Newspaper Page Text
PAGE 4—The Southern Cross, December 19,1974
The Southern Cross
Business Office 225 Abercom St. Savannah, Ga. 31401
Most Rev. Raymond W. Lessard, D.D., President
Rev. Francis J. Donohue, Editor John E. Markwalter, Managing Editor
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The Spirit of Christmas
When Jesus was born in Bethlehem
almost two thousand years ago, the
world was at peace. At least, it was not
being tom apart by war.
Ironically, the peace, the “Pax
Romana,” had been brought about
throughm military conquest. The
invincible legions of the pagan empire of
Rome had subjugated almost the entire
then-known world, and in that “peace,”
sustained not by a concept of universal
brotherhood, but by armed might, there
came into the world the Son of God, the
Prince of Peace.
As we look around at our world at
this Christmas time, civil strife in
Northern Ireland, continued warfare in
the far East, the threat of war in the near
East, suppression of human rights in
dozens of nations around the globe - all
make it seem that the “Peace on earth,
good will toward men” heralded by
angels on the first Christmas was but an
empty and airy wish destined never to be
fulfilled.
But God keeps His promises and no
power on earth can, in the end, stay His
WiU.
world under the heel of Rome that first
Christmas night.
It is a thirst born in the teachings of
Jesus in a tiny corner of the world and
which has grown throughout the earth.
For the first time in history, men in
all parts of the world know what men
are like in every other part of the world.
They know that we are all of one kind --
possessed of the same dreams and
aspirations, heirs to the same kinds of
sorrows and joys ~ with a destiny never
ennobled, but only degraded by war and
strife.
Thus, the Spirit of Christ, the Spirit of
the Prince of Peace, broods today over
all men, everywhere -- whether they
know it or not.
Those of us who do know it can live
in that Spirit throughout the year, and
by It’s power, draw those who do not
know It, into an ever-widening circle of
men who see in the love of God and the
love of all men as brothers, the salvation
of the world and the realization of the
Angel’s prayer, “Peace on earth, Good
Will to men.”
The peoples of the earth may live in
fear of war and strife, but more and
more there grows among them a thirst
for universal brotherhood, a concept
only dimly understood, if at all, by the
A happy and holy Christmas to all
from the staff of THE SOUTHERN
CROSS.
-F.J.D.
Christmas Horror
Reverend John Reedy, C.S.C.
The Christmas season is a time of memories. something thud to the floor.
Each year, some time during the Christmas
season my memory dredges up one of the most When I reached down to retrieve the object, I
shocking experiences of all my Christmas came up with something that almost turned my
recollections. stomach. It was a homemade dagger, a file
ground down to a sharp, ugly point, its handle
It was almost 25 years ago. As a seminarian, I formed with a clumsy wad of black electrician’s
was spending a lot of time trying to offer some tape. Obviously, it could kill a man.
support and help to the boys at a federal “Good Lord!” I gasped. “Did you fellows see
reform school. fuicO”
As a group, these kids had a number of
characteristics which contradicted my nervous
expectations. From a lot of grade B movies, I
had anticipated that I would be dealing with
adolescent versions of George Raft and Jimmy
Cagney in the Big House. In fact, most of the
boys were remarkably average, like any group
of high school kids.
But there were differences. When I moved
from personal acquaintance to the sociological
jargon of their records, I saw that most of them
had been badly scarred by family experience
and by the world in which they had lived their
infancy and childhood.
Secondly, as a group they seemed farther
removed from reality than most boys I had
known. They had built up all kinds of fantasies
- about family, about their past, about their
abilities and their future. These fantasies were
probably protection against the ugliness of their
present lives, but they were very real and very
pervasive.
On this particular Christmas Eve I had spent
the evening moving from hall to hall,
increasingly oppressed by the God-awful gloom
of the bare, gray institutional life. All of it
seemed worse than usual because of the
pathetic efforts at Christmas decorations.
Through the evening, I visited with probably
a hundred boys, many of whom expected no
Christmas remembrance from the outside. Most
of them tried to maintain a shell of tough
bravado to show it made no difference to them.
But it did make a difference.
At the end of the evening, before heading
back to the seminary for midnight Mass, I
stopped in the control room to offer a “Merry
Christmas” to the officers on duty.
One of the officers looked up, sighed and
said, “That’s about the sixth one we’ve found.”
All I could think of was the contrast between
the feeble, unreal efforts at Christmas
encouragement I had been offering all
evening . . . and the horror of a Christmas gift
which might have prompted one of those boys
to kill.
(A parenthetical note: Charles Mason was
one of those kids.)
That sense of shock accompanied me back to
the seminary and made it a very different kind
of Christmas for me.
However, over the years, that experience has
remained with me and served as a kind of
parable for our human condition at Christmas.
In our own selfishness, insecurity, vanity and
preoccupation with trivialities, we too live in a
kind of fantasy world.
Most of us don’t plunge into the horror of
evil symbolized by that dagger, but it’s there as
a real possibility in the distorted values which
afflict all of us. If the knife got through to us
and if we picked it up, we would probably not
recognize its grotesqueness; we would most
likely see it transformed into a fantasy sword of
freedom.
However, our situation is different, and that
difference was revealed in the message of the
first Christmas. In spite of all the weakness,
distortion, fantasy and ugliness that is present
in our lives, we do have a Father’s love which
follows us through all the worries and routine of
the institution in which we live.
