Each post on Liturgy and Life is a snapshot in time; I don’t tend to edit or update posts after the fact, except to fix the odd typo. I’m making an exception for this post, because it hasn’t aged well. I am grateful to those friends who took the time to help me understand how the phrase “cancel culture” hurts more than helps; I relied too heavily on it in this piece, and I apologize. One person’s wise words sum up well the problem with the phrase, in that it “purports to describe too many things to be useful as a category for deep reflection.” Conflating too many concepts in one phrase, they went on to say, risks dismissing behaviors or actions that are unacceptable, and those who bravely call them out. Soon after I wrote the piece, I tried to correct my error by adding the footnote that follows the piece, but alas, more of a clarification was needed. This note seeks to provide such clarification.
I continue to stand by what the original piece calls into question, namely:
wedding an artist too closely to their art (I am particularly opposed to this in most cases, as an artist and a sinner, and as someone whose artistic heroes were not always perfect)
banning art for any reason (which also doesn’t age well)
In Ohio, public worship resumes for Catholics this weekend, and I have a confession to make: I haven’t missed receiving the Eucharist once since the pandemic began. I feel guilty even typing that, since so many folks have had to settle for “spiritual communion” during these long weeks and months of quarantine. A woman told me recently that not being able to receive Jesus has felt like a piece of her heart is missing. A liturgy scholar I know said receiving communion again recently, for the first time in months, was like celebrating his first communion all over again. I bet it was even better.
Quarantined Palm Sunday (photo by Emily)
I am simply lucky – that’s why I’ve been at the Eucharistic table in a physical way during this time. I am lucky our Church decided to live-stream our Mass, when so many neighboring parishes simply – and with profound regret – closed their doors. I am lucky to have musical gifts that benefit our live-streamed Mass. I am lucky to have had parents who taught me to recognize my gifts as God-given, and return them to God, in service of the Church, whenever possible. I am lucky that my gifts are found useful by my parish community. I am lucky to be under 65 with no underlying health issues. I am lucky to have stayed well.
But I do not feel lucky when I look down from the choir loft at a nearly-empty Church, at an absent assembly. I just feel lonely. And liturgical loneliness is a difficult thing.
These are weird, wild times we live
in. Masses are not cancelled where I live (yet), but COVID-19 has caused our
Bishops to dispense us from our Sunday obligation for the next three weeks. My
parish has cancelled all non-essential (that seems to mean non-sacramental)
gatherings. This includes our weekly choir and ensemble rehearsal, though we
are still permitted to gather and sing/play for Mass on Sundays, with the
important instructions to stay home if members are particularly vulnerable
and/or experiencing symptoms of any kind.
On one hand, we could take this ban
on non-essential gatherings as an invitation to relax while we deal with this unprecedented public health crisis.
Tuesday night choir will be one less thing to worry about as we all focus on
staying healthy and safe.
SPOILERS AHEAD FOR STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER!
Last night I saw Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker for the second
time, and I’m ready to share some reactions, film critic though I am not. I
feel honored that several friends have asked for my reactions to the film, and
in gratitude for their interest, I post here some of the many aspects of the
film that delighted me and a few that disappointed.
image property of Disney/Lucasfilm
Delight: This film was well acted, not just by its main characters
but by its entire ensemble cast. Special mention goes to Daisy Ridley as Rey
and Adam Driver as Kylo Ren Ben Solo. Well done, all.
Disappointment: Obviously it’s disappointing (in a profound way)
that Carrie Fisher died before she could film this final installment. J.J.
Abrams cobbled her quite significant role in this film together from unused The Last Jedi footage. The result is…
uneven, especially in scenes with Rey. Sometimes their dialogues (built from
existing footage of Leia) roll like the young Jedi apprentice is having a
conversation with a Magic 8-Ball. Other times they (almost?) work. The
filmmakers took quite a risk, placing so much emphasis on a character whose
actor had died. I’m not sure that risk paid off, cinematically. Leia’s
significant role is certainly emotionally fulfilling for audiences, but relies
too heavily on the audience’s established relationship with this long-beloved
character.
