Pope Benedict has taken extraordinary measures to bring the SSPX back into the Church. Dialogue with the Society began almost immediately after Benedict’s papacy began and the Vatican has offered a number of olive branches, not the least of which was the great gift of Summorum Pontificum, which made the Traditional Latin Mass more available to all. However, the sticky situation of the excommunications remained — until January 21.

On the same day as the excommunications were lifted, a Swedish television station aired an interview with Bishop Williamson taped in November 2008. In the interview, Williamson said that “perhaps only 300,000″ Jews had perished at the hands of the Nazis and “not one” in gas chambers.

Predictably, the Williamson episode has become a cause célèbre and a ripe opportunity for the Church’s enemies to hurl vitriol at both the SSPX and, especially, the Pope. Much of the harshest criticism has come from inside the Church itself. The lifting of the excommunications has been labeled “a disaster,” “a major mistake,” “evidence of Vatican incompetence,” and has prompted an absurd call for the Pope’s resignation by two “theologians.” One newspaper headline even referred to Williamson as the “Holocaust Bishop.” Subtle touch, no?

Meanwhile, the Vatican responded yesterday with a reminder that while Williamson’s excommunication had been lifted, he still had no canonical function in the church because he was consecrated illegitimately. “Bishop Williamson, in order to be admitted to episcopal functions within the church, will have to take his distance, in an absolutely unequivocal and public fashion, from his position on the Shoah (Holocaust), which the Holy Father was not aware of when the excommunication was lifted,” the statement said.

To the outside observer, this may seem a strange story, with the reason for the lifting of the excommunications and the importance of the Williamson interview seeming confusing. To keep things in context, two points should be kept uppermost in mind:

1. The lifting of the excommunications and the Williamson interview have nothing to do with each other. Anyone who knows the first thing about the Vatican recognizes that the decision to lift the excommunications must have been made months ago and simply was made public on January 21. The Vatican simply doesn’t move fast enough for anyone to think the timing could have worked otherwise.

Thus, Williamson’s personal beliefs about the Holocaust have nothing to do with the Pope’s charity toward the SSPX bishops. Making foolish statements on secular matters is not a justification for excommunication. The facts alone refute Williamson’s inanities — that is what is needed here and all that is needed.

Further, removing the excommunications affects — besides Williamson — three other SSPX bishops, the Society’s 460 priests, 200 seminarians, and nearly one million people who attend the Society’s masses. Should the Pope have lifted the excommunications on the three bishops other than Williamson, causing a cleaving of the Society? Or should he not have lifted the excommunications on any of the four bishops because Williamson minimizes the Holocaust?

Excommunication is spiritual, not political, medicine, and the primary mission of the Church is saving souls, not cuddling up to the principalities and powers that be. The minute she begins doing the latter, she stops doing the former.

2. There is nothing the Vatican could have done to prevent the uproar. Cries accusing the Vatican press office of “horrible timing,” “missteps” etc., continue. However, given the suspicious timing of the interview’s release, it appears the trap to embarrass the Pope would have been sprung whenever the Vatican made the announcement — last week, this week, next month — it didn’t matter. After all, the interview was taped in November 2008. Running the interview the day of the announcement leads one to conclude the station received forewarning of the Pope’s announcement. Further, some groups were claiming outrage before the interview ran, indicating they too were in on the plan.

As often is the case, however, something else is afoot here. In the name of Christian unity, concrete steps are being taken by the Holy Father to bring traditionalists back into the fold — and this is what those screaming the loudest are really worried about. The leaven brought to the Church by the addition of nearly 500 traditional priests and a million traditional worshippers is a joy to some — and absolutely terrifying to others.

Besides being the home of some of the history’s greatest and most sublime intellects like Augustine, Aquinas, Newman and Pope Benedict himself, the Church is also open to the world’s dunces, simpletons, nincompoops, gullible, pig-headed, arrogant, and close-minded, including many who are bishops and cardinals. Regardless of how much he says he loves Tradition, Williamson has proven himself a useful idiot for those who hate Tradition.

However, should the Church ever close her doors to the poor and the foolish and accept only those of whom the world approves, she would be denying the universal salvific mission that is her primary reason for being. Pope Benedict knows this and his great act of compassion toward the SSPX bishops proves it. The world does not understand this and its hysterical reaction proves this also.

Let us pray for our beloved Pope Benedict XVI so that, in his words, he “may not flee for fear of the wolves.”

But there is no doubt that when Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn died this week, we lost a great man.

For those not living during the 1960s and 1970s, it is impossible to understand what Solzhenitsyn, winner of the 1970 Nobel Prize, meant to the world.  Because no writer of his talent, stature or importance is working today, those born after this time cannot comprehend the vital importance his books played in shaping world history and — at least in my case — shaping personal ones as well.  For it was Solzhenitsyn, an Orthodox Christian, who led me down my long path to Catholicism, a gift which I never can repay.

