IN 2009, Kathryn Nurre sought to perform an instrumental version (without lyrics) of the Ave Maria by German composer Franz Biebl at her public high school’s graduation ceremony. The superintendent of Everett School District in Washington state declared that the piece could not be played because of its religious meaning. The United State Court of Appeals for the Ninth District upheld the superintendent’s decision and the United States Supreme Court refused to hear an appeal. It’s not surprising really. After all, what if students were to hear something so beautiful and ethereal it made them question all they had learned (and not learned)?

“I would teach children music, physics, and philosophy; but most importantly music, for the patterns in music and all the arts are the keys to learning”. ― Plato

Biebl actually composed the piece, an arrangement of portions of the Angelus prayer and the Ave Maria (the Hail Mary), for a secular function. A fireman in the Munich area approached him in the early 1960s and asked for something for his fire company’s choir.

It was common for companies, factories, police and fire departments, etc. to sponsor an employees’ choir, which often would participate in choral competitions and festivals with other similar choirs. This fireman asked Biebl to please compose something for his fireman’s choir for such an occasion. The result was the Ave Maria (double male choir version). [Source]

But is there any part of our lives that is truly secular? Isn’t it right and good? That men who went into the face of danger took time from their lives to honor the greatest woman who ever lived and seek her supernatural aid?

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

Perhaps if Biebl had written a different sort of piece — maybe “Hail Mighty Justices! Hail Ruth! Hail Sonia!” — it would be acceptable in America’s public schools. Though too dangerous for public school students, Biebl’s Ave has gained popularity in this country since it was introduced here by the Cornell University Glee Club in 1970. Performances by the male choral ensemble Chanticleer, such as the one above, are especially popular.

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  PETE SEEGER performs this lovely traditional carol. You won't hear this on the sound system of your local supermarket.  

THE BURNING BABE --- Robert J. Southwell, S.J. AS I in hoary winter’s night Stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat Which made my heart to glow, And lifting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright Did in the air appear; Who, scorchèd with excessive heat, Such floods of tears did shed, As though His floods should quench His flames, Which with His tears were fed: ‘Alas!’ quoth He, ‘but newly born In fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts Or feel my fire, but I! ‘My faultless breast the furnace is; The fuel wounding thorns; Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; The ashes, shames and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, And Mercy blows the coals, The metal in this furnace wrought Are men’s defilèd souls: For which, as now on fire I am, To work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath, To wash them in my blood.' With this He vanish’d out of sight And swiftly shrunk away, And straight I callèd unto mind That it was Christmas Day. [St. Robert Southwell, S.J. was drawn and quartered on Feb. 21, 1595, under the reign of Elizabeth I, for illicitly saying the Catholic Mass. He wrote "The Burning Babe" while imprisoned in the Tower of London.]

MY MOTHER, who died in October, was to Christmas festivities what Alexander was to Persia and Julius Caesar was to Gaul. She could justly say, “Veni, vidi, vici.” She came, she saw, she conquered.

She was a remarkable housewife in an age when domesticity was still a full-time vocation, not just a beautiful hobby.

By this time in the season, she would have decorated the house with fresh greens, artificial fruit and ribbons. The manger scene would be set up, and she would have done most of Santa’s work for seven children, with the help of my father, whose accomplishments included a homemade doll house and a model train set. She would be sending out Christmas cards and take us on a commuter train to see the lights and decorations in the city. On St. Nicholas Day, she made dozens of cut-out cookies and we invited friends to the house to decorate the cookies with paint brushes. Everyone took a coffee can filled with the gaudy (and sometimes downright hideous) snowmen, stars and reindeer home with them.

On the Sunday before Christmas my parents would have a party for friends and neighbors. For this event, my mother made a huge buffet of savories and sweets, all of it ready before the guests arrived. There was sesame chicken in a chafing dish with orange marmalade sauce, delicate mushroom turnovers, spiced lamb pastries, dips, nuts and cheese balls spiked with brandy and rolled in walnuts. Hundreds of cookies were lined up for battle. They included little dark chocolate tarts with currant jelly, named for some unknown reason after Tadeusz Kościuszko, the Polish military engineer who fought in the American Revolution. There were also pecan nut tassies, scotch oat cookies, spiced almond stars, thumbprints, chocolate ribbons, florentines with candied orange peel, date bars, snowdrops and the decorated cut-out cookies. [My mother did all this without servants, but she was not a domestic slave, as feminists would have it. She made sure her children did the dishes, performed kitchen prep work, vacuumed, put away the laundry, etc. We were her slaves — and we should have been!  What else are children for? We usually shelled the nuts for the cookies by hand, a miserable task similar to picking cotton or working in a coal mine.]

One year, after everyone was grown and my mother continued her baking, a large can of nut tassies disappeared. We expected to find the petrified tarts for years. They had to be somewhere, but they never appeared. I still say we should have called the police.