Delight: The mother-son Force connection between Leia and Ben. Star Wars’ exploration of Father-Son
relationships is, historically, thorough-going to the near exclusion of other
types of family relationships, especially that of mother and child. The film
implies that Leia’s mother-love for Ben indelibly connects them in the Force
and is part of what saves Ben, though the actors never come face-to-face (see
above). Moms have never gotten enough narrative attention in Star Wars, so I was glad to see this in
the new film.
Disappointment: That said, I wish more time could have been spent on exploring this mother-child connection. (I also really wish someone would talk about Luke and Leia’s very accomplished, kind and interesting mother Padmé once in a while.) I found Leia as a mother to be a far more intriguing and human side of her character than “Leia as a Jedi trainee.” Personally, I didn’t need The General to possess a lightsaber (especially one she never used) to consider her one of the most admirable characters in fantasy. Anyway, I hope the future of the franchise branches out to explore motherhood more, or at least more types of familial relationships than Father-Child and sibling dyads.
Delight: Force-healing powers. One of the most fascinating books in the vast universe of Star Wars ancillary literature (canon or not) is The Jedi Path: A Manual for Students of the Force by Daniel Wallace (published in 2010, so “Legends,” but who really cares at this point?). What’s more, sequel trilogy directors Rian Johnson and J.J. Abrams have mined this informative little book to expand canonical dimensions of Force ability. (Johnson has been open about his use of the book; it informs Luke’s ability to create a doppelganger of himself at the end of The Last Jedi.) For those of us familiar with The Jedi Path, Rey’s Force-healing powers were quite believable (for my qualms, see below). Wallace’s book informs us that “Jedi Healers use their connection to the Living Force to save the lives of the dying and to cure the infected.” (123) I’d love to see more exploration of Jedi Force-powers in the future of Star Wars, so this made a lovely addition to the canon. (Side note: if you’d like to know more about the beautiful golden hue of Rey’s new lightsaber and what it signifies about her particular character as a Jedi, see The Jedi Path section on Jedi Sentinels.)
Disappointment:These
powers probably needed to be introduced sooner in the trilogy to be believable
and relevant to general audiences as the save-all which they became. I also
wish we knew if Rey’s Force-healing abilities were inherent (as they seem to be
in the Child’s from the Disney+ live-action show The Mandalorian), or if she trained to acquire them. If she learned
them, did Kylo Ren Ben Solo learn them also? (If so, when? And is that consistent with his character?) Or was
he able to perform such healing because of his “Force-dyad” connection to Rey?
Or… or… ? It’s sad we don’t have another installment to answer these questions.
image property of Disney/Lucasfilm
Delight: C-3PO. Anthony Daniels shone in this film, and not just because of his gold-clad coverings. It’s hard sometimes to appreciate that there’s a real guy in that suit – a very thin guy, with amazing posture – who’s been in every one of nine Star Wars main saga films, not-so-silently filling in expository gaps and creating humor, continuity and dilemmas for the main characters. In this film, his character is particularly well written and acted, with surprising moments of tenderness that speak to the franchise’s generations-long emphasis on the power of friendship. Threepio’s memory wipe also nodded to (echoed? rhymed with?) Revenge of the Sith, which featured Threepio’s last known memory wipe, and his “programming difficulty” in interpreting the Sith language pointed to Return of the Jedi, in which he could not pretend to be a god to the Ewoks, creating a major dilemma for the main characters, whom the Ewoks held captive. (Plus, turns out when you put him in a brown cloak, he looks like a really tall Jawa, to hilarious effect.)
