis likened his experience to that of the Lord "choosing" St. Matthew, though he was of despised origin. The themes of mercy and humility are already becoming leitmotifs of this pontificate, and I can see the Pope encouraging renewed devotion to the Divine Mercy. From a personal perspective, I appreciate the connection to my name-saint.

All in all, I rather like the coat-of-arms from a graphic perspective. It's a nice change-of-pace from the rather busy red-and-gold dominated arms of Benedict XVI and the overly simplistic arms of John Paul II.     

His Holiness, Pope Francis

 Habemus Papam! We have a pope! I was surprised, confused, and - in the end - delighted to see Cardinal Bergoglio elected as the 265th successor of St. Peter! May God strengthen him and Our Lady protect him as he begins his pontificate!

There's been a great deal of ceaseless caterwauling from both extremes of the Church over the past 24 hours, which, I think is a good sign wrapped in some ugly packages. This man has already stated that he wants to be a man of brotherhood and reconciliation, a position that will no doubt continue to ruffle feathers.

In all, my heart is happy as I recall the words of Our Lord to St. Francis of Assisi all those years ago: "Francis, Francis, rebuild my church, which you can see has fallen to ruin." Viva il Papa!

Exit Benedict

I am still stunned that our Holy Father has decided - no doubt after much time spent in prayer - to abdicate the Chair of St. Peter. Benedict XVI is in many ways dearer to me than John Paul II ever was. I reached a level of maturity (I will probably never claim to be mature) during Benedict's pontificate. His nearly eight year reign coincides roughly with my eight years in high school and college. Formative years for anyone, as I'm sure you'll agree.

I remember clearly the death of John Paul and the election of Benedict. We were up at my cottage for the weekend and I remember hearing it on the radio in our dining room. The next week was my spring break, which I spent with my grandparents up north, and - since my grandpa was and remains a news junkie - we listened to much of the coverage on CNN radio on the way to and from construction sites. I remember feeling not so much sadness as curiosity. It was a big deal and I knew it.

Benedict XVI was elected after recess one day the following week. I saw the coverage on a TV in a fifth-grade classroom. Though I was nearing the end of my eighth-grade year, I stopped in the room and watched as the pope appeared on the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica for the first time. In the few years after, I sort of bought into the nonsense about him being a grumpy old man who was a hardline conservative (whatever that means) and honestly didn't pay him much attention. It wasn't until my freshman year at Ball State that I begin to truly discover who this pope was.

I read his first encyclical Deus Caritas Est in its entirety on a whim one day. I had been on the Vatican's website searching for some info for some Protestant neighbors of mine who had some question about the Church. It was a breath of fresh air into a stale spirit. This was not the type of writing I expected from a pope! It was easy to read, but profound in its insights. I was delighted, and my admiration for Benedict XVI, his spirituality, and his intellect has only increased since.

Having followed "the Catholic news" for awhile now, I am not as surprised as perhaps some others are that the pope has decided to step down. But, it is certainly shocking in its sheer lack of much precedent. The next month will be very interesting to say the least, and I look forward to the next conclave and the next man chosen to be the successor of St. Peter. May the Holy Spirit be a comfort to Pope Benedict and a guide to the College of Cardinals in the weeks to come.

The Church is not a Democracy

I saw a subtitle of some article that read "The Catholic Church will face challenges as society changes, and more balk at its authoritarian stance." When will people realize that the Church's doctrines are not public policy that can be changed on the whim of a bureaucrat at the slightest pressure of public opinion? The Church is authoritarian in its teaching of the truth, because it proclaims Christ - the way, the truth, and the life - as King. Christ's Kingdom is not of this world, but it is in this world - in the hearts of all those who allow Him to be their Sovereign Lord.

Society can and will change, to the benefit of some and the detriment of others, but Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The truth will continue to be proclaimed, both in and out of season. The Church's sacred duty is to the truth of Christ, Her Spouse and King.