To Pull for the Pittsburgh Steelers (There’s Even a Catholic Reason, or Two)

My buddy Blaise Pascal has this to say about sports,

Men spend their time in following a ball or a hare; it is the pleasure even of kings.

I’m a baseball fan, so I watch professional football once or twice a year, usually. However, my family and I always watch the Super Bowl. And this year, I’ll be pulling for the Pittsburgh Steelers.

This is mainly for personal “childhood memory” reasons. Franco Harris, one of my favorite players, and the Immaculate Reception, for example.

Terry Bradshaw connecting with Lynn Swan for catches like this.

Vietnam veteran Rocky Bleier (#20) one of my favorites too, scrambling forward for yardage tenaciously, in this case for a touchdown.

And I can’t forget John Stallworth.

Glory Days! It turns out that the Steelers have a pretty well know contingent of Catholics in the organization from down on the the playing field all the way up to the owner’s suite. Strong safety Troy Polamalu, for example, is a strong witness for the Faith. According to an article from the Catholic News Service back in 2006, Troy,

is not an NFL superstar who happens to be a man of faith. Rather, in his heart, he is simply “a Christian with a passion for Jesus… Success in anything doesn’t matter. As Mother Teresa said, God calls us not to be successful but to be faithful. My prayer is that I would glorify God no matter what, and not have success be the definition of it.

NFL players who quote Mother Teresa? Who knew! One of the authors of that article, Gina Mazza Hillier comments that, “the entire Steelers organization is a blessing. The owners (The Rooney Family) are devout Catholics and the players are humble.”

Perhaps the same is true for the Green Bay Packers. I can’t say, because I don’t have the same affinity for the Packers as I do for the Steelers, so I won’t be looking into the matter. I do know that a couple of bishops have a bet (all proceeds of which will benefit Catholic Charities) on the outcome of the game this year.

As Bishop David Zubik says,

Have fun with the game, enjoy our Steelers, but don’t let these things define us, don’t let them become such a passion that we lose perspective.

Amen to that. Go Steelers!

Update: Catholic Roots Run Deep for Both Teams.

For Thoughts On Meekness Like These

I mentioned the other day that I had saved up some Christmas gift money and used it to help me buy my friend John C.H.Wu’s book The Interior Carmel: The Threefold Way of Love. The book is John’s reflection on Christianity as The Way of Love. [Read more...]

Candlemas (A Few Words for Wednesday)

Today is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord. On this day, Mary and Joseph presented Jesus at the temple, in accordance with Mosaic Law. Our Lord was blessed by Simeon, as witnessed by the prophetess Anna as set forth in the Gospel of Luke.

Blessed John Henry Newman wrote a poem commemorating the blessing of the candles, which is also done on this day in the Latin Rite.

Candlemas

by John Henry Newman

The Angel-lights of Christmas morn,
Which shot across the sky,
Away they pass at Candlemas,
They sparkle and they die.

Comfort of earth is brief at best,
Although it be divine;
Like funeral lights for Christmas gone
Old Simeon’s tapers shine.

And then for eight long weeks and more,
We wait in twilight grey,
Till the high candle sheds a beam
On Holy Saturday.

We wait along the penance-tide
Of solemn fast and prayer;
While song is hush’d, and lights grow dim
In the sin-laden air.

And while the sword in Mary’s soul
Is driven home, we hide
In our own hearts, and count the wounds
Of passion and of pride.

And still, though Candlemas be spent
And Alleluias o’er,
Mary is music in our need,
And Jesus light in store.

The Oratory. 1849

Update:
The Anchoress on this Feast

Thoughts On Beauty from Sick Bay On A Tuesday

Have you ever heard of François Villon? I never had, but I’m looking forward to finding out more about him. I’m home sick, drinking coffee and later on I’ll be dipping into the medicine chest for the “sniffling, sneezing, coughing, so you can rest medicine.” But first, I want to share with you what, in my unlettered opinion, is the Best. Preface. Ever. Written.

