I shake my fist in anger,
Looking up at the high-rises:
Thos palatial penthouses,
The homes of those whom I despise.
What wrongs have they done me,
But to profit from my destitution—
Or so shall I perceive it—
My curse is upon their good fortune.
I long hope for the day they fear,
The revolution will come for them,
I’ll trample them under my boot,
And then their riches will be mine!
News of self-made men grown rich—
Met by their friends’ glad rejoicing—
Is to me heart-wrenchingly painful,
For this I save my most bitter tears.
For I cannot comprehend how

A Flash of glittering gold is my art,
The metallic clinking of coins a symphony,
But these I enjoy in solitude,
Away from grasping hands and coveting eyes.
My cave is hidden away—secluded—
The sight of my treasure ensnares men:
Most become drunk with but a glimpse,
Risking all they are for a pittance share.
For such men I have naught to offer,
Not a coin shall part my company or care,
Though many a destitute beggar I encounter,
I will only tighten my purse’s strings.
Beggar or urchin may come calling to me,
But my fortress gates are unyielding:

“The LORD God cast the man into a deep sleep and, while he slept, took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib the LORD God took from the man, He made into a woman, and brought her to him. Then the man said, ‘She is now bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, for from man she has been taken.’ For this reason a man leaves his father and mother, and clings to his wife, and the two become one flesh” (Genesis 2:21-24).

In his fifth “Theology of the Body” address as Pope, John Paul the Great notes about this passage that it is the first time in this Genesis account of creation in which the man Adam is identified as being explicitly male (and not generic man). It is only after the creation of a woman that the distinction between male and female really makes sense. In the words of Mr Christopher West, “Our bodies do not make sense without each other.” A man’s body does not make sense on his own, without a woman’s, and vice versa.

Standing head and shoulders above the rest
I look down upon friend and stranger
Fearing nothing-no one--I feel invincible,
Untouchable by the masses of men.
I'll pick a fight when feeling contentious,
I have never met another better than I,
Though never have I tried to seek Him:
Such a person doesn't well suit my tastes.
My laughter is loud and ever boastful,
It causes the decent man to shudder and cringe,
Many say my mirth is misplaced,
But he who laughs last has the slowest mind.
I maintain that obedience to superiors is virtuous,
None who know me would think such of me,

"To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible."
--Saint Thomas Aquinas

Since today is the feast day of Saint Thomas Aquinas, a few words of wisdom from him are in order. In school, St Thomas was often teased by his peers, who though him to be dumb--they called him "the dumb ox"--yet ironically he was one of the greatest thinkers ever to live. To return bring the irony full circle, let me note that everybody thought I was a smart person in school, and now I will add my own thoughts, which will be considerably less enlightening than those of St Thomas.

I have said before that faith is like a pair of glasses--it really does alter one's perception of the world. Things which were once muddled can become clear, and things which were lost in the blur become visible. Gaining (or losing) one's faith really does change how one views the world. The change is rarely overnight--it's often gradual--but such things have happened before. Sometimes the change is not so much in what we see, but how we interpret it.

The Texas Alliance for Life—along with the Diocese of Austin—commemorated the infamous Roe v Wade and Doe v Bolton decisions on Saturday. It was a day filled with Masses and marches, rosaries and rhetoric, statistics (over 50 million dead in the American abortion holocaust alone) and speeches—of prayer and politics. The problem in America—indeed, in what was and may someday again be Christendom—is one not merely of politics, but also of culture. The late (and perhaps great) president Ronald Reagan once referred to the Soviet Union as the evil empire; it was true, but the late and certainly great Pope John Paul II offered a more profound critique of culture when he called ours “the culture of death.”

It's been up for a while now, but I only recently found the site where the ISI book reviews get published. Here, then, is the link to my review of Professor J Budziszewski's "The Line Through the Heart: Natural Law as Fact, Theory, and Sign of Contradiction." The book itself was well-written; Budziszewski is fast becoming one of my favorite writers and speakers, and is also one of the most welcoming professors I've met. Here is an excerpt of the review:

When the people became aware of Moses' delay in coming down from the mountain, they gathered around Aaron and said to him, "Come, make us a god who will be our leader; as for the man Moses who brought us out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has happened to him." Aaron replied, "Have your wives and sons and daughters take off the golden earrings they are wearing, and bring them to me." So all the people took off their earrings and brought them to Aaron, who accepted their offering, and fashioning this gold with a graving tool, made a molten calf. Then they cried out, "This is your God, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt." ( Exodus 32:1-4)

So begins the story of the golden calf—Israel’s “sacred cow”—as recorded in the Book of Exodus. Many a person hears this story and laughs at it, or at the foolish Israelites who would abandon God so easily. Others take more heed of the literally dozens and more homilies for the Sunday Masses about not making idols for ourselves, not worshiping the things of this world, and of being faithful only to God. While these are good lessons to draw from this passage, there is another and often-overlooked lesson which can be drawn.

A little more than three years ago, when I first moved to Austin, I had very few friends of my own in the area. The nearest and dearest person I knew was my brother, who at the time lived less than a mile away from my apartment complex. He was a residential assistant at the time, and so lived in the dorms and had all of the duties and responsibilities which go with that post. I spent a good deal of my free time with him at St Edward’s, but he often had to make rounds or resolve some crisis or other, and so I spent a good deal of time talking to his fellow RAs and his residents.

I remember very few specific conversations which I had, but one stands out a bit in my mind today. One of the residents had taken up riding horses—my favorite activity growing up, and a thing which I still dearly miss—and so I had frequent short conversations with her. We talked a few times about horses, but on this particular night, we talked about something else. I don’t specifically remember how we got onto the topic of birth control and religion, but we did. It actually may have been a conversation about religion—she was an Anglican of some sort—but it drifted into the realm of birth-control. At some point, she mentioned that some relatives of hers were Catholics and that they insisted that one couldn’t use birth control. They didn’t know why they couldn’t, only that they couldn’t BECAUSE THE CHURCH SAYS SO.

The topic of marriage has been on my mind quite a bit as of late. My fiancée and I are in the midst of our wedding (and marriage) planning. We just sent out the cards announcing date and time (so save the date!), and I've been discussing suits with my groomsmen. She's changed her bridesmaids' outfits a couple of times (making picking the aforementioned suits a bit more difficult), and has been meeting with her tailor to make the wedding gown. Today my fiancée and I begin our marriage preparation classes, and last night was the first of three NFP classes. We've even found a little time to read up on some materials and go to a few extra talks to prepare us for marriage: Fulton Sheen, John Paul the Great, Christopher West, and even a few discussions with the local priest.

All of this has caused me to think a bit about the theology which underlies marriage, especially in light of the high divorce rates. There are many people who believe that marriage ought not to be necessarily permanent, and others who want theirs to be permanent, but excuse failed marriages by saying "Too bad, so sad," but then turn around and complain about the Church's teaching against "remarriage" after a divorce.