In his Nobel Prize acceptance speech in 1970, Solzhenitsyn said, “One word of truth outweighs the whole world,” a phrase that was met by academics with snickers.  But here was a man who understood the power of the word, who knew what it meant to be a writer, and who courageously stood up in the face of incredible danger and told the truth about the evil that gripped his country, no matter the cost to himself.

When historians write of the mighty Soviet Union’s fall, most cite the role played by Pope John Paul II, Ronald Reagan and the unwitting Mikhail Gorbachev.  Few, though, give Solzhenitsyn his due, although he opened the crack that became a fissure that led eventually to the collapse of the Iron Curtain. 

The Soviet Union, which at one time bullied and threatened the entire world, was the most threatening, deadly, and evil regime that ever existed.  It was responsible for the death of more than 100 million of its own citizens.  Because of its longer duration, it was ten times more deadly than the despicable Nazi regime.  But, in the face of a single man armed with nothing but courage and the truth, the Evil Empire was powerless.  As someone said, “the showdown between Solzhenitsyn and the Soviet empire was an unfair fight.  The Communists never had a chance.”  For the late, unlamented Soviet Union, then, one word of truth did outweigh the whole world.

In every book, Solzhenitsyn unflinchingly took on the totalitarian Big Lie, and demolished it with biting wit and brilliance.  Sadly, the Big Lie continues in our time, although in different form and technique.  This is why Solzhenitsyn’s books are still required reading for those wishing to free themselves from the cant and superficiality of today’s Lilliputian wordsmiths that fancy themselves writers.

Two books in particular, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Gulag Archipelago, are epics.  One Day is not only a literary classic, but brought the existence of the Gulag, the chain of Soviet labor camps that chewed up millions of people, to the world’s attention.  Many European and American intellectuals, including leagues of prominent journalists who should have done this work themselves, never forgave him for shattering their rose-colored view of Communism.  Later, his criticism of the obvious corruption and decadence of the West left him a persona non grata among Western elites. 

The Gulag Archipelago is, in my view, the greatest book of the 20^th century.  It stands astride its terrible century the way The Divine Comedy does the 14^th,,  Canterbury Tales the 15^th, and Hamlet the 16^th.  Part history, part philosophy, part religious witness, Gulag documents the entire 45-year history of the Soviet labor camps and serves as a metaphor for what Solzhenitsyn rightly calls “the caveman century.”  It is a breathtaking work of pure genius that powerfully refutes not only socialism, but also the wretched ideas underlying the foundation of the modern world.  

On a personal level, Solzhenitsyn literally helped save my soul.  During my teenage and young adult years, which were typical for the 1960s and ‘70s, I fully imbibed the atheistic, materialistic worldview that so permeates American society.  But in my mid-twenties, my life hit a crossroads with a confluence of events that made me wonder what life was all about.

At the same time, I returned to reading Solzhenitsyn.  I had loved him for years but now his books took on new importance and urgency.  His memoir, The Oak and the Calf, hit me like a heavyweight’s roundhouse.  Here was a real man: honest, truthful, courageous, living as if his existence mattered.  This was a serious person who, at great personal risk, was doing something significant.  And what important work occupied my days?  Partying with the boys, playing basketball and watching Sunday football on TV with a hangover.

Clearly, it was time to give up these childish things and follow Solzhenitsyn in the search for the eternal things.  This quest led me to the door of the Catholic Church, and I entered.  Having fallen overboard and bobbing in a sea of relativism, Solzhenitsyn provided me a lifeline to the truth.

On the several occasions that I have had the honor of addressing Catholic journalists and authors, I always conclude by quoting Solzhenitsyn on what it means to be a writer:

Once having taken up the word, it is never again possible to turn away.  The writer is no sideline judge of his compatriots and contemporaries.  He is guilty along with them of all the evil committed in his native land or by his nation.  And if the tanks of his fatherland have shed blood on the asphalt of a foreign capital, the brown stains have for all eternity spattered the writer’s face.  And if on a fateful night a sleeping, trusting friend has been choked to death, there are black and blue marks from the ropes on the writer’s palms.  And if the young fellow citizens of his country impudently proclaim the superiority of debauchery to modest labor, or go in for narcotics or seize hostages — then all of this evil stink mingles in the breath of the writer.

Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn’s life was a profound Christian witness, a martyrdom to the Truth that should serve as an example to us all.  Requiescat in pace, my friend, my mentor, my hero.  May flights of angels speed you to your rest.

Thus far, the reaction to Summorum Pontificum reported in news accounts has been overwhelmingly negative, probably due to the mass media's instinctive hatred of anything traditional.  Among the reasons frequently cited for the opposition to the Pope's move are that most people do not understand Latin, a wider use of the Tridentine Mass could cause divisiveness in parishes, and various complaints from special interest groups, both inside and outside the Church, many of which seem either ignorant or to have missed the point entirely.