It’s all my friend John C.H. Wu’s fault, you know. For Christmas, I ponied up all of my cash Christmas gifts and bought John’s close to impossible to find The Interior Carmel: The Threefold Way of Love. Since I’m effectively confined to quarters, I started reading it a bit and began noting whatever references he made to other authors, adding their works to the YIMCatholic Bookshelf.

John is well read, and by reading my friend John, he points me to a lot of good stuff. That’s what friends do for one another, right? So I chased down a reference to a book written by one Pierre Champion, SJ entitled The Spiritual Teaching of Father Louis Lallement. By doing a search of the authors name, I was pointed to a book that quoted him, where I found this preface written by Henry De Vere Stacpoole, the author of a ton of books, including the one made into a movie a few times,  The Blue Lagoon.

Take a look at this and tell me what you think.

Preface to François Villon, His Life and Time, (1431-1463)
By Henry De Vere Stacpoole

Traveling in France you may often get a glimpse of something that England cannot show you—a chateau with slated roofs and towers pointed each like a witch’s cap.

The outline of a Chinese pagoda would not strike upon the retina more strangely than the outline of this veritable figure of stone, ambushed in valley or crouching on hill-top, and showing to the broad light of day the roofs that rose and the towers that took form when Amboise was building and before Bussy was a man. You pass on, the chateau fades from sight, but the picture of it will remain for ever in your mind. You have seen the Middle Ages.

My object is to present to you Francois Villon, one of the strangest figures in all literature, and one of the greatest of French poets. Were I to attempt to reach him immediately and entirely through the MSS. of the Bibliotheque de la Sorbonne, or the Bibliotheque Nationale, or the Archives of the Cote d’Or, and were I to take you with me, we would both be half asphyxiated by the stuffy smell of parchment, and we would part company, or arrive at our journey’s end cross and tired and without finding Villon.

You cannot find a man through manuscripts, unless they are in the handwriting of the man. Archaeologists and museum hunters may tell us all about a man’s surroundings, his companions, his status in life, and his morals, as they appeared to his contemporaries, but to find the man one must find the man, and we can only find him through the expressions of his mind. And that is why so many dead men are so utterly dead. They have left nothing by which we can weigh them as men. Literary men fall under this freezing law no less than others, simply because the large majority of them leave on paper their ideas, fancies, inventions, and so forth, but of themselves little trace. Villon had the magical power of turning himself into literature, and that is why I propose to rob archaeologists and students and all sorts of people on our road, so that we may find out in what sort of country Villon lived and something of the extent of his genius, but to discard or almost to discard these when we come to estimate Villon as a man—to discard everything but the literature which holds his mind and heart, and, almost one might say, his body.

Stand with me, then, on this French road in the year 1914 and, forgetting books and manuscripts for awhile, let that chateau with the pointed towers touch you with its magic wand. All those modern houses crumble to dust, the railway-track vanishes, mule-bells strike the ear, pilgrims pass, their faces set towards Paris, and troops of soldiers, soon to be disbanded and to join the ranks of the unemployed, the labourers, the mendicants, and the robbers.

It is the year 1431. War is smouldering in the land; only a few short months ago Jean d’Arc was burned at Rouen. Henry VI of England, his archers and men-at-arms, are advancing away there to the west slowly towards Paris. Paris is starving. Charles VII, recently crowned, is King of France but as yet only in name, and over the whole broad land the spirit of the dead Maid is welding together the Armagnacs, the Poitevins, the Bretons, and the Burgundians to form the French nation.

Side by side with this creation of a people is going forward—or soon to go forward—the creation of a national language.

Up to this, France has spoken almost entirely in stone; up to this the architect has been the man of letters; up to this all those scattered tribes, Angevins, Poitevins, Burgundians, Armagnacs, and Bretons, have found expression for the genius that lives in man, not in verse or prose or painting, but in the pointed arch and shrill spire, the cathedral, fortress, and chateau.

We are in the land of the gargoyle. That chateau before us is the mind of the Middle Ages epitomised in stone, severe, narrow-windowed, armed, and above all fantastic. When we reach Paris along that road on which the pilgrims are straying, you will see that chateau broken up and repeated in a thousand different forms, you will see its pointed roofs in La Tournelles, its weathercocks on the Hotel de Sens, its towers on the Bastille, its portcullis as you cross the Petit Pont, and its fantasy everywhere.

