What a milestone. When I started The Amish Catholic in February of 2017, I had no idea it would take off like this. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, share, or comment upon my work. I appreciate your consideration.
Earlier this week, I went to the Birmingham Oratory for the Feast of Bl. John Henry Newman. Fr. Ignatius Harrison, the Provost, was kind enough to open up the Oratory house to me. I must offer him my tremendous thanks for his hospitable willingness to let me see such an incredible (and, it must be said, holy) place. Likewise, I thank Br. Ambrose Jackson of the Cardiff Oratory for taking time out of his busy schedule to give me what was an extraordinarily memorable tour. I went away from the experience with a rekindled devotion to Cardinal Newman.
There were many striking and beautiful sights at the Oratory – not the least of which was the Pontifical High Mass in the Usus Antiquior, celebrated by His Excellency, Bishop Robert Byrne. Even from so short an experience, I can tell that the Birmingham Oratory is one of the places where Catholicism is done well, where the Beauty of Holiness is made manifest for the edification of all the faithful. I walked away from that Mass feeling drawn upwards into something supernal, something far beyond my ken. This place that so palpably breathes the essence of Cardinal Newman is, as it were, an island of grace and recollection amidst a world—and, sadly, a Church—so often inimical to things of the spirit.
Yet amidst all this splendor, I found myself peculiarly drawn to one very quiet, very easy-to-miss relic. It lies in the little chapel to St. Philip Neri to the left of the altar; in this placement, one can see the influence of the Chiesa Nuova on Newman and his sons, who modeled their house’s customs on Roman models. And so it is only appropriate to find relics of St. Philip there in that small and holy place, so evocative of the great father’s final resting place.
The collection of relics in the chapel are mostly second-class. These are not pieces of the body, but materials that touched St. Philip either in his life or after his death. One of these small items spoke to me in an especially strong way.
The little grey pouch you see to the left is St. Philip’s spectacle case. There is nothing terribly remarkable about it. It may not even be entirely intact, for all I know. A visible layer of dust covers the case, and a hard-to-read, handwritten label is all that identifies its use and provenance. No one comes to the Birmingham Oratory to see what once held St. Philip’s glasses. But of all the glorious relics I saw that day —some encrusted in gold, some taken from rare and holy men, some evoking the perilous lives of saints who lived in a more heroic age—it was this humble artifact that most fired my imagination.
A spectacle case is no great thing. It does not shift the balance of empires or change the course of history. But humility and nobility are close cousins all the same. Here we come upon St. Philip in his quotidian life. A saint so marvelously strange, so crammed with the supernatural, so flame-like in darting from one miracle to another, nevertheless bent his fingers to the perfectly ordinary task of opening this case and taking out his spectacles so that he might see just a little better. It is a true maxim that grace builds upon nature. We have been told of St. Philip’s many graces. Here we find him in his nature; frail and imperfect and in need of just a little aid, so like our own.
The supernatural never erases the natural, and God is never more glorified than in our weakness. The hands that took up this case and opened it and drew forth its contents, perhaps a little fumblingly from time to time, are the very same thaumaturgic hands that lifted a prince out of death and Hell so that he might make his final confession. We know the story of the miracle. How rarely do we ponder the everyday conditions of its operation! How rarely do we consider those hands in their ordinary life.
There is a tendency with St. Philip—as with many saints, and with Our Lord Himself—to reduce his life to one or two features. Some would make him an avuncular chap, always happy to laugh and thoroughly pleasant to be around, a jokester, a picture of joy and friend to all. On the other hand, we can get lost in the extraordinarily colorful miracles that mark St. Philip’s life, losing him in a fog of pious pictures and pablum. Neither captures his essence. The true middle way is to maintain a healthy sense of the bizarre—an approach that recognizes the extraordinary in-breaking of the supernatural precisely because it appreciates the ordinary material of St. Philip’s day-to-day existence. It was this view that Fr. Ignatius himself recommended, though perhaps with a greater emphasis on the “weird,” in his homily delivered last St. Philip’s day.
I was reminded of this double reality when I saw St. Philip’s spectacle case. Prosaic relics carry this two-fold life within them more vividly than those upon which our ancestors’ piety has elaborated in glass and gold. Even Cardinal Newman’s violin case is not so markedly dual in this way; after all, every instrument belongs to that human portion of the supernatural we call “art.” Music, paintings, and other aesthetic forms all lift the human soul out of itself and into another world. In some ways, they are cousins both to Our Lady and to the Sacraments, God’s masterpieces of the sensible creation. Yet a spectacle case—how utilitarian. How plain. How merely functional. There is no poetry in a spectacle case. One can imagine writing a poem about a violin—the sinuous form of the wood almost suggests it, and more so when it carries a connection with so great a man as Newman—but a spectacle case? Drab as this one is, its beauty comes only from the story it tells, from the life it once served, from the little help it gave its owner in his acquisition of beatitude.
