First
the update on mom. She was transferred to
the Rehab Facility across the street from the hospital on Tuesday
afternoon. Wednesday she had her first
full day of rehab exercises, and now they pretty much exercise them morning and
afternoon. Eight years ago when she
fractured the other hip and had it replaced the rehab stay was a month and the
exercise was once a day.
It’s
not clear to me whether she was extra sore or just routine sore, and I’m not
sure if they gave her extra pain killers or just the prescribed dosage but she
was given Oxycodone. Her medical list
says she’s supposed to get 5 mg and from what I gathered they gave her 10
mg. On Thursday—my birthday of all days—I
got a call at work from the rehab facility that she was disoriented and
non-responsive and that they had to send her to the emergency room. I spent a
good part of my day into the evening at the hospital. As it turned out, she
either had a bad reaction to medicine or they accidentally over dosed her. When
I got to the hospital her blood pressure was down to nil and she was
incoherent. To make a long story short, they stabilized her by the end of the
night, she was sleeping soundly, and all her vitals were normal. They even sent
her back to the rehab facility, and on Friday, the next day, she was great,
perfectly normal. I was astounded actually. I didn't know how I would find her
this morning. She didn't even have a hangover, and she did her rehab exercises. Doctor has given the instruction she is to
never get oxycodone. She will have to
tough it out with only Tylenol.
Here’s
the photo essay. My mother is staying at
Lutheran Medical Center, which is in Brooklyn, NY, one avenue from the NY
Harbor and three additional blocks from the 59th street pier. While taking a walk around, I discovered
it. I had heard of it, but never went to
it. It has a great view of the harbor. Apparently there’s a fast ferry that stops
there for commuters. So yesterday I took
my camera and clicked off a few shots.
As
you approach the pier.
There
was an interesting looking tug boat docked there.
The
pier was surprisingly long. It had to be
a good quarter mile.
As
you walk to the end, you can see the harbor.
That’s New Jersey on the left and Manhattan from the center to the
right. Somehow the camera zoomed out makes it look farther than it really is.
Here’s
a really good shot of Manhattan looking at it from the south. This is ore how it looks with the naked eye.
And
here’s a zoomed in view of the southern Manhattan skyline. The tall building is the new Liberty Tower
that replaced the Twin Towers.
And
finally the best picture of all when I really zoomed in was the Statue of
Liberty.
Unfortunately from my angle I got that lousy New Jersey building in the background.
I
owe you all an update. Friday she had
her hip replacement. Surgeon said “it
went beautifully.” So I take it the surgical
part has gone well.
Later
than evening when the anesthesia wore off, she was in severe pain. She was in agony actually. They gave her oxycodone, but it didn’t seem
to make a difference. Not only that, the
contraption that they put over the bed for hobbling patients (see image) to
lift themselves fell apart when she pulled on it and one of the support bars
came off and hit her on the leg that had just been operated. Ultimately they had to give her morphine.
Over
the weekend she improved. They had her
up and even had her walk with a walker for some twenty feet. She was to get discharged today, Monday, but
they held back. Her blood pressure has
been very low, and I just figured out why for the nurses. She takes a blood pressure medication to
raise her blood pressure, Midodrine. She
has the opposite of blood pressure issues than most people. It’s too low from orthostatic hypo
tension. The medication lifts her
pressure, but when I read the details it says that a patient should not take it
if they are bedridden. It’s plays havoc
on her blood pressure. So hopefully they
will either change the dosage because she is bedridden or get her on her feet
more.
So
that’s where we are. She’s doing well,
but delayed from going over to rehab. Thank you for your prayers and well wishes. It's most appreciated.
I’m
always willing to pass on some wonderful tidbit about the patron saint of this
blog, St. Catherine of Siena. BishopRobert Barron, who seems to be everywhere in the Catholic media, wrote an article on why we
should refer to Jesus in the formal, archaic thou, and apparently it was inspired by how St. Catherine referred
to Jesus while praying. Here’s what he
wrote:
On the final morning of
the November meeting of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, we
were treated to a fine sermon by Archbishop J. Peter Sartain. The leader of the
church in Seattle spent a good deal of time discussing Pier Giorgio Frassati, a
saint from the early twentieth century to whom he and I both have a strong
devotion. But what particularly struck me in his homily was a reference to the
great St. Catherine of Siena. One of the most remarkable things about that
remarkable woman was the intimacy which she regularly experienced with Mary,
the saints, and the Lord Jesus himself. Archbishop Sartain relayed a story
reported by Catherine’s spiritual director, Raymond of Capua. According to
Raymond, Catherine would often recite the office while walking along a cloister
in the company of Jesus, mystically visible to the saint. When she came to the
conclusion of a psalm, she would, according to liturgical custom, speak the
words of the Glory Be, but her version was as follows, “Glory be to the Father,
and to Thee, and to the Holy Ghost!” For her, Christ was not a distant figure,
and prayer was not an abstract exercise. Rather, the Lord was at her side, and
prayer was conversation between friends.