And what you see here and what you will see in Paris is not a collection of stones cemented by mortar, but the carapace of the mind of the people. You are, in effect, looking at the literature of France in the year 1481.

As I have hinted before, France has not learned to express herself fully in poetry or prose. She has not yet learned properly to write, the mind of the people is pregnant with artistic speech, but as yet it can only murmur in verse and in tapestry or cry out in stone, yet even in these tapestries you may see the prefiguration of French literature, and even in these stones.

Over there at Bourges you will find the first verse of Villon’s Ballade of Jean Cotart, not yet to be written for thirty years, on the main porch where Noah lies drunk and naked, and you will find his ballade of the Contredicts de Franc Gontier hinted at in the sculptures of the Salle des Cheminees of the Palais de Justice in Paris. You will find Rabelais everywhere, from the Abbey de Bocherville to the Church of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, though Rabelais is not yet to be born for many and many a year. Grim humour, gross humour, fantasy and a vague gloom, arising from the skull which is the basis of Gothic art, are found everywhere; we find facades that sneer, porches that criticise, bas-reliefs filled with pointed stories, a whole literature petrified and inhuman. The attempt, in fact, of the human mind to express itself in stone.

To Villon, who was born last month, will fall the high mission of helping to give the human mind expression in speech. The mocking verses of his Testaments will give voice to the spirit of mockery whose expression can now only be found chiselled in the lavatory of the Abbey de Bocherville, or in the sculptures of Guillaume de Paris; his tenderness, his humanity, his tears can be found as yet nowhere, for stone cannot give expression to these.

Leaving aside the genius and directness of vision of this man who has just been born into the world—or rather perhaps because of them— Villon’s highest mission will be to tell future ages that the inhabitants of the land of the gargoyle were living and human beings, not mediaeval figures. That will be the highest mission of one who, with Aristophanes and Homer, holds the position, far above all royal positions, of a world-link—the man whose destiny it is to be ever living in a world ever dying.

So, standing here on this French road in the year 1431 before that isolated chateau and under its spell we may gather some hint of the rigid world into which our poet has just been born, some idea of that huge edifice of stone which Art has constructed as a mode of expression for the dreams and the humours of man, and which has turned into a sarcophagus for the corpse of thought—a sarcophagus to be shattered by the voice of that infant over there in Paris and by the voices of others still unborn.

Trust me, I’ll be reading more of Stacpoole’s book on François Villon. How could I not?

Matt Maher & More (Music for Mondays)

A while back, I did a music post on Matt Maher, the Catholic Contempory Christian artist. Maher and his band are top notch, and I hope to take my kids to one of his concerts if he ever wanders our way.

Here’s why I like his stuff. As Christians, we should measure the worth of an artist by how well they get “it” right about the human condition, don’t you think? Some of us go searching for “it” in music.

Now think of this as Christians walking around holding a tuning fork in our hands. Sometimes, popular contemporary artists will sing a song that appeals to us for all the right reasons, and the tuning fork will sing too. Most often though, they miss the mark.

Not so in the case of Matt Maher. This dude, and his band, is always on the mark and the tuning fork is constantly humming. At least that has been my experience. So for this weeks set, we start up with a couple of knock-out songs from him that should have you running to the i-Tunes store pronto. Then we’ll wind our way through a few post-related songs and wind up with a violin and a piano.

Matt Maher, Love Comes Down. I’ve been listening to Matt Maher’s Alive Again album for my “commute to work” music lately. I heard this one this morning and I hit the repeat button at least three times. I can’t get the song out of my head, and you know what? I don’t want to either.

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Matt Maher, Flesh and Bone. This is the antidote to P!nk’s current hit called F****** Perfect, which is long on sentimentality, but short on truth. This was shot live at a “Theology on Tap” gig, which I’ve heard of but have never participated in. These lyrics are right on the mark. Great introductory remarks by Matt on our encounter with Jesus.

