Ok, ok. I know it’s been forever since I posted. I intend to be more regular. But in the meantime, visit my secular franciscan fraternity’s (St. Benedict the Moor Fraternity) updated web site: http://saintbenedictthemoorsfo.org
It was 1999 and before I had my second visit to Assisi. Erin and Sean were dating and we all had decided to visit the Franciscan exhibit at the Met in Manhattan. Because of Puerto Rican Pride Day, we found it difficult to get to the Met. Once we did, we had little time to see the exhibit but long enough to make me ache for Assisi.
Erin and Sean teased me about my Franciscan sentiments so much so that they found me a glow-in-the-dark St. Clare statue for my television set. It had been designed with the t.v. in mind, since she is the patron saint of t.v.
You may be wondering why she is tha patron saint of t.v. Evidently, when Clare was too ill to attend Mass, she saw visions of it on her cell wall. Hence she is the patroness of clairvoyance, t.v., and other sundry items.
Perhaps, however, my favorite contemporary depiction of St. Clare was found in Danny Boyle’s Millions. In it she says to young Damian: “You can do what you want in heaven. What matters is what you do on earth.”
Boyle captures Clare in a captivating way that encapsulates the Franciscan idea of re-building the Church. Ilia Delio’s book, Franciscan Prayer, uses Clare’s threefold way of prayer: gaze, consider, contemplate. Boyle takes Clare’s method of prayer and turns it on its head. It suggests to me that we must gaze, consider, contemplate on the Christ here on earth.
I’ve been reflecting on my latest formation class about what it means to be a secular Franciscan. I was particularly stuck by the way of differentiating us from the friars and Poor Clares, who are religious. Benet Fonck says that seculars are witnessing more the incarnation, while the religious are witnessing more the resurrection. In other words, the friars and Poor Clares focus on being a witness of the kingdom to come and encourage us to live our lives like we actually believed in the resurrection. Secular Franciscans, however, point to something different. We point to God who is with is in creation, even in the ordinary things that people overlook. We show this because we understand that God is bent low in love for us.
I suppose it is because I have naturally been more adept at being secular that I so easily make the connection between food and religion.
In fact, I came up with a whole theology of the martini. I saw how each component could really teach some interesting lessons. Indeed, I went on about this theology to my Conventual friend a few months back and his wry response was: “I’m sure after a few martinis there is much more you could add….”
Such a response hightlights for me why some of us have to be resurrection people and some of us have to be incarnation people, although both are needed. I for one think it would be a bloody shame not to be able to find theological connections in something like a martini. I’m not sure this is what Benet Fonck had in mind exactly, but I think you understand my point. I think?
Exciting news for the five people who read this blog: the sacred ingredients column has been converted into its very own blog! Go there now: http://sacredingredients.typepad.com/sacred_ingredients/
I’ll still be blogging away here as I journey through formation. But now to read the monthly sacred ingredients column, visit me over there.
In this instance, Guinness says let the other guy take the fall. And then benefit from it. Actually, this is a very dark ad, much like the beer itself. Yet, I find myself chuckling. I’m afraid to know what this says about me…
So the question I pose here is how ethical is it to benefit from someone else’s loss?
When I had just moved to New York in pursuit of a publishing career, Gourmet magazine helped direct me to Rosa Mexicano near Lincoln Center. At first taste of that perfect tangy saltiness of their pomegranate margarita, I knew I had to take my Franciscan friend, El Cheapo, there for his birthday.
At the tail end of a debilitating cold and after fighting my way through the very wet streets in Manhattan on a stormy May evening, I entered Rosa Mexicano to find El Cheapo sitting in table near the bar, copious notes and a few books strewn across the table. He had been a chaplain over at Columbia then, working on Asian Studies with Wm. Theodore deBary. Pouring over Buddhist thought, he had been sitting there for over an hour in anticipation without even so much as a glass of water: “I asked if they would let me sit here, and the hostess let me.” He said this with a bit of glee, like the cat that ate the canary, because he had been allowed to sit there without spending a dime.
I sought to remedy the drink situation and ordered us both Rosa Mexicano’s famous Pomegranate Margarita. I expected he would like the contrast of flavors, but had not anticipated that he had never tasted tequila. I will never forget that look on his face when he first tasted the margarita, a mixture of surprise, delight and a profound realization of its potency. It deceptively looks puny as a red-violet, frozen concoction, but it packs a mighty punch. We finished half of it before we walked up their beautiful long staircase with its cascading waterfall on the wall.
The one margarita was enough for me with the cold, and one margarita was most definitely enough for El Cheapo as he devoured his mole enchilada. I remember him commenting on how good the black beans were and could not help but wonder if indeed the tequila was now taking full effect. My suspicions were confirmed while were walking down the long stairs and I mentioned how the pomegranate has often been used in Madonna and Child paintings:
“The pomegranate margarita was great, wasn’t it? The pomegranate has often been used in Madonna and Child paintings, so in a way we’re celebrating Mary. Here’s to Our Lady…”
“Now you sound like my grandfather who would have crazy reasons like that for drinking. Our Lady of the Avocado…”
“Uh, do you mean pomegranate?”
