SPidge Tales

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Papal Infallibility?

This past Fall, an event not so much published outside of Catholic circles, yet nonetheless significant, took place. Pope Benedict XVI invited his old colleague and friend Hans Kung over for lunch. During the 1960’s, Fr. Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict’s name before becoming Pope) and Fr. Hans Kung were two young scholars taking part in the Second Vatican Council. Both were on the liberal side, and in favor of the reforms instituted at Vatican II for the Catholic Church. Kung even helped Ratzinger get a faculty position at the University of Tubingen, long known as one of the most prominent, both Catholic and Protestant, theology schools in the world.

However, after the student protests and riots of the late ‘60’s, Ratzinger became disenchanted with the seemingly anarchist and deconstructionist bent to the revolts, and shifted solidly to the right. Kung and Ratzinger both grew to become two of the greatest Catholic theologians of the century, up there with the likes of Rahner and Von Balthasar, yet their personal relationship became strained with their diversions to opposite ends of the theological spectrum.

There is an old joke about Kung. It goes something along the lines of “Hans Kung would never want to be Pope, because then he would not be infallible anymore.” Kung has gotten into trouble, and actually had his license to teach Catholic theology revoked by Pope John Paul II, in large part due to his denunciation of doctrine of papal infallibility, first declared in 1870 at the first Vatican Council. This did not affect him practically that much, since he still retained his priestly duties, and he just switched over to the Protestant faculty department at Tubingen and continued to teach the same courses he has always taught. He writes and teaches in a manner where he is always extra, maybe over, confident in the truth of his statements, which may be partly the reason for the joke above.

Benedict and Kung, though seeing the world in different ways, still have much respect for one another, and recognize that they both still share a common faith, and agree on the most important issues. And, while I do not necessarily have a problem with the doctrine of papal infallibility in and of itself—after all, it is defined rather strict and narrow; the Pope may only speak infallibly when he is speaking on strict and clear matters of faith and moral doctrine—I can appreciate some of Kung’s fears and criticisms.

Kung is right that a doctrine such as papal infallibility can too easily lead one to believe that the Catholic Church is synonymous with the Kingdom of God, and is also right that it puts another wedge between the Catholic Church and our separated brethren in the Eastern Churches. Ironically, much of modern papal power, and the abuse of papal power during eras such as the Middle Ages, can be traced to St. Augustine. Yet, in the City of God, Augustine is NOT trying to identify the City of God with Church.

For Augustine, yes, there are two major civitas, cities or societies, the City of God and the City of Man. Many interpreted Augustine as defining the City of God as the Church and the City of Man as Rome. This is not correct. The City of God is all of the faithful. This includes the angels in Heaven, the souls in Heaven, and the faithful people still alive on earth. While the faithful on earth include some, probably many, members of the Church, NOT all members of the Church are members of the City of God, since there are some baptized persons who are not faithful, and choose not to follow God. Also, it is possible, and probable, that there are persons who are not members of the Church, yet are nonetheless faithful to God and belong to the City of God.

The City of Man includes the fallen angels, the souls of the dead who have rejected God, and those people still living on earth who do not follow God. This cannot be identified strictly with Rome or any particular human society (insert: Nazi Germany, Iraq, Afghanistan, if you are a commy lefty, the USA, or the next bad-guy nation to come along), since there are always at least some people in every society who are faithful and thus belong to the City of God.

Augustine knew not to strictly identify the Church with God’s Kingdom or God’s will, and also knew not to strictly demonize the world, or any human society, with the Devil’s work. Yet, after him, papal power grew, probably too much. It is what divides East and West to this day. What should be the eventual arrangement that would bring East and West back together? Is it a universal recognition of the Pope being in charge on earth? Is it a recognition of the Pope as one among equals among the other major Patriarchs? If there is a compromise, it will probably be somewhere in the middle. But, a cordial meeting between Kung and Benedict, and Benedict’s desire to reach out to our separated brethren in the East, leaves us with hope. A hope for a time, as Augustine prayed for, where:

“There we shall rest and we shall see. We shall see and we shall love. We shall love and we shall praise. Behold what shall be in the end and shall not end. For what other thing is our end, but to come to that kingdom of which there is no end?”

