What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
     Frisch weht der Wind
     Der Heimat zu.
     Mein Irisch Kind,
     Wo weilest du?
‘You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
‘They called me the hyacinth girl.’
–Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od’ und leer das Meer.

Thus, I began a new direction on this blog, decrying the weakness of modern conservatism. Formerly this blog was called Voice in the Wilderness, but I felt the title was unoriginal and I did not have the courage to claim that I was following in the footsteps of John the Baptist. So I softened it to Whispers in the Wasteland, searched for an appropriate biblical quote — there are a few places where whispers and wastelands are mentioned — but none seemed appropriate.

The title of the website is a play on the etymology of the word hermit. Indeed, also valid for this site is Eremite’s Wilderness or eremites wilderness which would mean desert wilderness when the Greek word is translated. Additionally, there are some interesting personal connections. My mother grew up in a village Saint Antoine, more properly, the parish of Saint Antoine L’Ermite, named after Saint Anthony the hermit of the Egyptian desert. Saint Anthony is considered to be the founder of Christian monasticism. My father grew up in a nearby village Notre Dame (Our Lady). My parents married in my mother’s parish and my birthday is the feast day of Our Lady of Lourdes (however, my actual day of birth was on a Sunday). The healing waters of Lourdes and the desert are quite a contrast and yet, naturally, I’ve come to think of the Church as an oasis in the wasteland.

So when Pope Benedict XVI spoke of deserts and water during the homily of his installation Mass, I knew I had found a match, an appropriate signature quote for the blog (n.b. Saint Benedict is the founder of western monasticism):

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During the homily during this morning’s Mass, the priest noted the pope’s constant call for solidarity through prayer. In this time, the world is united in prayer for JPII. May it be done as the Father wills; let it be known that the world stands by the pope in prayer.

After Mass, one of the parishioners (whom I didn’t recognize as a daily communicant) came into the sacristy to thank father for the wonderful homily (he is on a roll, yesterday’s homily was great as well). As the man turned to leave, he called to his son (around 4 years old), “Come, John Paul.” Father mentioned the many baptisms he has done for boys carrying that name.

May his journey be a peaceful one, and when he meets his Risen Lord may he receive praise for a job well done.

Talk is cheap.

To those subject to the totalitarian communist regimes, Pope John Paul II said, “You are not who they say you are.” To the “enlightened” West, the supposed free countries of the world, Pope John Paul’s strongest words were never spoken. To the post-Christian secular world, which not quite demanded, but strongly urged that the frail and ailing pontiff step down, Pope John Paul spoke for the helpless, the ailing, the weak, “We are not who you say we are.” A man’s worth is not measured by his utility. His last years will be called heroic — he kept to his mission until the very last — but let us not forget this great lesson. In the dark shadow of the tragedy of Terri Schiavo’s end, this pope has given testimony by his very actions that it’s not about the “quality of life,” it’s about the “value of life.”

Today, AP put the following on the wire:

Navarro-Valls said John Paul asked aides to read him the biblical passage describing the final stage of the Way of the Cross, the path that Christ took to his Crucifixion. In that stage, according to the Bible, Christ’s body was taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen shroud and placed in his tomb.

Navarro-Valls said the pope followed attentively and made the sign of the cross.

“This is surely an image I have never seen in these 26 years,” Navarro-Valls said. Choking up, he walked out of the room.

The pope from Galilee is now the pope at Golgotha.

From John 21:

17 He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” (Jesus) said to him, “Feed my sheep.
18 Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”
19 He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God. And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”

I wonder if this happens to other folks. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it happens enough for me to take notice. Sometimes, when I pray/meditate the Rosary, I get sudden flashes of insight.

Now perhaps there’s a psychological explanation for all this; or maybe a spiritual one. I want to be clear that I make no claims as to the source of the inspirations. It could be my genius showing through (hee hee, yeah, right), or maybe a deposit of the Holy Spirit (oh sweet vanity), or might just mean I’m due for a nice padded room with a warm straitjacket.

I’ve forgotten most of them, and I’m sure I’ve had a few repeats, although I’ve been just as tickled as if each time were the first.

A few months ago, I told someone that I’ve a long commute to and from work (an hour each way). She suggested that I pray the Rosary while driving. I really wasn’t warm to the idea, since it seemed to be a distraction. But a little thought reminded me that it’s the day dreaming that would be distracted (yep, I largely drive on automatic, except when the traffic is bad, at which point an hour commute becomes extremely tiring). And a little desperation creeped in. As I’ve already admitted in the previous post, I had bitten off a little more than I could chew. I needed to make up time. So I began, hesitantly, to pray while driving. But after about a week, it became second nature. As time progressed, I found it easier to meditate on the mysteries while driving. I was pretty impressed with the amount of tasks I could accomplish at once: pray, meditate, drive, check the rear view, change lanes, think about the grocery list and solve a problem at work. Multitasking computers?! Pfft!

Today while driving, and meditating on the mystery of the wedding at Cana, it came to me that the transformation of water into wine, the miracle of the loaves and all those other miracles, impressive though they may be, aren’t as impressive as Jesus’s transformation of souls, the liberation from the slavery of sin. Of course, the thought was immediately followed by “Hey the mystery of the institution of the Eucharist is coming up.” And yes, the transformation of the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of our Lord, is pretty impressive, but somehow to me, it seems that this last is really in a class of its own.

Other little epiphany of the Rosary is a nugget of evidence that St. Luke interviewed the Blessed Virgin Mary for his Gospel. The late Father Raymond Brown seemed to have thought that Luke made up the Magnificat by borrowing from the Old Testament. It’s another reason why I immediately viewed the work of Father Brown with suspicion. I’d like to explore and develop this idea of St. Luke’s interview of Mary someday. Maybe, I’ll take on Father Brown.

Well, these are the sorts of things that just pop into my mind.

And then there’s the little epiphany of the Rosary which is the reason why I dared to publish this post. It has to do with The Passion of the Christ, there is one scene which came to convince me that Mel Gibson understood. He gets It. It’s the scene the Blessed Virgin and Mary Magdalene are mopping up the Blood of Jesus after the scourging at the pillar. Mary Magdalene has the flashback as the woman that the Pharisees caught in adultery (Gibson apparently took some artistic license playing off of the legend of Magdalene as prostitute). It is there, that I saw that Mel understood.

But the explanation of Mel’s interpretation of John 8 will have to wait. It will appear in another post. Soon. I promise.