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Ok, I don’t know if the tuning fork will work with the rest of these, but I like them anyway.

Living Color, Cult of Personality. We had a post related to something similar to this just yesterday. I remember this band because it was burst onto the scene around the year I got married. These guys could get loud! One of the best unknown guitarists you’ll ever hear.

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Culture Club, Miss Me Blind. Remember Indiana Jones yelling “That belongs in a museum!”? Well, a few weeks ago, the news reported that Boy George was returning an icon to the Orthodox Christian Church on the island of Cyprus. It turns out the icon had been looted from a church there in 1974 and BG bought it from an art dealer in London, unawares. He’s returning it but seriously… who knew these guys sounded this good live? Not me. They jam!

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The Bangles, Walk Like An Egyptian. As the situation in Egypt moves towards it’s seventh day of rioting, I am remembering my time there and the songs that we played in the Marine House. By the time this one came out though, I was in Malaysia, but I still liked it. For news on what’s happening in Cairo, look abroad.

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John Cougar Mellencamp, Crumblin’ Down. I remember us playing this one a lot in the Marine House Bar in Cairo. John’s singin’ about me being uneducated and having an opinion that means “nuttin.’” That’s it! Tomorrow I’m wearing white socks with my loafers…that’ll show ‘em.

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Midori, Chopin’s Nocturne in C-sharp. This little lady came to our small town this past Friday. She was the guest of our local symphony orchestra, playing a piece from Strauss. I’ll tell you this…she can make that fiddle sing! My kids said “she moves like a robot” to which I said, “she’s just jammin!” Guess what else? She still uses that little cloth for on her chin rest to this day.

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We’ll see you in February!

For Cults of Personality, Not! (Or My Brush with Fr. Thomas Euteneuer)

 

Late yesterday evening, after I asked for your prayers for Egypt, I clicked over to New Advent to see what was posted there on the situation on the ground. Many of you know that besides being the electronic host of the Catholic Encyclopedia, New Advent also posts links to other Catholic websites and blogs for noteworthy news stories or posts. New Advent has graciously posted our blog posts from time to time as well.

But a different sort of story caught my eye instead. [Read more...]

To Pray for the People of Egypt

Back when I was really young, and when I knew everything, I was stationed in Cairo, Egypt. I was one of the Marine Security Guards at the U.S. Embassy there, back in the mid 1980′s.

The War on Terror had begun, for me anyway, when the U.S. Embassy in Beirut was blown up. [Read more...]

Thanks To Everyone!

Word has come to me that Eric Sammons has re-published his list of the “Top 200″ Catholic Blogs, based on the number of people who subscribe to a blog via the Google Reader. I guess that means through RSS feeds?

Anyway, according to Eric’s methodology, YIMCatholic landed in the 36th spot on his list.

So we are blushing now and humbly say “Thank You” to all of our readers! All 523 who subscribe through the Google reader, the unaccounted readers subscribing through other RSS readers, the 740 of you who follow us via Facebook, the 321 of you who follow us via Google Friend Connect, and the 231 who follow us via Twitter. And the daily “one and done” visitors as well (come on back now, ya hear?).

Thanks for following, reading, commenting, and inspiring us. And praying for us too.

Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam. (Not unto us, o Lord, not unto us, but to Your name give glory. -Psalm 115:1)

For Faith In Action: The March For Life (Part II)

Chapter 3: The Youth Mass for Life.

When the idea to come to the March for Life came over me (see embedded link above), I knew that I wanted to attend Mass before the march began. I remembered where the Wee Kirk on the Hill is, and I also remembered a few other parishes from our trip back in the summer. I went to the March for Life website and clicked on the Factsheet to see if anything was planned worship-wise.

There was a pre-march Youth Mass and Rally planned to begin at 10:00 at the Verizon Center, but I quickly found out that tickets for that event were “sold-out.” Maybe if I would have planned this trip two weeks ago, that might have been a possibility. But the idea to go on this trip was less than an hour old by the time I was looking, so the rally was a no-go. Thankfully, there were four other locations available as overflow facilities.

