Crazy Stable

St. Joseph and the Christ Child by Guido Reni (c. 1639)Happy St. Joseph's Day! Here is a beautiful litany to St. Joseph, "foster father" of Jesus and earthly husband of Mary. "Litany" is used to denote any lengthy recitation, but its call-and-response as spoken prayer, especially in a group, can be powerful. 

St. Joseph…pray for us.
Renowned offspring of David... pray for us (etc.)
Light of Patriarchs...
Spouse of the Mother of God...
Chaste guardian of the Virgin..
Foster father of the Son of God...
Diligent protector of Christ...
Head of the Holy Family...
Joseph most just...
Joseph most chaste...
Joseph most prudent...
Joseph most strong...
Joseph most obedient...
Joseph most faithful...
Mirror of patience...
Lover of poverty...
Model of artisans...
Glory of home life...
Guardian of virgins...
Pillar of families...
Solace of the wretched...
Hope of the sick...
Patron of the dying...
Terror of demons...
Protector of Holy Church...

I love this tender scene of the death of Joseph, from a window in the Oratory Church of St. Boniface in downtown Brooklyn; it speaks to all of us who have nursed and lost an aging parent. Joseph is a mysterious and fascinating figure, upon whom Christians have projected all sorts of needs and desires. Scripture tells us little about the upright carpenter from Nazareth, who refused to expose Mary to shame when she was found to be pregnant before their marriage. By tradition, he is depicted as older, perhaps because there is no mention of him later in Christ's story, or to make it more credible that he remained Mary's "most chaste spouse" and she a perpetual virgin. (The lily that often accompanies his T-square is a sign of purity.) 

Joseph and Baby Jesus, by Jason JenickeFulton J. Sheen took issue with the depiction, arguing that Joseph was probably young and virile, "not in the evening of life, but in its morning, bubbling over with energy, strength, and controlled passion." Heck, yeah! (Catholic artist Jason Jenicke, whose work is at right, apparently agrees.) Personally, I've always wondered why Joseph and Mary had to be locked into perpetual chastity once their Redeemer Son was born; the dogma seems to spring more from the preoccupations of theologians than from Scripture or the human heart. Why couldn't they form a perfect model for human marriage in all its dimensions? (Since the Catholic blogosphere is probably divided into Those Who Couldn't Care Less and Those Who Would Be Outraged, I will pursue this speculation no further.)

Beyond his role as dad, Joseph is patron of a wild array of things, including (in addition to, of course, carpenters and fathers): confectioners, Canada, China, the dying, workers, and the Universal Church. Oh, and house-hunters. You can even buy this rubbish "kit" on the Internet and ask him to help you sell your house. (Given the Holy Family's travails on the first Christmas, I've always wondered why Joseph wasn't also the patron saint of hotel reservations.) He also gets another feast day: St. Joseph the Worker, pegged conveniently onto May Day in 1955 (take that, Commies!) Here's a bonus to tuck away for May Day; it's a bracing antidote for the Age of Dilbert.

Prayer to St. Joseph, Patron of Workers

Glorious Saint Joseph, you are the pattern of all who work. Obtain for me, please, the grace to work conscientiously and to put devotion to duty before my selfish inclinations.

Help me to labor in thankfulness and joy, for it is an honor to employ and to develop by my labor the gifts I have received from almighty God.

Grant that I may work in orderliness, peace, moderation and patience without shrinking from weariness and difficulties. I offer my fatigue and perplexities as reparation for sin.

I shall work, above all, with a pure intention and with detachment from self, having always before my eyes the hour of death and the accounting which I must then render of time ill-spent, of talents unemployed, of good undone, and of empty pride in success, which is so fatal to the work of God.

For Jesus through Mary, all in imitation of you, good Saint Joseph. This shall be my motto in life and in death. Amen.

I crafted this image as a response to the heartbreaking revelations that have brought the Catholic Church in Ireland to its knees. My meditation on what it meant to me as a third-generation Irish-American is here. But today is not a day for pain and shame and disillusionment.

The faith of Ireland sustained its people, but so did their own fathomless resilience, wildness and imagination. All of it comes together in the legendary prayer of St. Patrick called the Lorica, a word that literally means "body armor" and is sometimes translated as "breastplate." It's more an incantatory poem than a prayer, a shaman's thing. The redoubtable Father Z sums it up: "The Lorica of St. Patrick is rooted in an unconfused belief in the supernatural dimension of our lives, that there is a spiritual battle being waged for our souls, and in our absolute dependence on the One Three-Personed God." As my daughter prepares to march with her school in the granddaddy of all St. Patrick's Day parades here in New York today, all I can say is: Strap it on.