Friday, April 14, 2006

Death on a Friday Afternoon

Through Mary he received his humanity, and in receiving his humanity received humanity itself. Which is to say, through Mary he received us. In response to the angel's strange announcement, Mary said yes. But only God knew that it would end up here at Golgotha, that it had to end up here. For here, in darkness and in death, were to be found the prodigal children who had said no, the prodigal children whom Jesus came to take home to the Father.

The liturgy of Good Friday is coming to an end now. A final prayer replaces the usual benediction:

Lord,
send down your abundant blessing
upon your people who have devoutly recalled
the death of your Son
in the sure hope of the resurrection.
Grant them pardon, bring them comfort.
May their faith grow stronger
and their eternal salvation be assured.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Let all the people say Amen. The church is dark now. The altar is stripped and bare. Some are getting up and leaving in silence. Others remain kneeling, looking into the darkness. Holy Saturday is ahead, the most quiet day of the year. The silence of that silent night, holy night, the night when God was born was broken by the sounds of a baby, a mother's words of comfort and angels in concert. Holy Saturday, by contrast, is the sound of prefect silence. Yesterday's mockery, the good thief's prayer, the cry of dereliction; all that is past now. Mary has dried her tears, and the whole creation is still, waiting for what will happen next.

Some say that on Holy Saturday Jesus went to hell in triumph, to free the souls long imprisoned there. Others say he descended into a death deeper than death, to embrace in his love even the damned. We do not know. Scripture, tradition and pious writings provide hints and speculations, but about this most silent day it is perhaps best to observe the silence. One day I expect he will tell us all about it. When we are able to understand what we cannot now even understand why we cannot understand. Meanwhile, if we keep very still, there steals upon the silence a song of Easter that was always there. On the long mourners bench of the eternal pity, we raise our heads, blink away our tears and exchange looks that dare to question, "Could it be?" But of course. That is what it was about. That is what it is all about. O felix culpa!

O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam,
which gained for us so great a Redeemer!

To prodigal children lost in a distant land, to disciples who forsook him and fled, to a thief who believed or maybe took pity and pretended to believe, to those who did not know that what they did they did to God, to the whole bedraggled company of humankind he had abandoned heaven to join, he says: Come. Everything is ready now. In your fears and your laughter, in your friendships and farewells, in your loves and losses, in what you have been able to do and in what you know you will never get done, come, follow me. We are going home to the waiting Father.

Excerpt from Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Fr. Richard John Neuhaus. Originally posted on www.firstthings.com

Tucker Max

“My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole…I get excessively drunk at inappropriate times, disregard social norms, indulge every whim, ignore the consequences of my actions, mock idiots and posers, sleep with more women than is safe or reasonable, and just generally act like a raging dickhead…But, I do contribute to humanity in one very important way. I share my adventures with the world.” Tucker Max, www.tuckermax.com

So many people go through life as fakers and posers, trying to be what we think others either expect or want us to be. All of us do it at least some of the time. Whether it is pretending to read some boring as hell classic book like Ulysses to impress the sophisticated cute girl (do they really exist? Just kidding), popping in the gawd-awful hip hop CD to blend in with the homies you play pick-up basketball with, or saying you always dreamed of bringing high definition television to the average suburbanite when all you really want is a summer job, and this one happens to be installing cable in people’s homes, we all put on different masks at times so we can be all things to all people. Sometimes, we even make paper-machete plaster masks to show symbolically how we always put on ‘masks”, so to speak (Okay, maybe not everyone has made plaster masks, but I have, and I am damn proud of it. It was a real bonding experience at summer camp. You had to be there).

I will admit, personally, my biggest problem is wanting people to like me and worrying about not offending people. I do have strong opinions, but I always play the part of the funny guy, and am always laid back and relaxed, making others feel comfortable. There is something to be said for that, but there are times when we need to tell some people to fuck off, or to say “you know, you are an asshole.” This is something I need to work on and need to learn to do.