Three out of the four venues available were sold out too, so I clicked on the last available location, punched in a quantity of 5 and prayed that there were enough spots left for us. There were! I printed the tickets, and the trip picked up momentum from there. Being at the Youth Mass was important for 15, 11, and 9 reasons: those are the ages of my three children and I wanted them to be surrounded by other young people so they would know that this just isn’t some old fuddy-duddy Dad’s idea of something important. I wanted them to see that lot’s of kids were missing school for this important event as well, not just themselves.

And now here we all were, seated and waiting for Mass to begin in a sanctuary packed to capacity. There on the right hand side were a bunch of young men, who turned out to all be seminarians. We sat on the St. Joseph side of the sanctuary, with young men and women ahead of us, and behind us and this was mirrored over on the St. Mary side of the aisle as well. It was 1030, packed, and young people were still coming in by the bus load. The Mass started 15 minutes late so the latecomers and stragglers could make it in on time. This gave me a little time to think and to pray.

I thought to myself, It is entirely appropriate that we are sitting here in a church in Chinatown. Outside, next to the front entrance to the church, I had spied a sign written in Chinese that had Our Lady of China’s portrait on it. John C.H.Wu and Dom Lou Tseng-Tsiang must be smiling, I thought to myself. They were probably clucking their tongues at me for my worrying that we wouldn’t make it here on time. “Silly Grasshopper, oh ye of little faith.”

I remember several things from the Mass, the first of which is that we began it with the long form of the penitential rite as follows,

I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; and I ask the Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, all the angels and saints, and you my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God.

Catholics believe that some forms of sin are graver than others, because frankly, this makes sense. Also, it says so in the Bible. But we also know that we are all sinners, and though we hate the sin, we love sinners, because Christ loved sinners too. So it is apropos that we acknowledged our sins before all present and to ask for their prayers for us as well. It always is appropriate.

Next, Our Lord, of course, was present in the Mass, as He always is. Sometimes I can slip into taking this for granted, but not today. He had eleven of His priests there as well, to concelebrate the Mass for His flock, and provide them with nourishment from Him. And at the Great Amen, all eleven of the priests chanted in unison,

Through Him, in Him, with Him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor are yours Almighty Father, forever and ever.

And all of us in attendance chanted back, Amen.

It was a moment so beautiful that it made my eyes water. I thought to myself that even if we couldn’t have made it to the March later, being here now, for this Mass alone, was well worth the trip.

Spilling out into the streets!

The sanctuary reverberated as we prayed the Our Father together, and there was much joy as we exchanged the sign of Christ’s peace with one another. Several hundred of us united in Christian charity for the sanctity of human life. By the time the final blessing and dismissal came, Go in peace to love and serve the Lord, and our thunderous reply of, Thanks be to God! I thought how fitting to remember that in everything we do, we serve the King and His peoples.

It may have been freezing outside (it was!), but as the warmth of the Holy Spirit washed over us, it was like the little tongues of flame from Pentecost were there to follow us out into the cold and keep us warm. It was 1145. Time to take the Metro to the rally point on the Mall.

Chapter 4, the Mall and the March

Team Weathers with the CO.

After leaving the Mass, we walked back up to where we parked so we could get a few items before heading to the Chinatown Metro station. If it would have been Summertime, we could have just walked from Chinatown to the Mall. But as it was 20 some odd degrees, temperature wise, the Metro option was looking good. We knew where we were now, because during our vacation this past summer, we had eaten at a restaurant close to the Chinatown Metro station, a block away from where we stood now.

My wife remembered how to work the ticket machines too. As we were going down the escalator to the train, a bunch of college students carrying life affirming placards and signs were going up the escalator. I told my kids that they were either lost, or meeting some of their friends, because they were headed the wrong way. I don’t think they believed me. As we only had to go down one stop to Archives/Navy Memorial I started thinking about lunch ideas.

