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Words Wednesday: The Beauty of True Friendship

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I had intended for Words Wednesday today to quote from a beautiful section regarding friendship from The Keys to the Kingdom, A.J. Cronin’s novel about priest Fr. Francis Chisolm, one of the great dads in fiction I wrote about Sunday.

In the last few days, perhaps because I’ve had friendship on my mind, friendship (or actually, writing about it) is what I keep discovering.

I was particularly interested in Sally Thomas’s fine reflection of childhood friendship, based on a New York Times article that explains how some professionals who work with children say that “best friends” is not a good thing.

And when I opened Universalis this morning to pray Morning Prayer, there was site creator Martin Kochanski’s breathtaking reflection on the beauty of passionate friendship and how our modern culture has all but destroyed it. (If you are reading this after today, you might need to search for the “About Today” page of the app, for the Wednesday of the 12th Week of Ordinary Time. The reflection appears that liturgical date each year).  Kochanski wrote this based on the first & second reading from today’s Office of Readings, about the holy, passionate friendship of David & Jonathan, and St. Aelred’s reflection on it.

So there is lots to ponder and consider lately, it seems, about when we consider the nature of friendship and what it means to be a true friend.  In The Keys of the Kingdom, friendship plays an enormous role in Father Chisolm’s life.  Isn’t that true for all of us?  We are all affected by our friends, both for good and ill.  And navigating the terrain of friendship can be alternately easy and treacherous, and a lifelong work.

In The Keys to the Kingdom, Fr. Francis Chisolm is going back to England after many years living as a missionary to China.  A powerful man in the community who had after much time become Fr. Francis’ friend, an influential friend of the town, Mr. Chia, comes to say goodbye.  Earlier in the novel, Fr. Francis had healed (through normal medicine, not miraculous means) Mr. Chia’s son, and Mr. Chia had offered to convert out of gratitude.  Fr. Francis would not let him.

On this visit:

An odd silence fell.  Mr. Chia broke it with constraint. “Since our time together is limited it might not be unfitting if we talked a moment regarding the hereafter.”


“All my time is dedicated to such talk.”


Mr. Chia hesitated, beset by unusual awkwardness. “I have never pondered deeply on what state lies beyond this life.  But if such a state exists it would be very agreeable for me to enjoy your friendship there.”


Despite his long experience, Father Chisolm did not grasp the import of the remark.  He smiled but did not answer.  And Mr. Chia was forced in great embarrassment to be direct.


“My friend, I have often said: There are many religions and each has its gate to heaven.” A faint color crept beneath his dark skin.  “Now it would appear that I have the extraordinary desire to enter by your gate.”


Dead silence.  Father Chisolm’s bent figure was immobilized, rigid.


“I cannot believe that you are serious.”


‘Once, many years ago, when you cured my son, I was not serious.  But then I was unaware of the nature of your life. ..of its patience, quietness and courage.  The goodness of a religion is best judged by the goodness of its adherents.  My friend…you have conquered me by example.’


Father Chisolm raised his hand to his forehead, that familiar sign of hidden emotion.  His conscience had often reproached him for his initial refusal to accept Mr. Chia, even without a true intention.  He spoke slowly.  ‘All day long my mouth has been bitter with the ashes of failure.  Your words have rekindled the fires in my heart.  Because of this one moment I feel that my work has not been worthless.  In spite of that I say to you … don’t do this for friendship–only if you have belief.’


Mr. Chia answered firmly.  ‘My mind is made up.  I do it for friendship and belief.  We are as brothers, you and I.  Your Lord must also be mine.  Then, even though you must depart tomorrow, I shall be content, knowing that in our Master’s garden our spirits will one day meet.’


At first the priest was unable to speak.  He fought to conceal the depth of his feeling.  He reached out his hand to Mr. Chia.  In a low uncertain tone he said, —


‘Let us go down to the church.’

For Father’s Day: Great Dads in Fiction

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When I had this idea for talking about great dads in fiction, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to come up with a number of great dads, or at least pretty good ones!

Many dads and moms in fiction I love are absent, dead or not a factor.  In others, the dad is considerably less than ideal, and that’s kind of the point.  But here’s a fair, by no means exhaustive, list of good and great dads to consider.

I am indebted to my almost-teenaged daughter, who helped me immensely in ideas for great dads in the youth fiction in particular, especially why they are so good, and for helping in describing Emma’s father so well.

