Maundy Thursday Problems Again

As I explained last year, Maundy Thursday is the day I feel least comfortable attending Mass:

I don’t like to be beholden to anyone.  I don’t like accepting a favor from someone I have no way of repaying or being indebted to someone I don’t know and may not like. I frustrated my boyfriend for more than half a year by never taking food from the post-Mass receptions the campus church hosted. In my mind, the food was for people who had bought in, and it would be inappropriate to benefit from the Church’s largesse when I had no intention of supporting. Not to mention, raised on a diet of mythology and fantasy/scifi novels, I have a slight distrust of accepting food in strange places.

And this year, I might be off the hook, but I think I feel worse.  There’s been a discussion going on across the Patheos Catholic portal about whether it’s appropriate to include women in this part of the service.  Fr. Longenecker of Standing on My Head is adamant:

We should get this straight. The tradition and the rubrics mandate that men are to have their feet washed. Not little girls, not women, not boys. Men. Why is this? Because the foot washing ceremony is not only an example of Christ being the lowest servant of all, as Tom’s article makes clear, but it is also a consolidation of the apostolic ministry.

And Thomas McDonald of God and the Machine concurs, saying “Sadly, this [men-only footwashing] is rarely the case in modern parishes.”  I don’t have the standing to criticize their interpretation of the liturgy, but that “Sadly” stuck out to me.  They don’t seem to be talking about balancing two goods (the humility required to serve or accept service, which is presumably salutary to everyone in the Church versus the symbol of the apostolic ministry), but as though there is just one good, and it is under siege by the ignorant.

The simple fact is that many institutions and traditions which excluded women from participation and membership have done so for reasons which we now consider dishonorable.  Absent any other data, we’d bet that the next exclusion we find is also not well-founded.  So it’s unkind for the defenders of men-only footwashing to act as though the cause of the policy is obvious or that we should be in the habit of accepting these kinds of distinction uncritically.

Even after reading several posts on the subject, I don’t really understand why these bloggers have such a high degree of confidence in the purpose of the ritual.  When one commenter writes:

Right now I live in a diocese that has an overwhelming majority of liberal Catholics and priests. So I asked the question “Will women be participating, i.e., getting their washed?” The response was an incredulous “Yes, of course. Why not?”. I said that would not be Biblical, since Jesus did this (according to the Gospel of John) for the Apostles, the first priests – at the first Eucharist where no women were present for a reason.

All I can think is that I don’t understand why he thinks it’s permissible for women to participate in the Eucharist either, since that sacrament was created at an event from which they were purposefully excluded. And all the Apostles were (to the best of my knowledge) Jewish, but that quality is treated as more incidental when it comes to modern practice.  If you want to overcome my reasonable skepticism, you need to flesh out your arguments more.

Mark Shea had the most approachable posts on this topic.  As a layperson, he sought out data and then explained it without using it as a cudgel or berating the people who had questions.  Up til his post, it felt like the discussion was falling into the arguments as soldiers error that Yudkowsky describes:

Arguments are soldiers. Once you know which side you’re on, you must support all arguments of that side, and attack all arguments that appear to favor the enemy side; otherwise it’s like stabbing your soldiers in the back. If you abide within that pattern, policy debates will also appear one-sided to you—the costs and drawbacks of your favored policy are enemy soldiers, to be attacked by any means necessary.

Your ‘enemies’ are usually attacking you in good faith, and if you can’t summarize their position as something nicer sounding than a will to destroy, you might convince a straw-man, but you sure as heck won’t move your audience.

 

One other note: a number of the commenters on Shea’s post seemed to think the all-serving-all model was diminishing the message down to a treacly let’s-be-nice kind of thing.  If any of them end up over here, I’d really ask you to read my post from last year’s Maundy Thursday.  I didn’t find the practice cloying, I found it terrifying.