Disappointment: The choices of characters in this film had few real costs for the audience. Threepio’s memory wipe is a good if minor example: the sacrifice he made is lessened, even nullified when R2-D2 simply restores his memory upon his return. (Plus, Threepio continually introducing himself to main characters was hilarious and should have continued.) A much more significant example of the film’s “cost deficiency” was Rey’s Force-healing powers, which she seems to be able to wield without cost. As fantasy writer Brandon Sanderson and others have outlined, magic must be limited in some way to be believable in fantasy stories, must have clear costs to those who wield it. Of course there was a cost to Kylo Ren Ben Solo, but come on, we all knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this film, didn’t we? After all, his theme resolves to a major key in the trailer… never a good sign for a villain!
Delight: Rey is a Skywalker. Star Wars has always celebrated found families, and Rey’s intentional choice to be a Skywalker is a great extension of this emphasis. I delighted also in certain character’s found Force-sensitivity. I suspect what Finn wanted to express to Rey as they were sinking in sand was not undying romantic love so much as his desire – and ability – to learn to use the Force as she does. The Sequels have, from their inception, sought to walk back the Prequels portrayal of the Force as something reserved for the few with “midichlorians” in their blood. Characters like Finn, Jannah and others in the Sequels hold a promise for the future of the Jedi, or simply just Force-manipulation, for the good of the cosmos. Sometimes, that is how the Force works.
Disappointment: Rey is a Palpatine. Really? Do we absolutely have our best story-spinners on the job here? This is one of many elements of the film that seemed a “safe” or “warmed over” choice for general audiences rather than an interesting, though-provoking choice that would have tied in with the franchise’s own ancillary materials. I also have a hard time believing that old Palpy just rested his laurels while building that army… for 30 years. (I guess he was just hanging around… sorry, couldn’t resist.)
Delight: new characters, creatures and cameos. Babu Frik (voiced by Shirley Henderson of Moaning Myrtle fame!), D-O the droid (voiced by J.J. Abrams himself), the troop of space-horse-riding Stormtrooper deserters, Poe’s old associate Zorii and Allegiant General Pryde all make great additions to the galaxy far, far away. Cameos by John Williams (!), Lin Manuel Miranda (who also wrote the music for “a planet”, which I’m guessing is the very danceable tune playing for the festival on the planet Pasaana), and vocal contributions by all your favorite Jedi also made my day (especially Hayden Christensen! Go Ani! Bring that balance!).
Disappointment: I read Rebecca Roanhorse’s Resistance Reborn, one of the “Journey to” books for the new films, which was NOT a disappointment, BUT: based on that story, I expected Wedge Antilles to have more than one line in this film.
Delight: That kiss. Cinematically, the kiss between Rey and Ben
worked, and made tangible how far their relationship has come – a bit like Ron
and Hermione’s, occasioned as it was by Ron “getting” the house-elf dilemma
(finally). Ben’s smile afterward was perhaps even more charming. The romantic
in me loved it, as did small group of Rey/Ben shippers in the cinema of my
first viewing (there was a short-lived but exuberant, all-female cheer from one
corner). That their kiss is drawn as a joyful moment implicitly questions the
Jedi Order’s tradition of celibacy, which played a role in its downfall (think
Anakin and Padmé), and I’m all for Jedi Order reform.
Disappointment: That kiss. Is this what balance in the Force has to mean? A heterosexual, romantic union? Was the kiss part of their Force-connection, or just puppy love icing on their Force-dyad cake? I’m in two minds about the kiss, as you can see. I keep asking myself: “What would Qui-Gon Jinn say about it?” (As you do.) Thus far: silence.
I hope you won’t be silent on the comment thread. Please let me know your own delights and disappointments in the film. And May the Force Be With You!
The feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary (December 8 most years, celebrated this year on December 9) confuses many people. On a basic level, some do not realize this feast celebrates Mary’s conception rather than the conception of her son, Jesus. Once this misunderstanding is cleared up, questions still linger. Why, when we’re preparing to celebrate the incarnation of God in the birth of Jesus Christ, would we pause to celebrate the conception of Jesus’ mother? What’s so special about the way Mary was conceived?