(Is it long? Oh yes, this is the full version. Want to kick your CCD class into high gear? Have the kiddies do a round-robin reading of this, instructing them first to read each line like their favorite superhero.)

The Book of Kells, detailThe Lorica of St. Patrick

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a mulitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.

It wouldn't be a Lenten resolution without falling off the wagon. After a few days of more worldly blogging, I was reminded of spiritual concerns by this raucous backyard flock of grackles (I think they're grackles, from their tails). Not sure why; something about the gray sky and slightly ominous birds said "Repent, you ADD-afflicted sloth." Hey, I said they were raucous.

Since I've been thinking (okay, moping) lately about what I Really Want to Be When I Grow Up...and wondering why I am still having this conversation past my half-century mark...I decided to look for prayers of discernment. In secular terms, a "discerning eye" means, say, being able to tell natural fiber from polyester at 20 paces; in Catholic parlance, discernment is often shorthand for recognizing a vocation to the priesthood or convent. But the deeper meaning implies being open to learning God's will for your life. It's not so much squinting to discern a pattern, as shutting up and listening for a whisper (or, occasionally, a studiously ignored holler).

St. Anselm of CanterburyThe Thomas Merton prayer with which I began Lent is, indeed, a good start, from a place of not-knowing. Spiritual Googling turned up two prayers by St. Anselm that express a hunger for God's presence and guidance. Anselm was an Italian Archbishop of Canterbury who discerned the need to bust the chops of the king of England after the Norman Conquest. But first, the prayers.

St. Anselm Prayer for Discernment I

O Lord, my God, teach my heart this day where and how to see you, where and how to find you.

You have made me and remade me, and you have bestowed on me all the good things I possess, and still I do not know you. I have not yet done that for which I was made.

Teach me to seek you, for I cannot seek you unless you teach me, or find you unless you show yourself to me.

Let me seek you in my desire; let me desire you in my seeking. Let me find you by loving you; let me love you when I find you.

St. A Prayer for Discernment II

O Lord: my heart is made bitter by its own desolation; sweeten it by Your consolation.

I beseech You, 0 Lord, that having begun in hunger to seek You, I may not finish without partaking of You. I set out famished; let me not return still unfed.

St. Anselm, Royal-Butt-Kicking Archbishop of Canterbury

How did I never hear of this guy?  Here's a good thumbnail from the blog Communio:

Saint Anselm is a towering figure in monastic, theological and philosophical circles whose works take diligence in getting your mind around. [Ah, that's how I never heard of him.--Ed.] Even centuries later he speaks with precision. Saint Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033-1109) an Italian by birth, held various academic and ecclesial titles; he was the archbishop of Canterbury from 1093 until his death in 1109. The Church tells us he is the father of scholasticism and famous for the ontological argument for God's existence.

Meditations of St. Anselm, 12th Century manuscript (WGA)My mind shuts down at the word "ontological," but Anselm also "created a tradition of intimate, intensely personal prayer" according to this collection of his works. And he had far more secular wranglings with King William II, the son of William the Conqueror. Their royal versus ecclesial tug-of-war was classic medieval politics-as-usual, made famous later by Becket and then again by Henry VIII. Anselm seems to have put Canterbury on the map as the seat of church authority in England, long before that nasty business with the Boleyn wench broke things off with Rome. Anselm was canny but implacable when it came to ceding power to the king, and he also worked zealously to implement reforms in the church, including clerical celibacy. (Yes, that was a reform.)

Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury (NY Times)Funny, just after learning all this, I read that today's Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, is resigning, after a tenure marked by agonized wimpy attempts to make everyone in the dwindling, schism-racked Church of England play nicely together. Here is Rowan with his boss, the head of his mostly-empty-these-days Church. I like to think that Anselm, with his discerning eye, would have noted that their only clash was sartorial.

Last entry, I posted a 1907 bird's-eye shot of Prospect Park South, and someone wondered about the source of the photo (which I grabbed off the web). Wow, glad you asked! First, here's a redo of the panorama, with Informative Labels By Me. Yes, that is a golf course between Stratford and Rugby Roads, south of the Parade Grounds; the march of development had already devoured the first hole, and the rest of the links weren't long for this world. CLICK THUMBNAIL FOR FULL-SIZED AWESOMENESS!