When we got off at our stop, it was 1215. Now, the rally at the assembly point was starting up, but I knew that the march itself didn’t begin until 1330, so it was time to have some lunch. My wife and I discussed going to the Old Post Office, where there are plenty of food vendors, or to a restaurant close by. Lots of our fellow Pro-Lifers were walking around and lining the streets already, so we started walking toward the Mall.

The Lovers, Picasso

The rally point for the March was near the National Gallery of Art, and as we neared it I recalled that there was a cafeteria underground between it and the Gallery of Modern Art. No one appeared to be heading towards the Gallery so, being the contrarian that I am, that is where we headed. The guards checked our bags and we were warm and inside, headed to bathrooms and then on to lunch. We even got to snap a few more photographs of some beautiful paintings again.

We took the elevator downstairs to where the shops and cafeteria were. I issued orders that the kids could order all they wanted, but that they would have to eat all they took. My oldest said, “wait, is this where we came that time and we all ordered too much?” And I said, “yes, this is where you guys broke me last summer. Be gentle this time!” And they were. We sat across from the water fall and noted other marchers that were also here for lunch. More than a few priests wearing their collars were evident as well.

Team Weathers at “chow.”

As my wife and I ate lunch I commented, “You know, it’s as if that whole trip last summer was a preparation for us coming here now. As if that was a reconnaissance or pathfinder mission just so we would be prepared for this trip.” She nodded in agreement and said, “It seems that way, doesn’t it. It’s a blessing that we knew where to eat, where the Metro stations are, and everything.” By now it was 1315, so we wrapped up our lunch, headed to bathrooms again (where we saw actual working phone booths!) and then ventured back out into the throng of peaceful protesters just like ourselves.

I love this guy!

There were people from all over the country, as well as from all over the world here. Why from the world? Pro-Life solidarity, I reckon. We saw German, Italian, and Irish flags for sure. We saw Orthodox Jews, Orthodox Christians, Episcopalians for Life, Lutherans for Life, and lots and lots of Catholics. I’m sure there were many other churches present as well. What I didn’t see were any Pro-Abortion supporters at all. Maybe it was too cold for them? I don’t know.

We even saw an Anarchist/Agnostic for Life though, which makes sense because if you think that being Pro-Life is only because of our religious beliefs, you don’t have your thinking cap on. I was Pro-Life long before I became a Catholic because killing babies can just never be justified. Not if you use your ability to think and reason. A humanism that feeds off of the deaths of other human beings is a Soylent Green type of future that I don’t find appealing at all.

For the rest of this post, I’ll let the pictures do the talking,

Peaceful warriors await!

Our Lady keeps her children warm.

A few hundred thousand people assembling on the Mall.

A few hundred thousand people listening to speeches.
If it’s this crowded when it’s cold, imagine if it was warm!
Pan camera a little more to the left…More peoples!
Team Weathers with the XO.

New Yorkers for Life!

The lead elements in the March.
A few hundred thousand people on Constitution Avenue.

Amidst the “slow moving party” on Pennsylvania Ave.

Standing room only so, let’s dance!

In Front of the Supreme Court.

The time? 1600. Time to head home after a successful mission.

We got back to the car, and got back on the road for the return trip home. I made it as the pilot all the way back to Roanoke. There, we refueled and I handed the tiller over to the XO. We arrived back home at midnight, safe and sound. 36 hours from the beginning to the end. A minor miracle in itself.

To God be the Glory!

Updates:


An Apology from the Baby Boomers.

“The Kid” went to the March and posts on it here.

And “the Kid” made a video too. Help us make it go viral!

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Because There Is No Statute Of Limitations On Truth

You may have missed this piece in the Washington Post yesterday about the historian accused of altering a document signed by President Abraham Lincoln. I work in an archive and I know that among historians and archivists, altering historic documents is just plain wrong. After all,

The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones. (Luke 16:10)

The document in question was that of a Presidential pardon for a Union soldier who had been court-martialed and sentenced to be executed for desertion. The accused historian is Thomas P. Lowry, M.D., a psychiatrist by trade and an amateur historian who “discovered” this document 13 years ago while on a visit to the National Archives in Washington D.C.