Well, let at least one voice be raised in favor of Summorum Pontificum: I am delighted with the motu proprio and very grateful to the Holy Father for this immense and generous gift. 

Before my conversion, my image of the Catholic Church was formed by the Latin Mass, then the Roman Catholic Church's primary form of worship.  Even before I understood Catholicism, I could easily see how it differed from the Episcopal Church in which I was raised.  By virtue of its liturgy, the Catholic Church was its own Thing — there was nothing on earth remotely like it.

When thinking of the Catholic Church, I visualized the elaborate and mysterious ritual I had seen in countless television shows and movies.  For when Hollywood wanted to show the reverent, the sacred or practically anything else having to do with religion, it was the Catholic Church and her sacraments that best provided the visualization of the tangible presence of the supernatural in human life.  Like many, I was attracted to It without really knowing what It really was.  But there is something strange and yet familiar about the whole atmosphere of Catholic worship, much having to do with use of the beautiful sounding Latin, a language you could love without knowing a word of it.

By the time I converted in 1983, of course, the liturgy had changed drastically from what I expected.  Over the years, I attended folk masses, rock masses, and children's masses, where kids frolicked in the sanctuary while Father tried to keep us focused on the liturgy; listened to weepy, sentimental songs at Mass whose melodies echoed the Top 40; saw receiving the Eucharist in the hand appear and altar rails disappear; watched as priests became scarce and altar girls abundant.  But in all that time there was one thing I never saw: the ancient liturgy that formed my notion of what made Catholicism special in the first place.

It was at least fifteen years after converting before I attended a Traditional Latin Mass.  Although the ritual was different, somehow I immediately felt like I had arrived back home.  This was the Catholicism that I unconsciously had known without really knowing it, the Faith to which I instinctively reacted before actually encountering it.

Although finding a Tridentine Mass in my area (Los Angeles archdiocese) is difficult and the times inconvenient, I attend one whenever possible.  To me, nothing conveys the richness and sense of the supernatural the way the Old Mass does: its magnificent prayers constantly remind us that the Mass is, first and foremost, a Eucharistic Sacrifice; the beautiful, strictly defined rubrics; the wonderful ancient hymns that contain not a hint of pop schmaltz about them; the solemn reception of the Body and Blood of Our Lord kneeling and on the tongue; and, at the end of Mass, the reading of the beginning of John's Gospel, perhaps the most profound words ever written.  

By attending the Old Mass, my conversion has become deeper and more complete.  The catechesis provided through this magnificent ritual has guided me toward the Church's Sacred Tradition: toward Her teachings elaborated in Papal Encyclicals; toward working for the Social Reign of Jesus Christ; toward an understanding of the Faith and a love of the Blessed Mother; and, most importantly, toward an awed appreciation for the glorious treasure of Her liturgy.

It should be remembered that the Traditional Mass produced the Church's greatest saints and provided the formation of every pope for the past 1500 years, and has been praised by poets, artists and other intellectuals as the crown jewel of modern culture.  Thus, if we are obligated to offer our sacrifice to God in the manner most pleasing to Him, Pope Benedict has given a great gift to every Catholic — indeed to the entire world.  Only good can come from the celebration of more Traditional Latin Masses.  May God bless Pope Benedict XVI for this great pastoral act and may bishops around the world receive his motu proprio in the spirit in which it was intended.

Think again. Help has arrived.

Not the least problem with modern culture is its lack of real heroes. This is particularly true of sports, where we're more likely to see our athletic luminaries lined up in a police station than for Communion. Compare the Lou Gehrigs and Joe DiMaggios of yesterday to Barry Bonds and his ilk today: Almost across the board, stars of today seem to pale in comparison to their predecessors, lacking their elders' character, charisma, and class.

Well, Catholic Exchange and America Family Media are trying to change our thinking about that. They've just released Champions of Faith — Baseball Edition, a magnificent hour-long documentary on Catholic baseball players that is equal parts sports highlights, human-interest stories, and powerful evangelical tool. Featuring interviews with such well-known baseball personalities as Mike Piazza, Jeff Suppan, David Eckstein, Mike Sweeney, Jack McKeon, Rich Donnelly, and others, Champions of Faith is tailor-made for reaching out to young people and proving you don't have to be a thug in cleats to make it in the big leagues.

I'm the first to admit my interest in baseball has waned considerably. Strikes, scandals, skyrocketing salaries, and spoiled sportsmen have nearly ruined the game for me. Boycotting is about the only pleasure I still derive from the national pastime.

It wasn't always that way. Growing up, I loved the sport with red-hot passion. Back in the 1960s, baseball was a game with a soul. While always a steadfast New York Yankee fan, I admired stars from other teams, names now bringing lumps to the throat just mentioning them. Koufax, Drysdale, Gibson, Yaz, Musial, Rose, Clemente, Mays, Aaron, Oliva, Kaline, McCovey, the Robinsons and others were revered members of my personal Hall of Fame.