Archbishop Sartain
invited us to muse on Catherine’s use of the intimate form of the pronoun, in
her Latin tibi (to you), and rightly rendered in English as “to Thee.” As is
the case with many other languages, Latin distinguishes between more formal and
more informal use of the second person pronoun, and it is the familiar “tu”
that Catherine employs when speaking to Jesus. It is an oddity of the evolution
of spoken English that today “thou, thine, thy, and thee” seem more rarified,
more regal and distant, when in fact just the contrary was the case up until
fairly modern times. These were the words used to address family members,
children, and intimate friends, in contradistinction to the more formal “you”
and “yours.” How wonderful, Archbishop Sartain reminded us, that this intimate
usage is preserved in some of our most beloved prayers. We say, “Our Father,
who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…”
and we pray, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou
among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” Again, I realize that
to our ears, this language sounds less rather than more intimate, but it is in
fact meant to convey the same easy familiarity with the Father and the Blessed
Mother that Catherine of Siena enjoyed with Christ.
Yes,
St. Catherine visibly saw Jesus often, and how funny she would say “Glory be to
the Father, and to Thee, and to the Holy Ghost!” I could see her nodding her to Jesus and
saying, “to Thee.”
To
read the other reasons for referring to Jesus as thou you can find the article at his Word on Fire website,
here.
One
last thing. Today is my mother’s hip
replacement surgery. Say a little prayer
for a successful outcome, and I’ll appeal to St. Catherine of Siena, patron
saint of nurses, to also pray for my mom.
Just
a personal note. I’ve mentioned my
mother a few times on my blog. On Friday
my mother will be going for hip replacement surgery. This is her second hip to be replaced. Eight years ago she fractured her left hip in
a fall, and while they tried to screw it together (in the x-ray you could see a
screw hold bone together like a screw holds together wood) but it didn’t hold
and ultimately she had to have it replaced.
This time age and arthritis have her left her right hip bone on bone in
the socket, so that she is now hobbling in pain. It started just a few months ago and day by day you can see the reduction in
mobility and increase in pain. When the
orthopedist saw the x-ray he was shocked that she was even walking at all. It will be the same orthopedic surgeon on
Friday that did her left hip. The x-rays
also showed that her left hip replacement was still in excellent shape. We were very happy with this orthopedist. My only concern is that now she is 83 years
old. That’s advanced for such a major
operation, at least in my mind. But the
doctors, including her cardiologist, find her age not to be an issue, and she
has passed the pre-op testing with flying colors. Her blood test didn’t have a single category outside
of normal. Her cholesterol was 156. She’s in great shape for her age, but I am
still worried. Say a small prayer for
her.
I’ve been so delinquent with my blog lately. I used to have filler posts between posts with
more substance, but I’ve gotten out of the habit. I’m not sure if the handful of people who
read my blogs care, but I do feel I should post something every so often. Here’s a nice occasion for one. This is a Christmas advertisement. I’m not even sure what it’s for, but it’s
really cute and heartwarming. I hope you
enjoy it.
Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving Day, and
try to put Christ into the Christmas season.
Actually, don’t just try; do it.
The
singer-songwriter-poet-novelist Leonard Cohen passed away last week and I really want to commemorate
the occasion. I loved his music. From the LA Times:
Leonard Cohen, a
singer-songwriter whose literary sensibility and elegant dissections of desire
made him one of popular music’s most influential and admired figures for four
decades, has died. He was 82.
“Unmatched in his
creativity, insight, and crippling candor, Leonard Cohen was a true visionary
whose voice will be sorely missed,” said his manager Robert Kory, confirming
Cohen’s death in statement. “He leaves behind a legacy of work that will bring
insight, inspiration, and healing for generations to come.”
The cause of death was
not released.
It
was not released, but it was cancer.
It
has amazed me how many people have never heard of Leonard Cohen, or if they
have they no so little of his music. He
is sort of described as the Canadian Bob Dylan because his early compositions were
also folk and because his lyrics were highly poetic. In my review of Dylan’s Nobel Prize in
Literature I stated how and explained why most song lyrics are not poetry and that is still the case with Cohen, but frankly I think Cohen’s lines are
much closer to poetic than Dylan’s. The
LA times article continues:
In songs such as
“Suzanne,” “Bird on the Wire” and “Hallelujah,” and in his poems and two
novels, the Montreal-born artist provided a rarefied alternative to more
accessible troubadours, employing meticulous language to plumb the vagaries of
the human condition.