There are some people, and they are rare, and actually, refreshingly honest, who don’t put on masks and play games. They are who they are. They often piss enough people off that they get crucified (either metaphorically or really; Jesus falls into the later category). These people are not afraid to say what they believe, and they don’t care who they offend. Usually it involves serious issues, such as religion, politics, or social justice. Sometimes, as I discovered in a newspaper article a couple months in my local Albany Times Union, it revolves around the banal.

At Mad River Bar and Grille (it’s a fake Coyote Ugly type place situated on Pearl Street, the downtown section of Albany with all the kiddie bars. I call them kiddie bars, because if you are over the legal drinking age, the only reason to be in these overcrowded dance club/bars is if you are sketchy and on the prowl for high school and college freshman girls out with their fake ID’s), there was a book signing going on. Tucker Max, with a Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Chicago and a Law Degree from Duke University Law School, was signing his recently released book, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Despite his academic credentials, and his voluminous reading list, he spends his life not engaged in a “real” career, but in carousing and getting drunk. He does not pretend or play any games. He admits that his only goals are to have a good time and screw around with as many women as possible. He entertainingly chronicles his debaucherous adventures on his webpage, http://www.tuckermax.com/, and in his recently released book that he was signing at Mad River, called by the New York Times, “highly entertaining and thoroughly reprehensible.”

His columns and blogs include stories such as, “Tucker has moment of reflection, ends poorly,” “The Blowjob Follies,” and “Tucker tries buttsex; hilarity does not ensue.” He even gives dating advice and writing advice for aspiring writers. What I found most disturbing is not any of his stories, but that I enjoy reading him, and I find him, at least from his writing, to be someone who seems like he’d be fun to hang out with. There are those guys who always complain about how girls go for the jerks and assholes instead “nice” guys like themselves. Well, guys like Tucker have personality and don’t mope around. I would hope that no one would really want to be like Tucker (I am sure he will die young from either an STD or a rotted liver), but it’s always nice to have people like him around for shits and giggles.

Besides, we all lie about what we want from the opposite sex. Guys and girls both say they like “nice” people and everyone wants to meet a nice guy or girl. Bullshit. Guys only say they want to meet a nice girl so that people don’t think they are shallow. We want hot chicks who give off just enough of a sensual aura that they aren’t prudes, but not enough of an aura that reveals sluttiness. Whether we stay in a relationship with them does depend on them having a fun personality, some intelligence, being at least tolerably nice, and not too damn annoying (all girls are slightly annoying at times), but the looks at the beginning are a deal breaker.

Girls are a little more honest than guys. When girls say they want to meet a nice guy, they believe what they are saying, because they think they want to meet a nice guy. What they really mean is that they want the guys they are attracted to to be nice. They don’t want some dork who kisses their ass. And, despite this idea of niceness in their heads, they will go for the Tucker Max’s any day because those guys are honest about what they want.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

RBI Baseball and the 1986 World Series Come Together

1986 was a quite monumental year. The first 363 days of it, I was five years old and had a number of what cheesy authors would call defining moments. In January, my family moved from Schenectady to Rensselaer. I graduated from pre-school in the Spring and started Kindergarten in the Fall. 1986 would also mark the final year that wetting my pants was almost a daily occurrence.

The two most significant events in my life from 1986 were actually not even on my radar screen that calendar year. While I was busy learning my alphabet during the days and watching He-Man and Transformers in the afternoons, unbeknownst to my mullet-haired (at the time) self, two amazing events would forever reshape baseball history: Game Six of the World Series and Nintendo RBI Baseball. Because of a random experiment from someone with too much time on his hands (not me, don’t worry), 20 years later these monumental achievements have converged.

I did not appreciate this until later, since I was two years away at the time from starting T-Ball, and about five years from becoming a baseball fan, but 1986 was the year the party crazy, alcoholic, cocaine infested New York Mets (the team I would become a fan of) made their miracle comeback against the Boston Red Sox in the bottom of the 10th inning of Game Six of the World Series, trailing the series 3 games to 2, and the game itself 5-3, with 2 outs and no one on base. Keith Hernandez headed for the clubhouse to grab a beer after making the second out, and the rest is a Bill Buckner induced history.