Nowadays, though, more major leaguers deserve to be wearing prison stripes than pin stripes. Obviously, the Vatican also is concerned with returning morality to sport. The late Pope John Paul II commented, "Sport plays an important role in the life of our society" because millions watch and participate in them. Therefore, said the Pope, it is essential to make sports "one of the frontiers of the new evangelism" and introduce Christian values through it.

This is precisely what Champions of Faith aims to do. The film focuses on the important role the Catholic faith plays in the life of an astonishing number of ballplayers.

We hear how prayer helps 2006 National League Championship Series Most Valuable Player Jeff Suppan of the St. Louis Cardinals keep his poise and composure and how teammate David Eckstein's faith helped him cope with a serious injury before coming back to be the 2006 World Series MVP. Mike Sweeney, the Kansas City Royals' first superstar since the great George Brett, explains how he fought the twin sins of despair and pride by humbling himself before God. This gave him the fortitude to apologize and seek forgiveness from a hated rival for starting a fight.

Manager Jack McKeon, with 50 years in professional baseball, tells how St. Therese, the Little Flower, helped his Florida Marlins pulled off a Big Miracle with a series of improbable comebacks in winning the 2003 World Championship. Rich Donnelly, now the Los Angeles Dodgers' third-base coach, gives irrefutable evidence that Amy, his daughter who died of a brain tumor at age 18, was up in Heaven pulling for her dad's team when the Florida Marlins won the 2003 World Series.

But perhaps my favorite episode is Mike Piazza's, the greatest hitting catcher in baseball history with 420 home runs and counting. Turns out the friendly, talkative Piazza, who has faced down 100-mph fastballs and even took a bean ball on the noggin from Rocket Roger Clemens, was totally unnerved and speechless when meeting his hero: Pope John Paul II. Piazza's spiritual life — when his team is on the road, he arranges for Mass to be said in the clubhouse — is even stronger than his bat speed.

Filmed in gorgeous, high-definition video, Champions of Faith is destined to become a classic in the revitalization of Catholic media, as rich and profound in its own way as Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, or The Passion of the Christ are in theirs. Not only will this film give your sports-loving children some men to look up to, it just might rekindle your respect for the game you loved so much as a kid.

My only question is: When do we get Champions of Faith — Football Edition?

“Out of Step” with the Contemporary World

She's not the only one. Many of the million or so attending the World Youth Day celebrations reported the same phenomenon.

Most people would be astonished to hear that the Holy Father might be the most beloved person in the world among young people. After all, we're always told the Catholic Church's message is irrelevant, outmoded and – worst of all – square. Cynics charge it has nothing meaningful to say to today's fun-loving, hedonistic youth.

According to the press, polls repeatedly show the Pope's relentless opposition to contraception, abortion, homosexuality, pornography, pre-marital sex, easy divorce and other fruits of the sexual revolution is anathema to the modern and fashionable. (It goes without saying that no one knows the mind of the modern and fashionable like the media.) The Holy Father, they conclude, is out of step with the contemporary world.

A Rebuke to the Modern Age

Okay, then how do you explain nearly a million kids at the Pope's World Youth Day? And where else would the gathering of that many youngsters be termed a “disappointing” turnout?

Perhaps it's because young people's love for the Holy Father is a direct rebuke to the modern age, and thus to its primary megaphone, the modern journalist. No institution has been a more powerful force for secularism, materialism or sexual freedom than the media.

Most reporters today are alienated from religion, looking at faith as little more than an ancient superstition. They don't understand it, so they don't cover it – unless a “religious” story involving scandal or human weakness pops up. That they comprehend.

In listening to World Youth Day participants speak, their deep affection for the Holy Father is clear. The same words keep popping up over and over to describe him – “radiance,” “hero” “world's role model,” “leader of youth,” “our rock,” “following in St. Peter's footsteps,” and “the person closest to Jesus.”

Thus, reasons for the Pope's youthful legions are quite simple: When young people see the weary, lined, rugged, leathern visage of the Holy Father, they see the face of love. Not love the way Hollywood loves them – as walking wallets, rear ends in movie theaters, pairs of ears to listen to the latest CDs – but real affection, from someone who sees them rightfully as precious individuals with eternal souls. And when the Vicar of Christ's deep, aged, honeyed voice is intoned, it seems they're hearing the very Words of God.

An Inexhaustible Treasure of Grace

This, then, is the Papal appeal to the young: faith, as the steadfast leader of the Church, the eternal Bride of Christ; hope, offering refuge for the restless heart; and love, from a elderly man walking in persona Christi. Of these, as St. Paul says, the greatest is love.