His dry, monotone voice,
which over the years deepened to a cigarette-charred whisper, contributed to
Cohen’s popular image as a depressed — and depressing — artist. He teasingly
alluded to that stereotype in one of his songs, referring to “the patron saint
of envy and the grocer of despair.”
Cohen’s last LP,
October’s “You Want It Darker,”
reflected a deep awareness of his mortality.
It
had been reported that Cohen had been ill for some time, and he knew his
October album, “You want It Darker” would be his last. In that title song, he repeats the line, “I’m
ready my Lord,” know he has reached an emotional end to his life as well as
whatever physical ailments were curtailing him.
There
were so many Catholic allusions and imagery in Cohen’s songs, I had thought he might
have been a convert. He grew up as an
Orthodox Jew and lived out his life as a sort of unorthodox Jew, though observant
of the Sabbath laws. He was also heavily
involved with Buddhism, and actually was ordained a Buddhist monk. It’s hard to say how devout he was though
since he never married and had two children out of wedlock. Still religion factors into many of his
songs, and he held a high regard for Jesus.
From the Wikipedia entry:
Cohen showed an interest
in Jesus as a universal figure, saying, "I'm very fond of Jesus Christ. He
may be the most beautiful guy who walked the face of this earth. Any guy who
says 'Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the meek' has got to be a figure of unparalleled
generosity and insight and madness...A man who declared himself to stand among
the thieves, the prostitutes and the homeless. His position cannot be
comprehended. It is an inhuman generosity. A generosity that would overthrow
the world if it was embraced because nothing would weather that compassion. I'm
not trying to alter the Jewish view of Jesus Christ. But to me, in spite of
what I know about the history of legal Christianity, the figure of the man has
touched me.”
I’ve
never read any of Cohen’s poetry, and certainly not his novels. But given how highly artful his music is, I
would imagine so would be his literary endeavors.
The first verses that
inspired him were Bible passages and the liturgy at the synagogue he attended
with his parents and his sister, Esther. He wrote poems as a youngster, and in
his teens he pursued his fondness for country music by forming a group called
the Buckskin Boys.
The written word
prevailed, and Cohen attended Montreal’s McGill University as an English major.
After graduating in 1955, he joined the city’s thriving literary scene and
published his first volume of poetry, “Let Us Compare Mythologies,” in 1956.
A second collection, “The
Spice Box of Earth,” earned acclaim when it appeared in 1961, and was followed
by the autobiographical novel “The Favourite Game” in 1963.
In 1960, Cohen bought a
house on the Greek island of Hydra, where he wrote his second novel, “Beautiful
Losers,” a sexual and spiritual phantasmagoria that brought him to wider
critical and public attention, with comparisons to James Joyce and Henry
Miller.
Despite the growing
prestige, Cohen found it hard to make a living, so he started writing songs. He
intended to move to Nashville, but when he stopped in New York he was seduced
by the city’s folk music scene.
So
let’s sample some of Cohen’s music. I particularly
like this early song about the Sisters of Mercy nuns.
In
the 1970s and 80s, Cohen broke out of his folk song period to a more
sophisticated arranged songs. His most well-known
song remains “Hallelujah.” Here you see the combination of sophisticated
lyrics around a complex melody.
His
mid-career music became more cabaret style, and his voice became gravelly and
deeper. I just love “Everybody Knows.”
Everybody knows that the
dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with
their fingers crossed
Everybody knows the war
is over
Everybody knows the good
guys lost
Everybody knows the fight
was fixed
The poor stay poor, the
rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Is
there a song more undercutting with cynicism?
One
of my all-time favorites is “Anthem.”
I
think the entire lyrics should be posted on this one. It’s so moving.
The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be
Yeah the wars they will
Be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free
Ring the bells (ring the
bells) that still can ring
Forget your perfect
offering
There is a crack in
everything (there is a crack in everything)
That's how the light gets
in
We asked for signs
The signs were sent
The birth betrayed
The marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
Of every government
Signs for all to see
I can't run no more
With that lawless crowd
While the killers in high
places
Say their prayers out
loud
But they've summoned,
they've summoned up
A thundercloud
And they're going to hear
from me
(Ring, ring, ring, ring)
Ring the bells that still
can ring
Forget your perfect
offering
There is a crack, a crack
in everything (there is a crack in everything)
That's how the light gets
in
You can add up the parts
You won't have the sum
You can strike up the
march
There is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
But like a refugee
(Ring, ring, ring, ring)
Ring the bells that still
can ring
Forget your perfect
offering
There is a crack, a crack
in everything (there is a crack in everything)
That's how the light gets
in
Ring the bells that still
can ring (ring the bells that still can ring)
Forget your perfect
offering
There is a crack, a crack
in everything (there is a crack in everything)
That's how the light gets
in
That's how the light gets
in
That's how the light gets
in
“There
is a crack in everything./That’s how the light gets in.” What is the light symbolic for? God?