Dr. Lowry, for a reason that only he knows, altered the document so that the date would read 1865 instead of 1864. He has admitted this, but he can’t be prosecuted. The statute of limitations for his crime is only 5 years, and that has long passed by. As the Washington Post article explains, Dr. Lowry became famous for the find of this last charitable act President Lincoln accomplished before he was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth. You can read the Post article for yourself and watch the video on YouTube (see below) as well.

After this “find”, Dr. Lowry proceeded to write a bunch of books about the Civil War, all mostly from the seamier side of the event. After all, as any Madison Avenue executive will attest to, “sex sells.” Check out the titles,

Love and Lust: Private and Amorous Letters of the Civil War- Thomas P. Lowry

Sexual Misbehavior in the Civil War- Thomas P. Lowry

Curmudgeons, Drunkards, and Outright Fools: The Courts-Martial of Civil War Union Colonels- Thomas P. Lowry

Tarnished Eagles: The Court-Martial of Fifty Union Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels- Thomas P. Lowry

Venereal Disease and the Lewis and Clark Expedition- Thomas P. Lowry

The Story the Soldiers Wouldn’t Tell: Sex in the Civil War- Thomas P. Lowry

Tarnished Scalpels: The Court-Martial’s of Fifty Union Surgeons- Thomas P. Lowry

The Civil War Bawdy Houses of Washington, D.C.: Including a Map of Their Former Locations and a Reprint of the Souvenir Sporting Guide for the Chicago, Illinois, G.A.R. 1895, Reunion- Thomas P. Hardy

Utterly Worthless: One Thousand Delinquent Union Officers Unworthy of a Court-Martial- Thomas P. Lowry

Confederate Heroines: 120 Southern Women Convicted by Union Military Justice- Thomas P. Lowry

The Attack on Taranto: Blueprint for Pearl Harbor- Thomas P. Lowry

The Clitoris- Thomas P. Lowry

The last book on this list possibly was his first effort, prior to the “find,” and was published back in 1976. A catchy title.

The outrage of this act, the changing of a “4″ into a “5″ has produced over 120 comments on the article at the Post. Comments such as,

the issue for historians is the duty we have to be ethical and beyond reproach when we access and utilize archival material…in a moment of ethical weakness he altered a historical document for personal gain.

And this one from my own place of employment,

Here’s a story of a noted researcher who changed an important Lincoln document at the National Archives to make it more historically significant so he could advance his career. Now, everything he has done must be called into doubt and his reputation is ruined.

And as one of my friends opined,

Tampering with history is something I’ll never understand. It’s like desecrating something sacred.

Which is exactly why am I writing about this. Because the bottom-line is we, as people, don’t trust those of us who alter historical documents to serve their own purposes. We know that this is just flat wrong. Which is why when I found out that Martin Luther added the word “alone” after “faith” in his German translation of Romans 3:28, my “this guy is a stinker” alarm went off.

Good news though! Even Martin Luther didn’t change the original manuscripts of the Sacred Scriptures, because he was working off a copy anyway. But still, a guy who adds a word, or two to his translation to make a point is someone I’m leery of. Especially when he also physically removes seven (7!) books from the Canon of Holy Scriptures altogether. The Canon had stood sacrosanct for over 1100 years before he decided to remove a few documents. In an archive, just like anywhere else, that is stealing. Even the original King James Version of the Bible contained the books Luther eventually removed.

Again, I’m not saying I’m perfect (Heaven knows I’m not) but I’m definitely not lining up behind the guy who added words and pitched books from the Bible that didn’t meet his own specifications either. You may say, “So what if these books had been in the Canon and had even been in the Jewish Canon when Christ pitched His tent among us. So what! Luther ain’t Lowry, and Lowry ain’t Luther.”

Well often times, actions speak louder than words, don’t they? And sometimes people with underlying motives in a hurry cut corners, or fabricate things in order to push their own agenda. Charles Péguy said it well when he stated,

He who does not bellow the truth when he knows the truth makes himself the accomplice of liars and forgers.

Good advice, that. Thankfully, there is no statute of limitations on truth.


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