This is what Georgia Rae Giddings reacted to. After telling the Pope she loved him, he tenderly stroked her head and whispered gently that he loved her too, the perfect personification of Cardinal Newman's great motto of “Heart Speaketh to Heart.” It's hard to imagine any other world leader reacting this way to the presence of an unexpected young stranger – so fearless, so compassionate, so Christlike.

No wonder kids love him.

Catholicism may be known as the Old Faith, it's the Young Faith too, with a remarkable, time-tested ability to outlive every fad that mocks it as passe. Each Catholic generation discovers anew the richness and power of their ancient religion, finding within it an inexhaustible treasure of grace and beauty, boundless as the sea. Once that discovery is made, as a million young pilgrims recently learned, no worldly interest can ever again quite satisfy.

James Bemis is an editorial board member, weekly columnist and film critic for the California Political Review, and has been published in many other Catholic and secular publications. You can email him at JmsBemis@cs.com.

One year I made the mistake of wearing green socks to school on St. Patrick’s Day. By noon, I’d been pinched a dozen times by friends and strangers who tweaked me before I could show them my patch of green. I spent the rest of the day with my pant legs rolled up – as a matter of self-defense.

Today, the bloom is off St. Paddy’s Day – I’m sure pinching someone is now considered a “hate crime” – but not in my household. Tradition is alive there, kept as faithfully as a mother’s love.

Our family celebration starts early, listening to Bing Crosby croon “Top O’ the Morning to You,” fine and cheery as you please. Next we play Van Morrison and the Chieftain’s “Irish Heartbeat” CD, the loveliest blend of old and new Celtic music a body could find.

Then comes Disney’s Darby O’Gill and the Little People, a movie that’s precious as a faerie’s gift, capturing the magic of Irish folktale as well as humanly possible. By this time, the corned beef’s boiling, and the cook’s getting mighty thirsty, which is why, I suppose, God made Guinness Stout.

With corned beef and black beer, we watch John Ford’s great The Quiet Man, the best film ever made about the Irish. Before going to bed, the wee ones hear the story of Erin’s beloved St. Patrick, a tale that warms an Irish heart quicker than a blazing hearth.

All Irish history converges on the legend of St. Patrick – where mythic past met European future, where Celtic sword met Christian cross, where heaven’s rainbow bent to kiss its earthly realm.

St. Patrick, it seems, was actually an Englishman – but he’s long since been forgiven for that. At 16, Patrick was kidnapped and brought to Ireland as a slave.

During his captivity, he experienced a spiritual awakening, eventually escaping to Britain. After becoming a Catholic priest and then bishop, Patrick received a calling to spread Christianity and civilization back in Ireland, where his legend began.

St. Patrick is associated with many famous stories, including outperforming the druids in a tournament of miracles, thereby winning the right to preach Christianity in Ireland; his driving the snakes into the sea; and raising several people, including his father, from the dead.

Most popular, though, is the tale of the shamrock. In teaching converts about the Trinity – the Christian doctrine of three Gods in one – the great saint held up a shamrock, explaining the three leaves represented the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, while the stem was the Godhead itself from which they proceeded. Thus, the shamrock, now commonly worn on St. Patrick’s Day, became the symbol of Ireland and the faith of her people.

Sadly, the holiday’s importance is fading now, too closely associated in progressive minds with the dreaded “dead, white males” of the past. In today’s testy society – our Grave New World, if you will – some spoilsports consider wearing green on March 17 to be a politically incorrect faux pas. Replacing corporate gray with a splash of green is almost a form of rebellion now.

But Ireland, land of poets and minstrels, has outlived a thousand tyrannies and will outlive this one too. For the Emerald Isle is more than just a patch of green earth in a far-off sea; she’s a country of the heart that lives in the minds and souls of her loyal sons and daughters. Wherever they go, she goes too.

Long after today’s political fads are but an unpleasant and distant memory, some will be keeping these traditions alive. Even in lands unfamiliar and cultures unfriendly, a few of us will always sing Ireland’s songs, passing on tales of her greatness and her grief. We’ll remember poet Thomas Moore’s “The Minstrel Boy”:

“Land of song!” said the warrior-bard,

“Though all the world betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

(To read all about St. Patrick click here.)

James Bemis is an editorial board member and columnist for California Political Review. This article was first published in 2001.

Breaking an Unspoken Taboo

Because the movie was filmed in Latin and Aramaic with no big-name stars, Hollywood insiders figured producer and director Gibson was throwing away his $30 million investment. However, upon general release in February 2004, it was obvious something extraordinary had occurred: The Passion was not only a box-office smash but the film succeeded brilliantly as cinema.

Gibson expertly puts us at Ground Zero of the last twelve hours in Christ’s life. In his wisdom, the director played it straight, letting the gripping Passion narrative unfold just as it has been passed down through the ages — thankfully, there’s hardly a modern touch found anywhere in the film.