 Turns out, this is a rare New York shot by the ascended (literally) master of early aerial photography, George E. Lawrence (1868-1938). On the frustrating cusp of the era of aviation, this Illinois commercial photographer created crazy but effective contraptions to take panoramic pictures from the sky, including "captive airships" made of tethered kites and balloons. (He fell out of one such balloon, but then, he also experimented with flash charges for indoor photography and blew his child out a window. Both survived.) His daring extended to his personal life; the bounder ditched his first wife for his much-younger secretary.

Lawrence is most famous for his panorama of San Francisco lying in ruins after its great earthquake and fire. But he built a lucrative business photographing anything that called for a bird's-eye view. A glance at a gallery of his images evokes American values in the Teddy Roosevelt era. Bigger was better! He built the biggest camera in the world to capture a mighty steam engine, and shot political conventions, stockyards, factory floors, and military groups. But I'm particularly fond of his Big Crowds. Check out the sheer scale of the "Coliseum Gardens" somewhere, I think, in the Midwest:

Coliseum Gardens, 1905 (Geo R. Lawrence, Library of Congress)

 Can you imagine being a waiter in this place...or a dishwasher?

Banquets were another favorite subject; flocks of men in penguin suits paid Lawrence handsomely to record their festivities. This laugh-packed affair is a "party for Secretary Taft," and features, I believe, exotically costumed, long-suffering waiters (along with a centerpiece that redefines "farm-to-table eating"):

Secretary Taft's Party Dinner, 1906 (Geo R. Lawrence, Library of Congress)

Lawrence's services were expensive, and I wonder whether perhaps Dean Alvord, the developer of Prospect Park South, hired him to immortalize and promote the fabulous new development in Flatbush, which the Brooklyn Eagle termed "a rising colony of notables" in "a high class aristocratic suburb, the tone and character of which could not be disturbed or changed for a long period to come." (Job done!) I have found no information on what zany stunts were employed to capture the image, but I love the idea of the mustachio'd Mr. Lawrence, on a clear day more than a century ago, rigging up one of his "captive airships" over our sylvan streets.

Prospect Park South, 1907

Let's take a detour from the Lenten PrayerBlog Detour to welcome a new kid on the block: Ditmas Park Corner, a true neighborhood blog (which, for the moment, features your goofy-looking StableMistress weighing in on how much I love it around here). Photo: Ditmas Park CornerThe Corner is run by the well-liked and respected founders of the community's seminal blog, who have regrouped after its sad takeover by a not-very-welcome corporate parent. This strikes me as the Way Things Ought to Be, and I wish them all the luck, advertising, buzz, retwerping, eyeballs, et cetera in the world.

The bloggers may have hit on something deep with their notion of a "corner" (as opposed to, say, a "patch") as the working concept of community. We are blessed in Brooklyn to live in an urban space where people walk around a lot, and that's where you meet your neighbors—out on the street, in the places between your private spaces. Our corners are leafy and steeped in history (like this one, with its ancient surviving sign at the corner of Marlborough and Albemarle Roads). But they are also very public stages, a short hop from fractious subway lines, where we have encountered over the years every manner of curious person, from Hollywood film crews to the occasional mugger, from affluent stroller moms and dads to impoverished recent immigrants hunting in our recycling for bottles. Built as exclusive enclaves, the neighborhoods of "Victorian Brooklyn" (including Ditmas Park, Prospect Park South, and our slightly scruffier Caton Park on its northern edge) are verdant meeting grounds for any city soul who walks by.

Headstone, Flatbush Dutch Reformed ChurchSpeaking of souls: Back to my prayer-a-day diversion! I hunted around for a prayer for one's neighborhood or community, but those few I found were annoyingly bland. (I am curating these prayers for awesomeness. Besides, no one will ever mistake this for Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.) Instead, "neighbor" led me to the awesome old-timey Catholic "Act of Love." I'm not a social-justice wonk, I'm all about one person at a time making things bearable for each other. And if we all managed this prayer's aspiration, our communities would be like earthly paradise.

An Act of Love

O my God, I love you above all things, with my whole heart and soul, because you are all-good and worthy of all love. I love my neighbor as myself for the love of you. I forgive all who have injured me, and I ask pardon of all whom I have injured.