Ladies and Gentlemen

gen·tle·man /ˈdʒɛntlmən/[jen-tl-muhn]
–noun, plural -men.

1. a man of good family, breeding, or social position.
2. (used as a polite term) a man: Do you know that gentleman over there?
3. gentlemen, (used as a form of address): Gentlemen, please come this way.
4. a civilized, educated, sensitive, or well-mannered man: He behaved like a true gentleman.
5. a male personal servant, esp. of a man of social position; valet.
6. a male attendant upon a king, queen, or other royal person, who is himself of high birth or rank.
7. a man of good social standing, as a noble or an armigerous commoner.
8. a man with an independent income who does not work for a living.
9. a male member of the U.S. Senate or House of Representatives: The chair recognizes the gentleman from Massachusetts.
10. History/Historical. a man who is above the rank of yeoman.

- Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. 04 Oct. 2008.

Ask any single woman what she wants in a man and nine times out of ten, somewhere in her description of Mr. Right will appear the word "gentleman." You could be forgiven for doubting the sincerity of their desires when you consider that nine times out of ten the same girls are dressed in nothing more than strips of clothed strategically pulled into place to avoid a conviction for public indecency. After all, the kind of man you attract in that outfit does not fit anyone's definition of a gentleman.

But what is a gentleman after all? Are all these women on the same page with what they want? Certainly there is nothing particularly alluring about a "male personal servant." I can imagine, however, why some might be attracted to "a man with an independent income who does not work for a living."

But that is not what people usually mean when they say "gentlemen." I think in most minds a gentleman most resembles Mr. Darcy, the hero of the book that practically every female has enshrined under a special light on a golden pedestal on her bookshelf (all right, maybe not quite). Mr. Darcy does not pressure Elizabeth to have sex with him, in fact their physical contact is almost nil save when they are dancing. Mr. Darcy does not lie. He is also a "man of action" who gets things done behind the scenes, and without boasting about it or seeking praise. He has the added advantage of being enormously rich.

His counterpart of course is Mr. Wickham. This officer is a liar, irresponsible with his money, a seducer of virgins, very interested in sex and in filthy lucre.

Every woman who reads Pride and Prejudice can identify the gentleman and the scoundrel, the hero and the villain. What sometimes gets overlooked is that these characters have female counterparts. Elizabeth is a lady: serious, well-educated and intelligent, a model of proper behavior, and completely and utterly chaste. Her sister Lydia is not ladylike at all: flippant, obnoxious, loudmouthed and promiscuous.

There has been such a push in modern criticism to view Jane Austen as a feminist that her harsh critique of sexual rebellion tends to go unnoticed. Austen emphasizes the disaster of unconventional sex through her depiction of Lydia as a disgrace and the potential undoing of her entire family. She does not show Lydia as a strong or liberated female making her own sexual choices - instead she is a silly, selfish prig and a cross to everyone close to her. Austen has zero sympathy for Lydia, and she makes that clear when she provides the tidy ending in which each sister gets what she deserves: the lady-like Elizabeth is matched with the gentleman Darcy and presumably lives happily ever after, and the loose young girl, Lydia, is paired with the wicked scoundrel Wickham, who most likely does not love her and only agrees to marry her after being bribed with the promise of money.

The moral of the story is obviously that if you want to marry a gentleman, be a lady.

But being a gentleman or lady is not merely a concern for those with a vocation to marriage. In The Catholic Spirit, the paper of the diocese of St. Paul in Minnesota, there was an interview with the rector of the seminary, in which he said of his seminarians:

They want to be men of the church. They have a love for the church. They don’t know as yet all about what their responsibilities or calling will be in that church, but that’s what formation is. They love the church, and they somehow want to respond to the call to serve the church.

Second, they want to be gentlemen, and we want to help them to be just that. We pray in the Mass for vocations for ardent, but gentle, servants of the Gospel. . . .

We’ve had so many examples of what that means. From the time I came here, and for the first years I served here, we had Archbishop [Harry] Flynn. He’s the quin­tessential gentleman. He just knows how to touch the hearts of people. All the leaders that I’ve had the good fortune to serve with, and now Archbishop [John] Nien­stedt, that’s a hallmark of their ministry. They want to be men of the church and gentlemen. They respect [other people].

I want to ruminate about this a little more. In the meantime I highly recommend The Art of Manliness site. They feature a free guide to being a gentleman in 2008.

Wedding questions

No, not my (non-existent as yet) wedding, and not my friend's wedding that I posted about earlier. I am referring to weddings in general. There was a rather longish thread over on Phatmass about weddings: What kind of a gown is appropriate, and does the dad give the daughter away in Catholic weddings?

Most people seemed pretty positive that they liked the traditional white wedding gown, although many folks said that color shouldn't matter. I guess technically it doesn't - before Queen Victoria all kinds of colors were worn, even black - but there's something to be said for sticking with tradition. White is nice.

As far as fathers "giving their daughter away" after escorting her down the aisle, this is one innovation from the Protestant tradition that I am glad the Church has not incorporated. From the Catholic point of view, a girl is not her father's or her husband's property - she might be daddy's little girl but she's not his to give away! In fact if you ever go to a Catholic wedding you will hear reiterated that according to our theology, the husband and wife are supposed to give themselves to each other in the sacrament. You can read the awesome text of the wedding liturgy here.