The short answer is: Mary’s conception was unique and essential to our redemption. The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception declares that “To become the mother of the Savior, Mary ‘was enriched by God with gifts appropriate to such a role.’”[1] These “gifts” entailed nothing less than the grace of redemption, setting Mary apart from her human peers. When the angel Gabriel greeted her as “full of grace,” this freedom from sin, given her by God’s own hand, Catholics interpret, is what he was referring to.
If we were to
translate this idea into terms Harry
Potter fans could relate to, we might say Mary was a bit like a
Muggle-born. In Harry Potter, magic
occurs most often in magical families like the Weasleys, but it “pops up”
sometimes in Muggle families, as in the case of Hermione Granger and Lily Evans
Potter, Harry’s mother. While Mary’s conception was unique in the human race,
Muggle-borns are rare, but not unique. But Lily’s status as a Muggle-born – as
someone set apart from her peers by a particular grace – is one of a few
significant (and likely intentional) ways in which Lily Potter alludes to Mary,
the mother of Jesus.
To explain, let’s go back to Mary a moment. Mary was full of God’s grace from the start, and this redemptive grace had two primary and interrelated effects. First, it gave her a preliminary share in the redemption of the human race. Secondly this graced state in which Mary was conceived, born and lived afforded her the freedom to choose to participate in God’s plan of salvation. The angel Gabriel did not come to inform Mary that she was already pregnant with the Christ. Mary had the freedom to choose her response, and she said “yes.” Catholics call this Mary’s fiat, a Latin phrase that sums up her self-emptying response: “May it be done to me according to your word.”[2] In so doing, she, an insignificant young girl from a marginalized group (the Jews), played an important role in the redemption of the world. St. Irenaeus famously said that Mary, in her fiat, “became to herself and to the whole human race a cause of salvation.”[3]
image property of Warner Brothers’ pictures
The role of personal choice is an important theme in Harry Potter, and her birth into the magical community does not make Lily Evans’ key role in the eventual salvation of the world a fait accompli or a “done deal”. She must choose, constantly. She chooses to accept her invitation to Hogwarts, she chooses to marry James Potter and not Severus Snape, choosing (as it were) Gryffindor over Slytherin. She chooses to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix, fighting Voldemort rather than either joining him or giving up.
But one choice by Lily is ultimate: her free choice to throw herself in front of her infant son to protect him from Voldemort’s killing curse. Lily’s sacrifice is the essential forerunner of her son’s more important, more widely reaching sacrifice, and in this way she alludes to Mary. Both women made self-emptying choices: choices that made them willing vessels for the plans of others. Mary’s choice to accept a miraculous, extra-marital pregnancy threatened all her future plans – even, perhaps, her life and safety, had not Joseph chosen to accept and protect her. For Lily, the instinct to protect her son even at the cost of her own life afforded the ultimate plans of Albus Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort. Neither woman understood the plans of those “in charge,” but both agreed to play key roles, with trust and hope for the plans’ eventual successes.
Above I hinted that Lily’s allusive relationship with Mary the Mother of God may have been intentional on the part of the author. Our best evidence of such intentionality regards Lily’s name. Because of the lily’s traditional associations with purity, it became associated with Mary, who is often depicted holding lilies of white. Ferguson notes the lilium candidum, or “Madonna lily,” is among the most recognized symbols of the Virgin mother in Christian art.[4] Another way Lily Potter alludes to Mary (intentionally or un-) is through her youth and relative insignificance; she is Muggle-born, and thus marginal and vulnerable, as Mary’s Judaism made her. And as discussed above, Lily’s Muggle-born status alludes to Mary in a particular way, for while Harry’s father James, like Joseph, has a noble heritage,[5] Harry’s mother Lily, like Mary, is of far humbler origins. Yet in her, magic bubbles forth unexpectedly and completely.