1.  Mr. Henry Woodhouse, Emma’s father, in Jane Austen’s Emma.  As those who know me know, I am a huge Austen fan, and I dearly love the novel and the title character.  Emma’s father is overly concerned about safety and health of those he loves, always fussing and forecasting doom.  While he is a bit of a comic character (but really, I ask you, who isn’t in Emma?), he is loving, kind and generous.  The love and respect shown to him by his daughter & future son-in-law by their decision to live at his house after marriage rather than have him separated even by a mile from his younger daughter, speaks volumes.

My husband has never read Emma, but enjoyed watching with my daughters this winter the excellent most recent adaptation that aired on PBS, and they took to calling him “Mr. Woodhouse” as he is a teensy bit of a worrier.  He could be heard to say on a number of occasions since then, “Are you not taking a scarf? You might get chilled.” and “No cake, especially for the children. There must not be cake.”

2.  Lavrans Bjorgulfsson, father of Kristin in Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset.  Lavrans is by no means perfect, but so real, like many fathers.  I find him honorable, steadfast, so realistic in many ways, from his work among his farmer tenants to his sacrificial work on behalf of his family, to his fierce loyalty to and protection of Kristin’s honor, both when she does and does not deserve it.

3.  Father Francis Chisolm in A.J. Cronin’s The Keys of the Kingdom.  This fantastic novel follows the life of Father Francis’s entire life, though it primarily takes place and his missionary work in China.  The 1944 movie starred Gregory Peck, and while it is wonderful, it is a bit more pat and wrapped up nicely than the novel.  If you’ve seen the movie, give the book a try, and vice versa.
Why is Father Francis Chisolm such a great father/Father?  First, how he lives the Gospel through his life more than his words.  Second, Father Chisolm has a passionate, Catholic ecuminism that spans cultures and promotes the deepest kind of friendship.  Finaly, he is brave and good, and only wants the best for his spiritual children, both temporal and spiritual goods, and seeks to provide them.

4.  Caddie Woodlawn’s father in Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink.  This is a children’s book, but would be enjoyed by anyone.  He is noble, calm-headed, kind, but firm with his children.  I don’t want to give anything away from the novel (because if you haven’t read it, please do! It’s a treat!), but his American spirit of hard work and equality brings tears to my eyes whenever I read this children’s novel.

5.  Pa in The Little House books.  Pa’s total love of his family, his dear affection for his brood, is so charming and winning.  Most of us who grew up reading the books and watching the television show immediately think, “Where’s my little half-pint of sweet cider half drunk up?”

6.  Robert Ray, the father of Betsy Ray, the central characters in the Besty-Tacy series of books, that fabulous semi-autobiographical collection of stories by Maud Hart Lovelace.  There are ten altogether in the series, set in early 20th century Minnesota; the firs four are best for younger kids, and the rest good for older kids and adults.  Mr. Ray is a benevolent, hardworking patriarch to three daughters, and lends a loving, mischievous paternal presence in these books full of fun and love.  In Betsy & Tacy Go Over the Big Hill, Mr. Ray successfully referees a “terrible” quarrel between Betsy, Tacy & Tib, and older sisters Julia and Katie.

Any great dads in fiction that you care to share?

Kristin Lavransdatter: A Review of Sorts…

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Some time back, I visited a well-respected blog by a Catholic convert that I respect highly and consider spiritually mature.  So I was shocked when I found myself disagreeing with just about everything I read on the recommended blog, about a mom and her desire to live a simple life, cleary an admirable goal.  I was especially saddened by the blogger’s frustration at her husband for not agreeing to her more dramatic efforts.