For the party, my mother made fizzy red punch, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic versions, and dyed little cubes of pineapple red and green to put in the punch glasses. She made song sheets with carols and “jingle mitts,” little terry cloth mittens with bells on the end of the fingers. The mitts would make everyone laugh. We gathered in the living room to sing. My mother was a terrible singer and so were most of us but that was okay. Mr. Littlepage, who was aptly named (he was a printer), was the night’s only soloist. He sang “O Holy Night” with his deep baritone voice. But that was the grand finale. First my sister Clare and I sang Maurice Chevalier’s version of “Jolly Old St. Nicholas,” complete with the French accent that disguised our bad voices. And we sang all the other standards.

We then headed back to the buffet table and ate more cookies. When there are seven “growing children,” there is never enough food. But that night there was enough and there was no restriction on how many cookies we could eat. And so we ate and ate and ate. If cookies could make you drunk, we would have been unconscious. There could never be too many nut tassies or snowdrops, in my opinion. The latter are one of the easiest cookies to make. They are a traditional standard of Christmas tables. They are rich, crumbly and delicious. Confectioner’s sugar, nuts, butter — what’s not to like?

With that background to snowdrops, here is the simple recipe, courtesy of my energetic mother who gave much joy to others at Christmastime: (more…)

THE FASHION industry deprives women of clothes that are both beautiful and modest. That’s what makes this Vogue cover of October notable and extraordinary. The actress Rooney Mara is dressed in a gown that is feminine, modest and charming. The dress is also unusual because it is not a solid color. Pattern, as the blogger Kidist Paulos Asrat has argued, is eschewed by modern designers, who live in a realm of abstractions. Pattern evokes the beauty of the natural world and a cheerful view of life, instead of the angst of modernity. (more…)

    from INVOCACIO AD MARIAM -- Geoffrey Chaucer (1343-1400) Thou Maid and Mother, daughter of Thy Son, Thou well of mercy, our sinful souls' cure, In whom God for goodness chose to dwell; Thou humble one, yet high over each creature, Thou makest noble henceforth our nature That no disdain the Maker had of kind His Son in blood and flesh to clothe and wind. Within the blissful cloister of thy sides Took man's shape the eternal love and peace, That of the threefold world both Lord and guide is, Whom earth and sea and heaven, without cease, Still praise; and thou, Virgin from all flaw secure, Bore of thy body -- and remained a maiden pure -- The Creator of every creature. Assembled is in thee magnificence With mercy, goodness, and with such pity That thou, that art the sun of excellence Not only helpeth them that pray to thee, But often times, of thy benignity, Full freely, ere men to thine own help appeal, Thou goest before, and dost their souls heal. [Transl. Johann M. Moser Excerpt from "The Prologe of the Seconde Nonnes Tale" in The Canterbury Tales]

THE curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. (more…)

Herein lies, however, for millions of souls, the supreme temptation because they live in a world where the word "glory" has become almost meaningless. It still exists in the dictionaries, it is still used at times in familiar language – for example, in the names of cities, streets or hotels, or on cigar labels like Glória de Cuba. Other than this, it could almost be said the word is dead. And, with its disuse comes the disappearance of other words related to it: honor, prestige, decorum ...  It would be interesting to read a newspaper from 100 years ago to see the role that these values had, then, among people, families, social groups or nations. Today, one opens a newspaper and usually reads about men joining together or fighting for other reasons: exports, imports, foreign exchange, tariffs and the like.  --- Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira, 1959

  SNOW falls on the good and the wicked. It falls on the proud and the humble, the arrogant and the shy, the successful and the incompetent, the rich and the indebted. Snow is undiscriminating. It lands on the heads of snow lovers and snow haters. An invisible painter, working only in white, reaches out with his brush. He dabbles on the car, on gloves, on the wings of chickadees, on industrial wastelands. He erases the outlines of the world with his dissolving medium. John Ruskin, the 19th century art critic, wrote, "Pictures of winter scenery are nearly as common as moonlights, and are usually executed by the same order of artists, that is to say, the most incapable.” Perhaps, but who can compete with the original artist? Emily Dickinson explains: It sifts from leaden sieves, It powders all the wood, It fills with alabaster wool The wrinkles of the road. It makes an even face Of mountain and of plain, — Unbroken forehead from the east Unto the east again. It reaches to the fence, It wraps it, rail by rail, Till it is lost in fleeces; It flings a crystal veil On stump and stack and stem, — The summer’s empty room, Acres of seams where harvests were, Recordless, but for them. It ruffles wrists of posts, As ankles of a queen, — Then stills its artisans like ghosts, Denying they have been. We cannot hold up our hands and…

EVERGREEN STATE COLLEGE devours its own as searing white guilt destroys any semblance of rational debate.