“Yeah, what did I say?”
“Avocado.”
“Oh right. How funny, Our Lady of the Avocado…”
The memory of the pomegranate margarita will stay with me. I maintain the importance of the pomegranate in Christian art, however. Above you will see Botticelli’s Madonna of the Pomegranate. The pomegranate here has been interpreted by art historians as representing the fullness of suffering of Christ’s passion. We see Mary holding it firmly, representing in my view the Church holding forth his Passion. This of course works well with the pomegranate’s dual meaning of representing the universality of the Church because of its many seeds.
The pomegranate then has an interesting dual meaning: Christ’s passion and the universality of the Church. At first glance it seems rather divergent in meaning. We tend to think of universality or catholic (in the strictest sense of catholic meaning universal) in positive terms and see Christ’s passion in negative terms. However, Franciscan thought takes a different view. It is precisely through Christ’s passion and suffering that we see the God of humble love. We see what Bonaventure would call God bent low in love. In conforming our life to the sufferings of Christ’s passion, we embrace God bent low in love for us. This embrace is not only universal, but also evident in the many branches or seeds of the Church. In this way, Franciscan thought helps us see the dual meaning of the pomegranate actually flowing quite consistently.
Because I enjoyed that pomegranate margarita immensely, I will share the recipe for it here:
Rosa Mexicano’s Pomegranate MargaritaRecipe from: Roberto Santibanez, Culinary Director, Rosa Mexicano restaurants Servings: 1
2 ounces white tequila
½ ounce Triple Sec
1 ounce fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon fresh pomegranate juice (can substitute bottled pomegranate juice)
6 ounces ice, or more
Garnish with lime wheel or wedge Directions: Mix all the ingredients in a blender until smooth and frothy. Serve in a chilled glass and garnish with lime.
As you enjoy the pomegranate margarita, may you also nod toward the Madonna of the Pomegranate.
Anthony did not join the Franciscans so that for the end of the time he could be the one known for helping people find lost things. He joined because of witness. He was originally an Augustinian canon, much against the desires of his wealthy family. As minister of hospitality, he encountered several traveling friars headed to Morrocco. So strong must their witness have been that when Anthony learned they had been martyred, he left to become a Franciscan.
He is often depicted sweetly and gently holding the Christ child in his arms. And while he most certainly held the Hope of the World in his heart at all times, he was known for the strength of preaching that cut through the moral problems of his day. His gentleness was the firm convinction of a resolute heart, his sweetness the truth of witness bursting forth that his preaching could barely contain.
Today is Anthony’s feast day. And while we could just think of him as the saint who will help us with lost things, maybe we will want to peer more into the mystery of his life. We may find anew that the value of witness.
Sidenote: Saint Francis Church in NYC has been offering the Breadline Program in honor of St. Anthony for a long time. Started in 1929 as a way to help those suffering from the Depression, it continues today to feed those who wish to come to St. Francis Church’s doors to eat. Visit the Breadline’s web site for more information or to make a donation.
Tom Crean (1877-19 
was an Irish explorer with the Royal Navy who went on three expeditions to Antarctica. He saw service in World War I and then retired in 1920. He went back home to Kerry, where he married and opened a small but famous pub “The South Pole Inn”.
I have a Franciscan priest friend who is a scholar and professor of theology and particularly interested in the 19th century priest and theologian John Henry Cardinal Newman. I emailed him that he should leave behind the idea of a gentleman and bring out the inner punk. He will not understand what I mean by punk and you do not either, do you?
Punk rock started in the 1970s in the UK and US, that though anti-establishment they wanted to react against the sentimentality of the 1960s flower-power movement. They rejected the idea of dropping out of society and favored a more aggressive and confrontational reaction. Much of the punk rock movement can be summed up as minimalist, concerned with speed, and anti-establishment. However the term punk was a deliberate choice of terms as they realized that “punk” was what the cops on the cop shows called the young kid who got into trouble.
I bet you want to know how punk rock really my friend is. The truth is not at all, especially since he is especially faithful to all the teachings of the Magisterium and fiercely loyal to the writings of the Councils including the Second Vatican Council. Though tall, he sits very compactly crossing one leg gently over the other. He talks earnestly about John Henry Cardinal Newman inspiring sincere seekers of truth, one hand strategically held in mid-air for a touch of drama when appropriate. Though in the States, I picture him sipping tea while sitting in an English garden somewhere in Oxford, where an ivy covered tower peeks out into the distance. He muses over Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “Duns Scotus’Oxford”, smiles gently, and ponders how he will use it in the next homily he will write after his daily constitutional along a favorite meandering path he has found.