I don’t want to get too specific about the blog.  I don’t know IRL (in real life) personally either the blogger I respect, or the blog I was shocked to see her recommend.   But as I read around a little on the blog I very much disagreed with, I found myself thinking, “This blogger is like that nun from Kristin Lavransdatter.” 
If you don’t know Kristin Lavransdatter, it is a three-volume novel by Nobel prize-winner Sigrid Undset, first published in the 1920s and never out of print, about the life of the passionate Kristin and her 14th century Norway, medieval and richly Catholic.   I have the older version from when I first read Kristin, but Tiina Nunnally’s newer translation is luminous., and I’m glad to own both.  
In the novel, Sister Cecilia, a nun in the convent where Kristin goes to stay for a time, one night at dinner begins to grovel before the other sisters and confess that she has done things out of arrogance, not out of love of God:  “She had served her sisters with arrogance, she had drunk vanity from her water goblet, and she had spread her bare bread thick with conceit while the sisters drank ale and ate butter on their bread.”
For punishment, the abbess proclaims that the sister must sit in her (the abbess’) chair for eight days, during which time the other sisters will show her respect “that you will grow sated from the tribute of sinful people.  Then you must judge whether this is worth so much struggle, and decide either to live by the rules as the rest of us do or to continue the trials that no one demands of you.  Then you can contemplate whether all the things that you say you do now so that we might look up to you, henceforward you will do out of love of God and so that He might look upon you with mercy.”
After this punishment during which she “wept as if she were being beaten,” she has a new spirit:  “She continued to live in almost the same manner as before, but she would blush like a bride if anyone looked at her, whether she was sweeping the floor or walking alone to church.”
Now, even as I write, I am surprised to see how I am comparing or even judging a real person with this character.  My friends and family, I hope, know me as someone who is definitely not a “judger.”   I’ve been known to say, “You don’t know that person’s story, even if they tell you.”  (This I freely lift from the Chronicles of Narnia, where Aslan tells several characters this very thing).  And it sounds so much like I am judging this blogger’s motives and spiritual life.
But as a literature lover and reader, I don’t think I’m the only one who finds myself comparing certain situations, especially when they are far removed from me, to characters in novels.  And I couldn’t help thinking the blogger could benefit from being “punished” by an abbess.  So I’ve promoted myself to abbess and handed down this punishment:  this unnamed blogger shall use the money she is saving by trying to live a simple life not to give to the poor or some other noble goal, but to lavish on her husband and herself for a time—expensive dinners out, fancy dinners at home, babysitting so they can go see the latest frivolous goofy movie, a spa treatment or two, even– and see if that doesn’t help the situation, both in her family and in her own heart.
As Catholics, we are so fortunate to have the liturgical seasons–times of fasting and times of feasting–to balance our human selves that might tend toward one extreme or another.  It’s not always Lent, and it’s not always Eastertide.   We can do more penance than the church prescribes, but primarily with the help of careful and wise spiritual direction. 
There’s a famous story about St. Francis about a time when his disciples were arguing about whether it was proper to eat meat on Christmas Day—that year it fell on a Friday.  And Francis, took the raw meat and dragged it along the walls, saying, “It’s Christmas Day; even the walls should eat meat!”
I’m not sure if this post qualifies as a “review” of Kristin Lavransdatter, except to say that the book is such a part of my life’s fabric that I fairly often find myself comparing a situation in the novel to one in real life.  If you tackle this three-volume novel, I think you’ll find it well worth the effort, both for reading reasons and for its spiritual insights.
Have you read Kristin Lavransdatter? Do you agree or disagree that it is spiritually insightful?

Family-Friendly Friday: Voyage of the Dawn Treader Trailer

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I had a post about the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books all set to publish this morning (with an aside about why are movies rarely as good as the book version?), when I happened upon the first sneak peek trailer of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the third of the Chronicles of Narnia brought to life.

Special Narnia Sneak Peek » Life » Lifestyle — SixSeeds.tv

I discovered the trailer at Melissa Wiley’s excellent blog, often a source for great family-friendly fiction.  (She herself is author of the Martha and Charlotte books in the Little House series. )

Are you excited to see the newest Narnian adventure?  Do you think it will be as good as the book?

I’m not hoping for that–nothing could really match any of the Narnia Chronicles–but I do hope it is better than Prince Caspian movie version, which strayed so far from the book as to be almost unrecognizable.  We still enjoyed Prince Caspian at our house, and I consider it a “Narnian” movie, but was frustrated by how much is changed.  I hope that don’t do that for Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  There’s so much good story there the filmmakers don’t need to change a thing.  I admire greatly Michael Apted, director of Voyage of the Dawn Treader, for his excellent Amazing Grace and the moving and groundbreaking “Up” series“Up” following the lives of a group of English people every seven years.  So I have to confess I have pretty high hopes for this one.

Words Wednesday Poem: Mary’s Girlhood by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

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This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect
God’s Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she
Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee.
Unto God’s will she brought devout respect,
Profound simplicity of intellect,
And supreme patience. From her mother’s knee
Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity;
Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect.

So held she through her girlhood; as it were
An angel-water’d lily, that near God
Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home,
She woke in her white bed, and had no fear
At all,–yet wept till sunshine, and felt aw’d:
Because the fulness of the time was come. 


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Feel free to share any poems or “novel” quotes in the comments!

Words Wednesday: Quote from "Till We Have Faces"

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I’m not giving anything away from the plot of C.S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces to quote from near the end.   After all, the novel is a retelling of a well-known Greek myth, and follows fairly closely the story, though with interesting and beautiful twists. This quote from when Orual finishes her story, is the passage from which the book derives its name:
“The complaint was the answer.  To have heard myself making it was to be answered.  Lightly men talk of saying what they mean.  Often when he was teaching me to write in Greek the Fox would say, ‘Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.’
A glib saying.  When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about the joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer.  Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean?  How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?”
Any great quotes you’d like to share from books you are reading?