Lily windows adorn a side entrance to the Church of the Steps, formally known as Immaculata Parish (named for Mary’s Immaculate Conception), in Cincinnati, Ohio. Photo by Emily.
Lily’s Muggle-born status makes her only offspring, Harry, a meeting place between the magic and non-magic worlds, just as Jesus, for Christians, is the axis mundi, the meeting place between heaven and earth.[6] This is why we celebrate the Immaculate Conception of Mary here in the midst of our preparations for Christmas – because Mary, like Lily, was born special, and her specialness shows us that an ordinary, lowly girl from humble origins, can, through graced cooperation with God’s plans, participate in the world’s redemption. Like Mary – and like Lily – we too are called to make self-emptying choices, hollowing ourselves out, as it were, putting aside our own ambitions and desires to make room for God’s plans. In celebrating the Immaculate Conception of Mary, we proclaim the possibility that through us, God can and will do “marvelous deeds.”[7]
[1]Catechism of the Catholic Church, para. 490; internal quotation is from Vatican
Council II’s Lumen Gentium, para. 56.
[2]
Luke 1:38, New
American Bible Revised Edition.
[3]
Irenaeus, Adversus
haereses,
XXII, 4 (180 A.D.).
[4]
George Ferguson, Signs and Symbols in Christian Art (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1961), 95.
[5]
That the Potters are
descended from the Peverell family can be assumed by James’ possession of the
Cloak Hallow.
[6]
Lily is not simply
born of Muggles, she’s born from the same Muggles who produced her sister,
Petunia, whose name is allusive to a lily which, in some interpretations of
Victorian floriography, invoked “anger and resentment.” (“Lily, Petunia and the
Language of Flowers,” Wizarding World
(formerly Pottermore), https://www.wizardingworld.com/features/lily-potter-petunia-and-the-language-of-flowers,
accessed 6 November 2019.) One must admit Petunia and her Dursley family are
the most Mugglish Muggles we meet in the series, and this makes Lily’s magical
ability even more surprising. For more on magic in Potter as an extended metaphor for the (Christian) life of grace,
see Emily Strand, “Harry Potter and the Sacramental Principle,” in Worship vol. 93 (Oct. 2019), 345-365.
October has proven a productive
month for my scholarship! This month I’ve had two articles (both which were a
long time in the making) published in separate peer-reviewed academic journals,
I’ve just returned from presenting at an academic conference and I’m beginning
work on an essay that will be included in an exciting new scholarly collection.
As a (perhaps) not-so-lame excuse for why I’ve been too busy to post new
content on this blog, here is a short description of each of these projects and
how to access or find out more about them. Thanks for indulging me in a little
horn-tooting!
First, my essay “Harry Potter and
the Sacramental Principle”
is included in the October 2019 edition (volume 93) of the journal Worship, “a peer-reviewed, international ecumenical
journal for the study of liturgy and liturgical renewal” (from the Worship website). This journal was
founded in 1926 by one of my personal liturgical heroes, Virgil Michel, OSB,
who brought to the blossoming liturgical movement its distinctly American
contribution: the notion that the liturgy, if consciously and inclusively
celebrated, could bring about profound social regeneration. I’ve had long
conversations with Virgil Michel in my scholarly imagination, and it was a
thrill I will not soon forget to see my name in the pages of the journal he
founded.
My essay details how the depiction of magic in Harry Potter rests conceptually on the same notions about reality that undergird the sacramental life of the Church: that God’s abiding presence is shot through the world around us, if we have eyes to see (just like that “hidden in plain sight” quality of the magic in Harry Potter). Pastorally, the essay urges those in ministry to employ this aspect of the series – and its profound influence on rising generations – to help renew a sacramental imagination in our age. Worship is a print-only journal, so check out your local academic library for a copy, or subscribe through their website. (For those more casually interested, I gave a shorter version of that essay to Ohio State’s Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies’ 2017 conference, Popular Culture and the Deep Past, and you can watch that nutshell version here.)