Too often we wish to be God’s violins. In our quest for holiness, we wish to be admired, to cast our voice abroad, to give and seek beauty. These are not necessarily unworthy goals. But they are not the most important thing. Too infrequently do we turn our mind to the spectacle case. All too rarely do we seek our holiness in the gentle, quiet, everyday task of being useful, unnoticed, and present to God precisely when He needs us.
St. Philip knew how to be both, when he needed to be. May we learn to be like him in this as in so many respects.
My review of The Benedict Option, “Benedict Shrugged,” has just been translated into Polish at Christianitas.org. I believe it is the first time any of my work has been put into any language other than English.
I must thank the lovely Natalia Łajszczak for translating what is, in fact, a rather long piece. I am sure she has done a wonderful job. I must also thank her husband, Filip, an old friend and the one who first approached me with the idea. I’m honored that they thought my review was worth the time and effort, and, moreover, that they thought it might be useful to have it in another language.
For those who can read Polish, go check out Natalia’s work!
Some time this month, The Amish Catholic received its 90,000th view. Thank you to all my readers for sticking with me, arguing with me, referring me, and generally paying attention.
Some time in the last month, The Amish Catholic received its 80,000th view. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to look at what I produce here.
I must thank Fr. Maximilian Mary Dean for republishing two of my pieces over at Absolute Primacy of Christ: my introduction to the life and thought of Fr. Faber as well as my survey of art depicting the Subtle Doctor. It is a great honor to have been thought worthy of republication on a site I so greatly esteem. I have learned a lot from Fr. Maximilian’s blog and hope I might continue to do so! Go check it out.
I’m astounded at how big this venture has gotten, and it’s all thanks to you, my wonderful readers and referrers. I appreciate your consideration. May God bless you all this Ascensiontide.
Here are XVII things for which I am grateful in the year of Our Lord MMXVII.
2. All of the friends I have left behind in Virginia, and all of the friends I have made at Oxford—from Staggers, my Ecclesiastical History cohort, and the Companions of Malta. Also my wonderful family who have been there for me throughout the transition.
3. Everyone who has taken the time and effort to read, share, and respond to what I have written at this blog. As of this writing, I’ve gotten 44,127 views.
4. All of the support I received when my grandmother died right before Holy Week.
5. The fact that I have several friends who have started the process of entering or returning to the Church.
7. Rekindling my love of creating art.
8. The new basset hound my family got this winter and the rabbits we received in the spring. Not to mention the continued good health of our other pets.
9. Gin and Tonics, Whiskey Sours, and St. Germaine.
10. All the museums I have worked in or visited.
11. Discovering the joys of sticky toffee pudding.
12. My Marian consecration. The continued friendship of many saints, including St. Philip Neri and the Blessed John Henry Newman. Also the many beautiful liturgies I had the chance to attend this year.
13. The memory of those warm and golden weeks on the Lawn between the end of Spring exams and the beginning of final exercises.
14. All of the great music I have come across this year (The Revolutionary Army of the Infant Jesus, David Lang, a few pieces by John Tavener and Zbgniew Preisner, George Jones and Monteverdi, Bernstein, Gilbert & Sullivan, Chrysta Bell, James Carr and Pokey LaFarge, Gaelynn Lea, Jackson C. Frank, and so much more).
15. A new appreciation for William Blake and an introduction to the poetry of R.S. Thomas.
16. The fact that we haven’t all been nuked to kingdom come yet.
17. The laughter I have happily shared with friends and family.
May the good Lord bless all of us in the coming year of His grace!
Today, I have just crossed the 40,000 view mark, with some 25,310 individual visitors from every continent but Antarctica. Thank you to everyone who has read, shared, or commented upon my work. I appreciate your consideration, and I hope I may continue to produce content worthy of your attention. May God bless you all.
Today, I hit 30,000 views on my blog. I’ve also nearly reached 20,000 discreet visitors. I can’t say I ever envisioned The Amish Catholic getting this big, especially within the first year of starting.
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read what I write and publish here. And thank you especially to all those who have publicized, responded to, or written about my work. There are so many of you that I would fear to leave anyone out if I named names. Please know that I am aware of your generosity and consideration. I hope I can continue to produce content that piques your interest.