The Damnation of the Foolish Virgins

I’m always disappointed when a Mass reading has a perplexing or counterintuitive section, and the priest chooses to focus his sermon on the more obvious moral.  Luckily, I’ve got you commenters to turn to for exegesis, so maybe you’d like to take a crack at Matthew 25:1-13.

For the Gospel selection at Sunday’s Mass, the priest read Jesus’s parable of the wise and foolish virgins.  In the story, ten virgins go out waiting for the bridegroom but only five were wise enough to bring enough oil to last through the night.  All the women fell asleep, and when the bridegroom finally approached, only the five who had prepared has enough oil left to light their lamps.  I’ll let the text take it from there:

The foolish ones said to the wise, ’Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’
But the wise ones replied, ’No, for there may not be enough for us and you. Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.’
While they went off to buy it, the bridegroom came and those who were ready went into the wedding feast with him. Then the door was locked.
Afterwards the other virgins came and said, ’Lord, Lord, open the door for us!’
But he said in reply, ’Amen, I say to you, I do not know you.’

Jesus introduces this as a metaphor for the Kingdom of Heaven, but, I’ve gotta say, the response of the wise virgins seems a trifle unchristian to me.  This parable feels like the polar opposite of the Parable of the Onion from The Brothers Karamazov (I am aware that Dostoevsky isn’t technically scripture, though Tristyn of Eschatological Psychosis may disagree).

I’m not put off just because this scripture reads anti-universalist (though I’ve been persuaded by Richard Beck and others that universalism is at least logically compatible with Christianity and possibly logically necessitated by it).  It’s the coldness of the five women turning their backs on the others, jealously guarding their oil and light and then being welcomed by the Christ-figure while the others are cast out.

Anyone have an explanation or exegesis?  For bonus points, can anyone tell me if this parable is ever connected with the story of the miracle of Hannukah, where a tiny quantity of oil burned for eight days and nights?  It’s strange to contrast that story of Old Testament G-d’s mercy and abundance with New Testament Jesus’s rigidity.  (Especially when I usually think of those attributes going the other way round).

Adoration and Abramovic

Due to a convoluted sequence of events,  I spent about half an hour in an Adoration chapel last night.  For the non-Catholics, Eucharistic Adoration is the act of spending time in a chapel with a consecrated communion wafer, believed to be the real presence of Jesus Christ.  A friend had felt a calling that I should go, and since I could spare the time and didn’t want to be accused of being a bad sport, I went along.  (Not to keep you in suspense: I was not converted).

The time in the chapel reminded me of Marina Abramović’s recent show at MoMA.  Abramović is a performance artist who, among other stunts, sat in a MoMA atrium with a chair open for anyone who wanted to sit opposite her as part of her installation “The Artist is Present.”

I should mention that I have a really low tolerance for Abramović’s brand of performance art, which I find trite (oh, look, she put two naked people in a narrow doorway so you have to squeeze through them to enter the exhibit. How subversive!) or dangerous (she once stood in a room with an array of objects visitors were allowed to use on her.  Although some were innocuous like lipstick, one was a loaded gun).  When I visited the MoMA during her installation, I was there for the Tim Burton exhibit.

The premise of Adoration is better than Abramović’s piece.  In Adoration, at least there was an infinitesimal possibility of interaction (if I’m wrong about Catholicism), but at the MoMA the exhibit promised nothing but distance and alienation.  And it turns out, that was the experience I had in church, too.

A lot of the experiences that Catholics suggest to me (Adoration, prayer, etc) seem to be behind a firewall of faith.  It’s supposed to have discernible effects, but only if you’ve already bought a little way in.  I’m willing to keep trying some of these proposals, to make sure I’m covering my bases, but it seems like a lot of these are an effort in futility even if I’m wrong about atheism.

I’m willing to make an effort (not knowing the all the rosary prayers off hand, I said 50 Hail Mary’s and used my new ASL skills to keep count on my fingers), but the next time someone has an experiential idea for me to try, I’d like to hear a pitch as to why I might find it convincing or an admission that it’s the equivalent of standing outside on a hill to try to get lightening to strike.