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  MARY WAGNER was dragged out of an abortion clinic in Toronto on Saturday, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Lifesite News reports: She carried red roses. Attached to each was a model of a 10-week-old unborn baby, a card with contact information for the Sisters of Life, and another that read: “You can choose life for your baby. Love will find a way.” Her companion, Immolatia, carried a poster with the same message.

BOTH THE National Menorah, which as the largest public menorah in the world stands 30 feet tall, and the National Christmas Tree, which is also very imposing (its exact height this year is unclear), currently occupy the Ellipse outside the White House. At the base of the tree, there is also a smaller menorah and a small nativity scene. For all the fanfare about Trump being a staunch Christmas traditionalist, the tree is decorated this year in the unconventional, non-Christmas-y, presidential colors of gold and blue — in keeping with Trump’s nationalism.

The idea that these two symbols — the menorah and the tree — can be reconciled is strange.

More than strange, it is irrational. (more…)

“AND above all else, we know this, America doesn’t worship government, we worship God. And all of us here tonight are united by the same values. We believe the United States military is the greatest force for justice in the history of the world, and we are going to take care of it, and we are going to properly fund it and we are going to have the finest weapons because when we do all of that, we are much, much safer, and far less likely to have to use them. It’s amazing how that works. Isn’t it?” --- Donald Trump [Quoted in "Trump Serves the War Gods" by Brother Nathanael Kapner]

THOUGH the Hindu custom of sati in which a widow — even if she is still in her teens or twenties — is buried alive with her husband or burned to death on his funeral pyre was outlawed in India in 1987, the life of a Hindu widow remains one of misery and loneliness in many parts of the country. Showkat Shafi wrote in 2016:

The women often live in acute poverty and are ostracised by society due to various superstitions – even the shadow of a widow can wreak havoc and bring bad luck, people believe. Lack of education and any source of income forces them to beg on streets and many turn to prostitution for survival.

“My children threw me out of the house after my husband died,” says Manuka Dasi. “I try to earn money by singing devotional songs in temple and manage to get one meal for the day. I am just waiting to die so that I can be out of this life of misery.”

The barbaric treatment of widows is an indication of the falseness of the Hindu worldview. There is nothing even remotely comparable in Christian history.

See moving examples of Indian widows here.

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MANY MORE girls participate in athletics than ever before. Federal social engineering under Title IX has led to an explosion in female athletics at lower levels.

In 1972, just 1 in 27 girls participated in high school sports; today, about two in five do, according to the Women’s Sports Foundation. The number of women playing at the college level has skyrocketed by more than 600 percent [as of 2012]. [Source]

While returning from a conference in Florida this weekend, I noticed this phenomenon close up. The airport was filled with female high school soccer players who had been competing in a tournament nearby. The girls, with their skimpy clothes and pack behavior, seemed to be part of a primitive tribe. The softness and individuality of their faces was lost with their ugly, synthetic uniforms, messy hair, beefy muscles, and loudness.

It’s true that girl athletes are taught discipline and hard work. Parents are proud of their daughters’ athletic skills and believe that intense competition is good for them. You can’t blame them really as they are nowhere taught the truth. Many girls intensely enjoy their athletic experiences. Athletic exercise for girls is not inherently wrong. The problem is not physical activity but the level and style of competition.

Trained to be immodest, aggressive, overly competitive and overly scheduled, the girl athlete of today is deprived of the basics. She is set up for failure as a woman. Intense competition cultivates willfulness, a quality that is often disastrous for the adult woman, whose primary sphere in life requires nurturing qualities. As Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira wrote:

The feminine soul is a fountainhead of grace, delicacy and sensibility, which enriches the moral and social life of humanity with spiritual values that man does not give it. The equilibrium of mankind demands women with a rich mental structure displaying all the gifts proper to their sex, just as it demands men with profoundly virile souls. It would be absurd to educate a generation of boys in the most effeminate way possible. No less absurd would it be to educate a generation of girls with the intention of making them as masculine as possible.

A certain pedagogy of our days, however, seems to have completely forgotten this trivial truth. And, instead of forming girls for the role that they will naturally have in society, it forms them precisely as if she were a boy intended in the future to assume the weight and the responsibilities proper to men.

Girls are not meant to travel in teams or battalions the way boys are. The more athletic women become, the less of an elevating influence they are. The boyish girl athlete loses the chance to flower. She becomes a fighter, not a nurturer of individuals and a defender of beauty. Modern girl athletes bring the world down to an infra-human level. (more…)

  It was due to His own infinite sanctity that God should suspend, in this instance, the law which His divine justice had passed upon all the children of Adam. The relations which Mary was to bear to the Divinity, could not be reconciled with her undergoing the humiliation of this punishment.  -- Dom Gueranger, O.S.B., on the Immaculate Conception of Mary, which is celebrated today