In taking Christianity seriously, however, The Passion broke Hollywood’s unspoken taboo. Controversy raged about whether the film was “anti-Semitic.” But whether people loved or hated the film, most agreed it was extraordinarily powerful cinema. The question was not if the film would be nominated for major awards, but how many.

Then came January 26’s startling news: The Passion was nominated for three minor awards but no major ones. Few imagined Hollywood’s bias against Christianity was so big — and its elite so small — that The Passion would be virtually snubbed when the Academy Award nominations were announced. Was 2004 such a stellar year for the movies that a great cinematic achievement like The Passion could be ignored?

The Second-Rate Competition

Hardly. The five films nominated for 2004’s Best Picture are — at best — second-rate, forgettable as last week’s leftovers. Ray, for instance, is simply a mediocre bio-pic of the sort — albeit seamier — Hollywood used to churn out by the dozens: The Glenn Miller Story, The Benny Goodman Story, The Gene Krupa Story, The Eddy Duchin Story, etc. (None of these — including Ray — holds a candle to Yankee Doodle Dandy, though.) You never forget you’re watching a movie about Ray Charles: Despite all the acting accolades, Jamie Foxx seems far too delicate and insubstantial for the role of a tough, complex giant like Ray Charles. As one who loves Charles’s music, I wanted to like the movie but found it trite and unmoving. Most viewers would better understand “The Genius” by listening to a greatest hits CD rather than watching this anemic film.

It says much about the corrupted state of our culture that Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby is considered mainstream. The story involves the freakish sport of female boxing, an activity that would be unthinkable in a civilized society. None of the athletes exhibit even the faintest hint of feminine virtue, but instead talk, act and think like undersized men with mammaries. Worse, the film smiles upon the “mercy killing” of an invalid by the nominally Catholic “hero.” The message: Once you’ve lost the ability to earn big bucks pulverizing women in a boxing ring, then life just ain’t worth living. This is deep thinking, Hollywood-style.

Finally, director Eastwood can’t resist taking cheap shots at the Catholic Church. As in last year’s Mystic River, a priest is disparaged. This time, he’s made to appear immature and so ignorant he can’t explain the doctrine of the Trinity or the Immaculate Conception to a pesky parishioner. In short, Million Dollar Baby is a thoroughly repulsive film.

Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator is similar to Howard Hughes’s Spruce Goose: so overblown it hardly gets airborne. This leaden biography of Hughes (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) is a cartoonish, indulgent, almost amateurish production. DiCaprio’s hair looks like it was dyed with shoe polish. In the second lead role, Cate Blanchett’s caricature of Katherine Hepburn is uproariously incompetent. Like every movie Scorsese has made since 1980’s great Raging Bull, this film is too long, too loud, and too lumbering. Nothing in it rings true. Put another way, The Aviator, as they say, must be seen to be disbelieved.

Critically acclaimed Sideways reveals more about its admirers than it does about human nature. The story revels in degradation — of marriage, friendship, courtship, family, etc. You name it, Sideways demeans it. Ostensibly about two friends on a week-long wine tasting binge before one’s wedding, the wretched Sideways is a sort of upscale Porky’s, replete with foul language, naked fat slobs, animal-like carnality and juvenile high-jinks by two thoroughly unlikable male leads. If this is the “cultural landmark” many are saying, Catholics must ask whither American culture hath landed.

Finding Neverland, a story about Peter Pan creator J. M. Barrie, is a thin but rewarding film, featuring an excellent performance by Johnny Depp — the first role I’ve seen in which he doesn’t grossly overact. Another highlight is the extraordinary performance by Freddie Highmore as a member of the family that inspires Barrie to write Peter Pan. Neverland is an enjoyable and touching movie, but ultimately is rather insubstantial.

Relishing Religious Bigotry

By any artistic standard, The Passion is far superior to any of the films nominated as Best Picture. Why the cold-shoulder? First, part of the wailing over the movie was veiled envy from an embarrassed Hollywood establishment, those makers of infantile comedies and seductive trivialities who saw what a real filmmaker could do. Watching The Passion is an unforgettable experience: It demonstrates the heights that cinema is capable of but rarely achieves, especially these days.

Second, The Passion’s snubbing puts the lie to the Hollywood establishment’s reputed “tolerance.” In fact, the hostile blacklisting of Gibson and other Christians now occurring is far uglier than anything that happened during the supposed “Dark Ages” of the McCarthy blacklisting era, because now it is done out of religious intolerance. Over the years, observers have noted how Hollywood executives relish producing films that undermine, demean, and ridicule the Christian faith. This year the mask is ripped off and we see the bared fangs of religious bigotry in all its grisly and vivid ugliness. In a year when a great film like The Passion so obviously should have been honored, Tinseltown’s elites instead chose five forgettable films as the finest they had to offer. Faced with an opportunity to rise above their prejudices for a change, the Academy — to its everlasting shame — took a flyer.