How far from punk can you get? And yet, he is my favorite punk. It would be perhaps too easy to dig no further than the superficial, as my Oxford picture does, but that would miss how his work is a force to be reckoned with. He breathes Newman, but he is more concerned with applying Newman’s thought for the modern Church. Applying any work is much more difficult than remaining wrapped up within the work itself, because to apply means making that work relevant and useful for others. My friend would have it no other way. But this only proves that he is an excellent scholar and teacher. How is he punk?
He teaches Newman and sometimes he has young seminarians in his class. He encountered a particularly difficult young seminarian interested in neo-scholasticism. More concerned with remaining within neo-scholasticism, he commented to my friend that he had no interest whatsoever in seeing how Newman speaks to the world today. The sense I got was that this seminarian had neither an interest in the world we live in nor the church as we have it. This was evident when my friend told me that these seminarians were eager to say the Latin Mass. While both he and I would never criticize anyone of sincere faith who participates in a Latin Mass, I think the concern here are those who have other more worrisome motivations for wanting to “bring back” the Latin Mass. My friend tells me with arms crossed and a twinkle in his eye he said to them, “I have no interest whatsoever in ever saying a Latin Mass.” And to put a fine point on this, he not only can speak Slovak, Italian and German fluently, he is able to say Mass in any number of other languages. This comment of his was pure punk.
He is reacting to motivations that are a far cry from pastoral: the preference for theatre, smoke and mirrors, than the actual sacrament itself; the stance that wishes to create an insular, “pure” church, to the exclusion of anyone who does not neatly fit; the re-creation of God who is bent low in love into a Gnostic alternative; the privileging of the power and glory of Institution and Hierarchy over love, mercy and justice for all persons. Let me be clear: those who prefer the Latin Mass do not necessarily subscribe to any of these attitudes. But it seems my friend was reacting to these anti-pastoral sentiments when he said he would not say a Latin Mass. And by being minimal with his words and concerned with bringing down that kind of an idea of hierarchy, he was punk all over. In a single brief comment, he kicked over the motivations dripping with the trappings of authority and power so that others could participate in the Eucharist with love in order to to re-build and repair the world. I imagine in my mind that when my friend said what he did, John Henry Newman and Francis of Assisi gave each other a high five saying, “Now that was punk!”
I went to a Catholic grammar school growing up in Syracuse. One of my very clearest first memories of religious instruction was an activity my class did in kindergarten. We were each given a sheet a paper (or was it that we had to tear the perforated sheet from a book?) that had a very large heart shape ready for us to color. Indeed others may have wanted to color it purple or green or orange, but I stuck to red being a complete and utter color purist. After we were finished coloring our paper hearts, we instructed to take a glue stick and apply it to our newly colored hearts. Then, we were given table salt to apply it the heart. We were learning what Jesus had said in Matthew, “You are the salt of the earth.”
Salt is actually an important ingredient. Salt was considered a mark of civilization for its ability to preserve food and diminish the dependency on seasonal produce. So valuable was salt that Roman soldiers were partly paid in salt for their wages. In Matthew, Jesus says, “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.” What can we infer?
Salt is unique in its ability to season and preserve — it never loses its flavor. So what did Jesus mean by salt losing its flavor? In the time of Jesus, they did not refine salt as we do today and instead went to the shores of the Dead Sea or the Salt Sea to comb the salt from the sand. However, it was difficult to differentiate between the sand and salt and thus most salt was a mixture of both. If the salt had more sand than salt, it was said to have lost its flavor.
It is in this sense that we can take a glimpse of Jesus’ meaning. If we are salt, then we have the ability to enhance and sustain the world. As human beings made in the image and likeness of God, we cannot lose our flavor. However, when we choose anything other than God’s love, we begin to add sand to our salt and gradually we begin to lose our flavor. In other words, we lose our ability to be present in the world as participants in the Christ mystery. And so, if dilute and delude ourselves with more and more sand, we become dangerously close to being of no use other than to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
This is in part, too, about appearances and underlying realities. We may appear to be like salt but actually be full of sand, betraying ourselves and others. Our selfishness gains us abundant sand, but the good of what we could do is so diminished that it could easily be trampled underfoot. And with a world full of so much brokeness around every corner, we certainly need more salt and less sand. We must become the salt of the earth for the sake of the humble love of God so we can transform the world into love out of the hate.
Because I am from Syracuse, NY, I am sharing a receipe very unique to Syracuse: salt potatoes. Salt mining has a long history in Syracuse and the Irish immigrants in Syracuse developed this combination in the 19th century. This appeals to my Irish roots, my Irish ancestors having come over in the early 19th century.
Salt Potatoes
1 1/4 pounds kosher or rock salt
2 quarts water
2 pounds small fingerling, or small red potatoes, cleaned
4 tablespoons butter
In a large pot, combine the salt, water, and potatoes and bring to a boil. Cook until the potatoes are fork-tender, approximately 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from the pot to a cooling rack and let stand for 5 to 7 minutes. Serve with drawn butter.