Second, my essay “Dobby the Robot: the
Science Fiction in Harry Potter”
appears this month in the special Children’s Literature edition of Mythlore, “a scholarly, peer-reviewed journal
published by the Mythopoeic Society that focuses on the works of J.R.R.
Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and the genres of myth and fantasy”
(from the Mythlore website).
It is a great honor to be included in this volume, which also features essays by my friends and fellow speculative fiction scholars Katherine Sas and Kris Swank. And the great news for us all is Mythlore is an open-access journal, so you can access the entire contents of this volume right here. Previous issues are also available.
The “Robots” essay makes an argument that the overriding conceptual source informing house-elves, those beloved yet controversial creatures in Harry Potter, is the trope of the created servant (often expressed as robots) in science fiction. You may think I’ve branched a little far from my focus on the religious themes in literature with this essay, but traditionally, robots as a trope of classic science fiction (and, I argue, house-elves in Harry Potter) seldom appear without invoking thorny ethical questions regarding personhood, free will and human dignity – questions too often relegated to religious discourse. (See this previous post for more.) Also, in researching the history of the robot trope, I discovered its Western origins in Jewish legends of man-shaped automata termed Golems, created to demonstrate a particular rabbi’s mystic holiness. So robots have religious origins as well as invoking questions that interest scholars and adherents of religion. I hope you’ll read my sprawling argument that Dobby is really just a robot in disguise and tell me what you think.
Next, on October 18, I presented my thoughts on the Harry Potter books verses their film adaptations at the 8th annual Harry Potter Academic Conference, hosted as always by Chestnut Hill College outside Philadelphia, PA. (My talk was an expanded and reworked version of this blog post from Hogwarts Professor.) It was a lovely, all-too-quick weekend, as usual, with highlights (for me) including Lana Whited’s talk on dragon and Phoenix imagery in The Crimes of Grindelwald, Travis Prinzi’s look at the allusive relationship between Potter and the old movie Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Katy McDaniel (host of the academic Harry Potter podcast Reading Writing Rowling)’s look at fan maps as doors to the sacred imaginative spaces created by stories like Harry Potter. (My unofficial favorite moment of the conference was a pumpkin-ale-fueled incident between Laurie Beckoff and Caitlin Harper after the conference which we are now terming “The Great Ron Row of 2019”. Details are hazy, but it suffices to say some people admire Ron Weasley more than others do.) As usual, I can’t wait to return to Chestnut Hill in 2020.
photo courtesy of Louise Freeman
My work is cut out for me upon returning from Chestnut Hill, as I was delighted this summer to have my proposal accepted for a chapter in The Ivory Tower and Harry Potter, Volume 2, edited by Dr. Lana Whited of Ferrum College and published by University of Missouri Press. My essay will consider the various parenting styles and relationships in Harry Potter from perspectives of both psychology and religious studies. In the end I hope to show that religious metaphor is the interpretive key to unlock the meaning of these relationships and their influence upon the narrative. But more than that I shan’t say until the thing is written! Stay tuned for a publication date in 2020.
Thanks for allowing me to crow a bit – a fitting activity, perhaps, for this spooky month. Thanks especially to those who have supported me in any way – from allowing me to drivel on at parties about my latest project to dialoguing with me to help make my arguments stronger or better supported to sharing your own Potter ideas. 50 points to your House, whatever it may be!
The Hogwarts Express has come and gone, taking our magical children back for another exciting, evil-defeating year of enchanted education. We Muggles, left behind in this sometimes depressingly mundane world, must fend for ourselves, training our eyes (those windows to the soul) to seek out the magic that lies just under the surface of all things, for in that sparkling, numinous presence lies the true nature of existence, and our true purpose: to live like Christ – that is, to live for others, and in so living, never to die.
Well, that’s how I
see Harry Potter anyway.