Truth? It gets into everything.
Finally
another of my favorites is “Dance Me To The End Of Love.” Though on the surface this is a love song, but strangely it is about the Holocaust.
One
last clip (I can’t resist) should come from his last album. I really love his “Traveling Light.”
Finally,
if you are still so interested, here is the last interview Cohen gave before
his death. It also includes a lot of
biographical background. It’s lengthy
but fascinating.
In
an historical novel, there is a built potential for dramatic ironyin
that we the reader know how the history will turn out. The beginning of chapter three, Rodrigues
writes back home expressing how critical he thinks he is.
In this country June
marks the beginning of the rainy season. I have been told that the rain falls
continuously for more than a month. With the coming of the rain the officials
will probably relax their vigilance, so I intend to make use of this
opportunity to travel around the neighbourhood and search out the remaining
Christians. I want to let them know as quickly as possible that they are not
utterly abandoned and alone.
Never have I felt so
deeply how meaningful is the life of a priest. These Japanese Christians are
like a ship lost in a storm without a chart. I see them without a single priest
or brother to encourage and console, gradually losing hope and wandering
bewildered in the darkness.
Well,
we know that for 250 years the indigenous Christians of Japan were abandoned
and alone as per that last sentence in the first paragraph. And we also know that despite being abandoned
and alone they did not lose hope and wander bewildered. When Christians came back to Japan it was
remarkable how they found the rudiments of Christianity still relatively
pristine. This is a point that must be
strongly emphasized to understand the novel: despite incredible persecution and
separation from mother church the Christian faith had taken root and survived
250 years until the harsh conditions had eased.
The historicity shapes the novel.
The
third chapter shows why Christianity survived all those years by dramatizing
the peasant’s love for Christianity.
Once they learn there are real priests in their village, the peasants
overwhelm them for their sacramental needs.
Here’s a description of the faith Rodrigues finds among the peasants.
But now let me give you
some more detailed information about these people of the village of Tomogi.
They are poor farmers who eke out a living by cultivating potatoes and wheat in
little fields. They have no ricefields. When you see how the land is cultivated
right up into the middle of the mountain facing the sea, you are struck not so
much by their indefatigable industry as by the cruelty of the life they have
inherited. Yet the magistrate of Nagasaki exacts from them an exceedingly harsh
revenue. I tell you the truth-for a long, long time these farmers have worked
like horses and cattle; and like horses and cattle they have died. The reason
our religion has penetrated this territory like water flowing into dry earth is
that it has given to this group of people a human warmth they never previously
knew. For the first time they have met men who treated them like human beings.
It was the human kindness and charity of the fathers that touched their hearts.
I have not yet met all
the people of Tomogi. This is because from fear of the officials only two
villagers can climb up to our little hut each night. Truth to tell in spite of
myself! cannot help laughing when I hear the mumbling Portuguese and Latin
words in the mouths of these ignorant peasants: 'Deus', 'Angelus', 'Beato' and
so on. The sacrament of confession they call 'konshan'; heaven they call
'parais'; hell is 'inferno'. Not only are their names difficult to remember,
but their faces all look the same-which c::mses not a little embarrassment. We
confuse Ichizo with Seisukc, and we get Omatsu mixed up with another woman
called Saki.
I have already told you
something about Mokichi, so I would like now to say a few words about a couple
of the other Christians. Ichizo is a man of about fifty who comes at night to
our hut-and he always wears on his face an expression which makes you think he
is angry. While attending Mass, and after it is over, he says not a word. In
fact, however, he is not angry at all; this is just his natural expression. He
is extraordinarily curious, and he scrutinizes carefully every movement and
gesture of Garrpe and myself with his narrow, wrinkled eyes.
Omatsu, I'm told, is
Ichizo's elder sister. Long ago she lost her husband and is now a widow. Twice
she has come right up to our place with her niece, Sen, carrying on her back a
basket with food for us. Like Ichizo, she too is extremely inquisitive and,
together with her niece, scrutinizes Garrpe and me as we eat our meal. And what
a meal! You couldn't imagine how wretched it is-a few fried potatoes and water.
And while Garrpe and I gulp it down, the two women look on, laughing with
evident satisfaction.