Now in some Catholic weddings the priest does insert the "who gives this woman?" or "who presents this woman?" even though it is not actually a part of the liturgy. This is a bone thrown to standard American tradition, and it also has the added benefit of placating bridezillas who will go bananas if they don't get their "special moment with daddy." Excuse me, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. No, I really don't mean to belittle anyone, I guess the "who gives this woman to be married?" "I do" exchange is meaningful for a lot of women, but it isn't for me. I guess I have a different relationship with my dad.

From Chapter 25 of The Little Prince

... The well that we had come to was not like the wells of the Sahara. The wells of the Sahara are mere holes dug in the sand. This one was like a well in a village. But there was no village here, and I thought I must be dreaming...

"It is strange," I said to the little prince. "Everything is ready for use: the pulley, the bucket, the rope..."

He laughed, touched the rope, and set the pulley to working. And the pulley moaned, like an old weathervane which the wind has long since forgotten.

"Do you hear?" said the little prince. "We have wakened the well, and it is singing..."

I did not want him to tire himself with the rope.

"Leave it to me," I said. "It is too heavy for you."

I hoisted the bucket slowly to the edge of the well and set it there - happy, tired as I was, over my achievement. The song of the pulley was still in my ears, and I could see the sunlight shimmer in the still trembling water.

"I am thirsty for this water," said the little prince. "Give me some of it to drink..."

And I understood what he had been looking for.

I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed. It was as sweet as some special festival treat. This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart, like a present. When I was a little boy, the lights of the Christmas tree, the music of the Midnight Mass, the tenderness of the smiling faces, used to make up, so, the radiance of the gifts I received.

"The men where you live," said the little prince, "raise five thousand roses in the same garden - and they do not find in it what they are looking for."

"They do not find it," I replied.

"And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water."

"Yes, that is true," I said.

And the little prince added:

"But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart..."

Blush!

So, I've been neglecting my blog. Shame on me!

A lot has been happening this month. First and foremost, please pray for the repose of the soul of Jessie Davis, the young pregnant woman who was murdered a couple weeks ago. She worked in my office, but in a different department.

My brother Andy is getting ready to depart for Officer Candidate School. This is a mandatory part of his program with the Marine Corps, which will eventually result in his being commissioned a Second Lieutenant. Please pray for him, too.

Work is going all right. I was "employee of the month" last month, which benefits include a one time hour-long lunch (as opposed to a half hour) with pizza provided by the company, and a $22 bonus. The money was what I enjoyed/need the most!

It seems that pretty soon I will have to remove the Motu Proprio Random Date Generator on the side-rail, as Papa should be coming out with it on July 7. It will be a great relief to those who have been waiting and waiting for years. It is important, of course, that this moment of grace be marred as little as possible by any gloating. I can understand the impulse, but resist!

And of course, there was on June 13 the feast of my family's patron, the great saint of Padua (or Lisbon, if you are of the Portuguese persuasion), Anthony, Franciscan and priest.

Below is a painting done by Giovanni Antonio Gaili in the early 1600s, currently above the saint's chapel in the Basilica of Ss. Cosmas and Damian. The artist has captured a beautiful expression on Anthony's face.



Ora pro nobis, St. Anthony!

Waiting

I was called in recently for an interview with the committee that arranges the graduate appointments at the School of Library and Information Science. I think it went well, but I am always terrible at judging such things. They did let me know that they are in the final stages of cutting the list. It would be very much like me to nearly clear the bar and then fall flat at the end. Please pray for me; it would be a marvelous opportunity, and I should be hearing soon.

I'm also eagerly awaiting a trip down to Alabama to visit my sister, Sister Elizabeth. It's been many, many months since I saw her last, and I really miss her. The convent atmosphere will be a welcome respite from the working world, which is really starting to chew me up and spit me out. I don't hate it or anything, and I've only been at it for about two and a half months, but I'm just getting worn out.

Of course, we are all still eagerly awaiting the long-rumored, long-hoped for moto proprio. I haven't been to a Holy Mass in the Tridentine rite since Christmas, and it's not a major part of my spiritual life at all, but I think it would a wonderfully positive move for the liturgy of the Church. I can already see people becoming discouraged and embittered at the seemingly endless wait; it's important to realize that the Holy Father, if he does send the moto proprio, will send it when he's good and ready and not before.

I am not very good at waiting. I reckon that few people are, even though Christians are supposed to be "waiting in joyful hope" for the return of Our Lord. Lent is about waiting for Easter, and Advent about waiting for Christmas; Mary spent about nine months waiting, and the whole history of salvation revolves around the wait for the Messiah. But humans don't like to wait; we want it now, now, now. It's hard to keep in mind that the reason God lets us wait is to give us time to prepare for what He has in store.

I am especially rotten at waiting for answer to prayer. My tactics include muttering a quick prayer in such a manner that it almost seems that I don't believe it will get any results; then I immediately begin bothering (badgering?) our Lord about why He isn't making things clear. My intention for this week is to learn at least a little bit to wait, with patience and hope, for the descent of the Holy Spirit.