The 2004 Academy Awards forever will be remembered as when the year’s best picture wasn’t nominated as Best Picture.

Click here to view an amazing one-minute trailer presentation that will take you “Inside the Passion.”

James Bemis is an editorial board member and columnist for California Political Review.

(This article originally appeared in The Wanderer and is reprinted with permission. To subscribe call 651-224-5733.)

Compare the Joe DiMaggios of yesterday to the Alan Iversons of today; entertainers like Nat King Cole to rappers like Snoop Doggy Dog; our nation’s first president George Washington to our previous one, Bill Clinton. So where can parents take their children these days to find real heroes? I have a suggestion.

On this Memorial Day, visit a cemetery.

Throughout the country, Memorial Day ceremonies will honor those combat veterans who died protecting the freedoms we too often take for granted. At these services, we're reminded what this holiday — and real heroism — is all about.

Gather Around Their Sacred Remains

Formerly called Decoration Day, Memorial Day was established in 1868 by General John A. Logan, commander of the Union Army. It was meant, Logan said, to be a day for “strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country.”

So on May 30 of each year (later changed to the last Monday in May), he proposed that our nation would “at the time appointed, gather around their sacred remains and garland the passionless mounds above them with choicest of flowers of springtime, and let us raise above them the dear old flag they saved from dishonor.”

General Logan knew how quickly the losses of war could pass from memory and so proposed a national day of remembrance. “If other eyes should grow dull and other hands slack and other hearts cold in solemn trust,” he said, “ours shall keep it well as long as the light and warmth of life remains in us.”

Despite Logan’s good intentions, I suspect few people visit the grave of a veteran on this holiday to remember and give thanks. Even fewer attend memorial services, parades or other public events paying homage to fallen members of our armed forces.

Maybe it’s a sign of our times, but it surely doesn’t reflect well on us that such an important and solemn occasion is so lightly regarded. Most people can’t seem to spare the time to honor their defenders, who died in places like Shiloh and Antietam, Normandy and Pearl Harbor, Khe Sanh, Pleiku, and now Kabul. Don’t bother trying to go to a movie that day, though, because theaters will be packed — it’s one of Hollywood’s biggest weekends.

No Greater Love Than This

Ironically, our complacency toward the military stems from its very success. Even with our troops in harm’s way in Afghanistan and other places, the seeming invincibility of our combat forces leads us to take them much for granted.

But this is even more reason to consider why the abundant fruits of freedom are available to us. In great measure, it’s because many Americans answered their nation’s call to duty on behalf of their compatriots — past, present, and future — asking that they now repay their forefathers’ sacrifices with those of their own. To their credit, they responded. To our shame, many of us have forgotten.

Our search for heroes, then, should not begin at the ballpark, on television or at the movies. It should begin at our cemeteries, at the gravesides of those who gave their lives for duty, honor, and country. For the nation that forgets its heroes of yesterday will find none coming forward to defend it tomorrow.

Our Lord tells us that “Greater love than this no man has, than to lay down his life for his friends.” This is just as true today as when He said it two thousand years ago. It may be too late now to thank those who laid down their lives for us, but it's never too late to remember them. Our search for real heroes should begin today.

© Copyright 2002 Catholic Exchange

A Fresh Look at Familiar Stories

But in Silent Witnesses, these servers come to life: “Jesus pauses; His gaze falls upon a server. 'What’s your name?' He asks. 'Eliab,' replies the server. 'Eliab, quickly, grab two of your friends and meet me in the storage room.' Eliab calls his friends and they make their way around the back of the house. 'Fill these six stone jars with water at once.' Jesus’ voice is firm and direct so the servers get right to the task, dragging the heavy vessels to the well.”

Continuing: “The servers take the drink to the headwaiter, fearful that by taking this water during a wedding feast they will be punished. Eliab’s hand shakes as he gives the water to the headwaiter. What will be his reaction? 'Eliab, my friend! Where have you been keeping this?' Eliab straightens up, anxiously searching for Jesus. The headwaiter continues, ‘Most people serve the best wine first but you’ve been holding out, haven’t you? This is the choicest wine I’ve ever tasted!’”

When hearing Gospel stories, it’s easy to lose oneself in Christ’s piercing words, forgetting that all this action happened to real people. Wright’s book enables us to take a fresh look at these familiar stories, almost as if reading them for the first time.

Extraordinary Encounters with Ordinary People

Allan Wright, a Scotch Plains, New Jersey religion teacher, combines a profound Biblical knowledge with a novelist’s creative impulse. He draws the indelible outline of invisible characters, providing deep and penetrating meditations into the meaning of the drama in which they unaccountably found themselves.

In Silent Witnesses, Wright gives voice to twenty-six New Testament characters who interacted with and served Jesus. While gospel writers tell of these bystanders’ actions, their thoughts and comments are not recorded. However, in Wright’s skillful and creative hands, words are placed in the mouths of the Good Samaritan, the boy with the fish and bread loaves, Judas, Barrabas, Mary and Martha, the one thankful leper, Simon carrying the cross, and many others. We thus can reflect upon what effect the extraordinary encounters with Christ had on these ordinary people.