But the pastor of a Catholic parish in Nashville, Tennessee disagrees. According to this article in the Tennessean, he has removed all the Harry Potter books from the new library at his parish school this fall. I’ll set out his reasoning (as reported in the article) and give my rebuttal, just like it’s 2002. In so doing, I hope also to demonstrate in some small way what Pope Francis has called the evil of clericalism – that is, any undue emphasis on the opinions, attitudes and actions of clerics over those they are meant to shepherd, simply because they are clerics. In my opinion, that is the real evil which underlies this particular situation.
I recently overheard a conversation between two Catholics about evangelization. They seemed unequivocally against it, at least in its more typical form of intentionally sharing the Gospel with non-Christians. To them, in this age of human rights, active evangelization necessarily means the compromise of another person’s religious freedom. To promote one’s own religion, to them, is to degrade someone else’s notions of the numinous.
The discomfort modern Catholics stereotypically feel with the practice of evangelization can make this an awkward time of the liturgical year, this time of Ascension and Pentecost, when Jesus gives the Great Commission, that “repentance, for the forgiveness of sins, would be preached in his name to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem.” (Luke 24:47) It’s true that, on the surface, we Catholics don’t seem to have much in common with the missionary branches of Christianity, like Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, whose dogged evangelization efforts relate closely to their belief that the end times are now, lending an effective urgency to Christ’s command to go out in his name to all the world.
Last year, my father died on the
day before Ash Wednesday. He was 85 years old, and he’d lived a wonderful,
respectable Christian life, full of charity toward others, including prison
ministry in his retirement. He’d enjoyed a fulfilling professional career, been
a good friend to many, and was happily married for over 50 years to a wonderful
woman with whom he’d raised a big, happy family. Letting go of this kind,
funny, intelligent and loving man was hard and sad, but something about it also
felt right. It was Dad’s time, and
we’ll all have our time.
Ash Wednesday invites us all to reflect on “our time” – to remember that indeed our time approaches, even if still far off. We wear ashes on our foreheads to symbolize, as a recent NPR article put it, that we are all “dust-creatures”. There is an impermanence to our earthly lives that we must never forget, lest we fail to live lives of charity and love with every breath. Psalm 95 says, “If today you hear God’s voice/harden not your hearts,” for tomorrow, you may be gone. On Ash Wednesday we remember that we are dust, and to dust we shall return.
As foreshadowed by Chris Brunelle’s comment on my original post (thanks, Chris!), the song “Ashes” was given a deep lyrical revision for its appearance in Oregon Catholic Press’ Breaking Bread hymnal. I can confirm this update appears in the 2022 hymnal, but I am told it debuted in Breaking Bread 2021. (I am so far past considering this song for use in the liturgy, I confess I did not notice the revision last year.) The revision removes a lot of the self-absorbed language from the verses that I critique below, but it retains the misleading identification of ashes as “an offering,” so prominent in the song’s refrain.
Still, I find it interesting and perhaps encouraging that a major publisher took the time to consider theologically-based critiques of a popular song and to do something about it.
Do note that what I’m critiquing below are the songs original lyrics, not the revision.
Thanks for visiting,
Emily
ORIGINAL POST, dated 27 February 2019:
We rise again from ashes,
from the good we’ve failed to do.
We rise again from ashes,
to create ourselves anew.
If all our world is ashes,
then must our lives be true,
An offering of ashes,
an offering to you.
(lyrics from the song “Ashes” by Tom Conry c. 1978 New Dawn Music)
Catholics have been singing the song “Ashes” at Ash Wednesday Masses in English-speaking North America since the late 1970s. Many Catholics view it as the inevitable choice for the occasion; I have heard more than one person claim “it’s not really Ash Wednesday” if we don’t sing “Ashes.” Thus in preparing the Ash Wednesday liturgy, “Ashes” gets a free ride; its popularity means it is not subjected to the usual scrutiny. “Ashes” on Ash Wednesday is a fait accompli.