I did not get my first Original Nintendo until I was 8 or 9, so I also did not at the time appreciate the release of RBI Baseball. It is a classic baseball game with bubble shaped players, terrible graphics, and iffy game-play. What makes it enjoyable, besides the simple, quick, game style, is that it is one of the first sports video games to use real teams and real players. It included about 15 teams from the 1986 season, including both the Red Sox and the Mets.

Because of some computer guy (read about it on SI.com: sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2006/writers/
pete_mcentegart/04/11/ten.spot/index.html ), the real life and video life have finally merged. You can now watch the entire 8 minutes and 39 seconds of the bottom of the 10th inning with RBI Baseball players, complete with the real World Series announcing of Vin Scully. This has to be one of the greatest ideas ever thought of. And, yes, I am supplying the link. Click here: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8547285560243429315&q=RBI+baseball&pl=true , and turn your volume up to watch and listen. Yes, this is real. This is no joke.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Ugly as Sin

An exciting part of living in a new neighborhood is exploring and seeing what is out there. Sunday afternoon I spent a couple hours walking around the local streets, hoping to discover potential pizza places, coffee shops, and watering holes. A block down from the end of my street is a sports bar named, I think, Andy’s. On Monday, I headed over to catch the NCAA Championship game.

It was your typical sports bar. Team regalia on the walls, two electronic dartboard games, and about 20 televisions spread out, half the TV’s tuned to ESPN2 for a baseball game and the other half showing figure skating on ESPN. The bartender must not have been paying attention. It is not enough to just put your TV on ESPN and assume that the patrons will be satisfied. Sometimes, ESPN throws a curveball and drops figure skating or national ballet championships or something else no self-respecting male would ever watch. Usually, this is done on nights when the major sporting event is a championship in baseball, basketball, or football on the network channels. Instead of trying to compete with the Super Bowl, World Series, or Final Four, ESPN throws its hands up and goes for a completely different demographic. The figure skating problem was soon remedied when a guy across the bar from me mentioned to the bartender that, though he loves figure skating, it would be nice if the bartender could be so kind as to change the channel to CBS and Florida-UCLA.

Two ladies in their thirties and, sadly, looking their age, were at the bar, and two or three younger girls, obviously with boyfriends, were at Andy’s, but other than that, it was a complete Sausage Fest. This left my attention to two things: the game on the television and the bar-food menu. The food was reasonably priced. Could this place be a diamond in the rough? Could it be one of those places that gain a word of mouth reputation for its appetizing bar food? I had my answer after glancing at the spinach and artichoke plate in front of the guy seated next to me. It looked straight from the microwave, and the salsa chips looked straight from a bag of generic Tostitos that expired last NCAA Championship game. Of course, I still ordered food myself.

The basketball game was brutal, forcing me to watch the Yankees-A’s game on YES on the other TV’s. The Yanks were up 3-0 in the 2nd with the bases loaded, and we all know what that means, right? It’s ARod time! Showing why he won the MVP over the clutch Papi last year, ARod came through with a grand slam, showing how valuable he really is. Just imagine, if he does not hit that grand slam, the Yankees win 11-2 instead of 15-2.

Yes, the game was ugly. If the Athletic pitching was any uglier, it would have been as ugly as Yankee starting pitcher Randy Johnson. I don’t mean the way he pitched. He pitched great, he usually does, hell, he’s a future Hall-of-Famer. I just mean that he is one ugly SOB. He is, if not THE, at the very least in the running for ugliest baseball player. And, no I am not gay. It does not matter whether you are gay, straight, asexual. Anyone can tell ugly. This gets me thinking; who is the ugliest player in each sport? Randy Johnson is an obvious no-brainer for baseball. Sam Cassell is the Michael Jordan of ugly NBA players. I would Sheldon Williams of Duke in college basketball. It’s like his eyes are pushing their way down to his nose, and his forehead can’t help but grow. How about the NFL? NHL? Boxing? Anything Else? I can’t think of anymore right now. Feel free to help me out. That is what the comment area is for. Just, no WWE wrestlers. It’s unfair to include them. When it comes to the birthday of ugliness, they take the cake.