For example, at the Cana wedding feast, Jesus told the servers to fill jars with water, draw some out and take it to the headwaiter. Dutifully, they did. In John’s Gospel, that’s all we hear of the silent servers.

New and Invigorating Insights

For example, Wright describes the poor widow “with her old clothes and worn sandals, she headed out the door, shuffling her feet and clutching two small coins in her hand. She walked anonymously into the busy street leading to the temple treasury. Crowds, all in a hurry, passed her by.”

At the clinking of two small copper coins placed in the treasury by the poor widow, Jesus (who had been discussing topics of the day with scribes and elders) “witnessed what he was looking for. Jesus called over his disciples, saying, 'Amen, I say to you this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.'” Her humble and generous giving remains one of the most poignant and beloved gospel tales.

One minor criticism: The book cries out for a concluding chapter summarizing and placing the stories in context, perhaps pointing to the lessons learned. In essence, my complaint is not that Silent Witnesses is too long, but that it is too short. Nevertheless, in an unforgettable way, Silent Witnesses adds new and invigorating insights to Sacred Scripture by bringing to life those who served as character actors in The Greatest Story Ever Told.

(Silent Witnesses can be ordered from St. Anthony Messenger Press, 28 W. Liberty St., Cincinnati, Ohio, 45202, Phone: (800) 488-0488, or from their web site at www.americancatholic.org)

James Bemis is an editorial board member and columnist for California Political Review and a frequent contributor to The Wanderer.

Homes and businesses of many friends were threatened as the merciless towers of flame moved through town. Oppressive ash, heat and thick smoke harass the nose, eyes and throat. This wasn’t hell, but it’s as close as I ever care to get.

Only one thing is worse than being in danger: knowing your child is in danger. Saturday night, my daughter got off work at Arroyo Vista Park in Moorpark. Knowing fires were nearby, she was unprepared for encountering the real thing. Huge walls of undulating orange flame engulfed three sides of the city. Red flashing sirens spun incessantly and fleets of yellow firetrucks rushed by, honking like flocks of mad geese. With traffic beginning to back up, she began a frantic dash home. Her usual route closed because of the fire, she returned via a roundabout, unfamiliar course, detouring through Thousand Oaks.

Pretty scary stuff, especially for a new driver. Her return, naturally, was greeted by hugs and great gratitude.

Our Fallen Nature: It’s bitter knowing most — if not all — of these horrendous wildfires resulted from arson. This dark side of human nature, man’s tendency to do wrong even when knowing what is right, isn’t addressed by modern pieties, which can’t account for the presence of evil. How could anyone intentionally cause such heartbreak and destruction? The only plausible answers are the ancient ones. Put another way, the older I get, the more firmly I believe in Original Sin.

On the Other Hand: The heroic efforts of firefighters, tirelessly battling these furious blazes, are beyond praise. We can only express awe and gratitude for their service. They are the direct opposites of the cruel cowards that started these fires. Between the two, we see our own dual natures: at once, both base and noble. Good and evil live in every human community, as it does in every human heart.

The Perfect Firestorm: These wildfires couldn’t have come at a worse time. Drought conditions, a scorching summer, and dry, hot Santa Ana winds made Southern California the world’s largest kindling bundle. The financial burden of costly fire fighting is also terribly timed for cities, counties, and, especially, the state. All our “rainy funds” were frittered away in wild government spending sprees. Now the rainy day (figuratively speaking) is here, but the money isn’t.

Cause and Effect: Our staggering budget crisis, tremendous loss of business base, and flight of long-time residents to other states has devastated California, degrading the once Golden State into a leaden one. Does anyone really believe it’s just a coincidence California’s decline dramatically accelerated in the six years since the governor, state legislature and all major statewide elected officials have been in the hands of Democrats? Just asking.

Dueling Governors: As if one publicity-hungry governor isn’t enough, Californians now must put up with two. Both Governor Gray Davis and Governor-elect Schwarzenegger made widely publicized appearances during the wildfires. Schwarzenegger, who visited working firefighters, came off looking better than Davis, appearing with small town Democrat Party pols who nearly knocked each other off the podium rushing to take credit for assistance programs. The entire affair, though, led to an obvious question: Who’s in charge here?

The Measure of a Man: As mentioned, Schwarzenegger paid a visit to firefighters working in Moorpark and Simi Valley. A nice gesture and apparently good for morale, bringing smiles from exhausted workers. His visit pointed up an unstated truth, though: Each of these fellows is twice the man Arnold (or most any politician) will ever be.

© Copyright 2003 Catholic Exchange

James Bemis is an editorial board member and columnist for California Political Review.