This
chapter is actually lyrical in its dramatizing of love and faith. The peasants harbor the Jesuits in a hut up a
mountain. They feed them, they nurture
them, they love them, all at great risk to their lives. This particular passage may be the loveliest
in the entire novel:
The next event took place
five days after the one I have recorded. It was late at night and we were
secretly baptizing a baby that had been brought along by Omatsu and two men
belonging to the Tossama. It was our first baptism since coming to Japan, and
of course we had no candles nor music in our little hut—the only instrument for
the ceremony was a broken little peasants' cup which we used for holy water.
But it was more touching than
the liturgy of any
cathedral to see that poor little hut with the baby crying and Omatsu soothing
it while one of the men stood on guard outside. I thrilled with joy as I
listened to the solemn voice of Garrpe as he recited the baptismal prayers.
This is a happiness that only a missionary priest in a foreign land can relish.
As the water flowed over its forehead the baby wrinkled its face and yelled
aloud. Its head was tiny; its eyes were
narrow; this was already a peasant face that would in time come to resemble
that of Mokichi and Ichizo. This child also would grow up like its parents and
grandparents to eke out a miserable existence face to face with the black sea
in this cramped and desolate land; it, too, would live like a beast, and like a
beast it would die. But Christ did not die for the good and beautiful. It is
easy enough to die for the good and beautiful; the hard thing is to die for the
miserable and corrupt—this is the realization that came home to me acutely at
that time.
The
peasant child baptized projects to the peasants 250 years of endurance. There is such joy there. Christ is there for the child and for the
peasants. And men from other villages
have heard about the priests and have come to urge them to meet their
villagers.
From these men we heard
astonishing news. In the district known as Odomari, the villagers had succeeded
in escaping the vigilance of the officials, and they were still Christians to a
man. And not only Odomari. The neighbouring district and villages of Miyahara,
Dozaki and Egami, although to outward appearances they were Buddhist, were in
fact Christian—a fact which was barely kept hidden. For a long, long time they
had been awaiting the day when we priests would once again come across the
distant sea to help them and give them a blessing.
'Father, we have not been
to Mass. We have not confessed our sins. We have only said our prayers.' It was
the man with the blood-stained feet who spoke.
'Come quickly to our
village. Father, we teach our little children their prayers. They are waiting
for the day you will come.' The fellow with the yellow teeth, opening a mouth
that yawned like an enormous cave, nodded approval. The fish oil burned and
crackled. Garrpe and I could not refuse such a plea. We had been too cowardly until
now. It was embarrassing to think of our weakness in comparison with the
courage of these Japanese peasants who had slept in the mountains and lacerated
their feet in order to come to us.
The
“astonishing news” that the village was “still Christian to a man” escaping the
government’s persecution again projects to the 250 years of secret
endurance. The deep desire for Mass, for
confession, for the sacraments is true faith.
They say their prayers and teach their children the prayers, and so it
will go on for generations. No other
chapter will be so beautiful. The story
line will turn after this, but the faith will go on.
There
is something that Susan Margret pointed out of chapter three, and that is the
recurring imagery of the human face.
Here’s the exchange:
Susan
Margret:
I have never been very
good at figuring out symbolism in reading literature. Chapters three and four
seem to be loaded with it. There are many references about faces and the face
of Christ. Here are a few:
“The long years of
secrecy have made the faces of these Christians like masks.” (Page 33)
“As for me, perhaps I am
so fascinated by his face because the Scriptures make no mention of it.” (Page
44)
“This was the face of a
crucified man, a face which for so many centuries had given inspiration to
artists.” (Page 71)
“That face with its
fearful eyes like a spider.” (The face of Kichijiro. Page 83)
I am wondering what Endo
is trying to tell us about the face of Christ? Is he showing us the face of
compassion, the face of suffering, or something else? In these two chapters
there were also several comments about the silence of God.
Me:
Susan, that is so on top
of it! I did not pick up on the constant reference to faces, and that connects
to the reference of Christ's face in Piero della Francesca's painting. I'll
have to go back and look but my gut reaction is that the peasant's faces
represent Christ's face. And that through their faces God is speaking. Yes,
because the silence of God is supposed to be ironic. He is speaking throughout.
It's just that Rodrigues doesn't get it.
And while chapter four is not as lyrical as chapter
three, it is extremely rich and dense.
Chapter four is the chapter of betrayal, of peasant crucifixion, of
scatter and flight, and finally of capture.
It’s the last chapter we get Rodrigues’ first person narration. There are three themes I want to explore that
are prominent in the fourth chapter: Silence, Existentialism, and the
Judas-like betrayal.