If we can believe - and it’s not easy to really
believe this - we can be certain that his
constant, ennobling, all-forgiving love not only
waits for us somewhere outside our present
condition. It is with us now.
When I walked in, several of the men were
still inspecting last-minute Christmas boxes. I
pushed some papers out of the way so I could
sit on a desk for a few minutes, and I heard
I hope all of you, in your experience of
Christmas, will manage to glimpse that truth
which does make all the difference.
SON OF GOD -- That theme is
illustrated from these readings of Dec.
22: First - The Lord promises Israel
that his sign will be a son born of a
virgin (Isaiah 7/10-14); Second - Jesus
Christ, the earthly descendant of David,
is the Son of God (Romans 1/1-7);
Gospel - The Angel of the Lord tells I
Joseph that Mary has conceived a child,
the promised savior, by the Holy Spirit
(Matthew 1/18-24). (NC Sketch
courtesy the J.S. Paluch Company
Custom Bulletin Service)
Is There a Relationship
Between Humor and Love?
Mary Carson
There has been a great deal of comment over
what is “unfunny” or “inappropriate” humor,
as a result of a remark by Agriculture Secretary
Butz. It’s caused me to think about why some
things are funny and others are not.
It seems to me there is a triangular bond
between the teller of the joke, his audience, and
the subject of the joke.
That bond can be one of mutual dislike -
using a joke to hurt or disparage. While I feel
this is debasing to the art of humor, I cannot
deny that some humor exists on this level.
Anyone outside the bond of dislike finds that
humor offensive.
More often, the triangular bond between
speaker, audience, and the subject is a bond of
love. If that bond is complete, the joke is
funny.
If the bond is broken - no love passing along
any one or two sides of the triangle - the joke
is in bad taste.
Let’s take a few examples. If a Pastor makes
a joke about the Bishop to his parishioners, and
there is a bond of love on all three sides, it can
be very funny.
If the bond is missing on one side, it could be
in bad taste.
But if the parishioners know the Pastor has
no use for the Bishop, and they themselves
think the Bishop incompetent, the bond of
dislike may make the joke appealing to those
who share that link. But it will be offensive to
the rest of the parishioners who don’t share the
dislike. They may find the Pastor’s remark
unfunny because they know it was deliberately
used to disparage.
Or another example: husband and wife can
joke about their own kids’ faults. But let a
neighbor make the exact same comment, and it
becomes a criticism disguised as a joke. The
bond of love is broken. The joke is offensive.
Ethnic humor seems to fit this pattern. A
Rabbi can tell a joke about Jews to a Jewish
audience and all enjoy it because they are all
sure of the love in the triangle.
But change the Rabbi to a Monsignor. If all
involved know the priest has a love for Jewish
people, no problem. If there are doubts, the
same joke can be in bad taste.
Or another example: a Catholic paper just
recently ran a joke about the “trash in
Washington.” Those who share a bond of
dislike for politicians can find it funny.
Or was it hypocritical? It appeared right next
to an article about Secretary Butz’s “offensive”
comment about the Pope. It’s okay for
Catholics to joke about politicians but not for a
political figure to joke about our leader. We
expect more love from our politicians than we
offer to them.
Let’s look at Butz’s remark in the context of
our triangle -- himself, the audience, and the
Pope. The circumstances of his remark in no
way indicate that he deliberately wanted to
disparage the Pope. It would seem unreasonable
to assume he had anything but admiration for
the Pope.
So if the bond of affection is what makes
something humorous, and if Butz’s remark was
not, then the break in the triangle would have
to have come from the audience . . . either
toward Butz or toward the Pope.
It’s most complex. It doesn’t lend itself to
simple answers that fit all the situations. But
the controversy seems to point more to a lack
of love than to “bad taste.”
Possibly a lack of love is the worst taste of
all.
If love is an identifying characteristic of
Christians, can some measure of our love be
determined by what we think is funny?
What One Person Can Do
Rev. Richard Armstrong
PAT COUGHLIN, CONVICT’S FRIEND
Pat Coughlin was a volunteer at Meramac
Hills, a detention home in St. Louis in 1960.
She listened, chatted with the women, told an
occasional story. One was about a woman
spurned by society who changed when she
found a friend who believed in her. The woman
was Mary Magdala.
Mrs. Coughlin kept asking herself, “Why?”
Why did so many leave Meramac Hills only to
commit new offenses and return? Gradually,
she began to understand the feeling of
alienation and loss of self-esteem that people in
prison experience.
One day, as she was giving her baby a bottle,
an idea struck Pat Coughlin. “It all seemed so
simple,” she recalled. “We just would have to
create a temporary home for these girls. They
needed help.” It took five years to get it.
She was not a professional. But “every time
they told me it couldn’t be done, I was more
determined to do it.” Mrs. Coughlin borrowed
$11,000 to buy a 16-room house. She built up
community interest and support. Finally,
Magdala House, named for Mary Magdala,
opened in 1965 with a professional staff to
welcome newly released women prisoners of all
ages.
They receive counselling and opportunities
to develop skills and work experience.
Nationally, seventy percent - or more - of
ex-prisoners return to jail. Of those who pass
through Magdala House, sixty to seventy
percent do not return. Now approaching its
tenth anniversary, the Magdala Foundation, as
it is now called, has four more residences - for
men - with government and private support, It
helps almost 1,000 people a year.
Jesus’ life and death tell us we are all
redeemable. People like Pat Coughlin put that
teaching into practice.
For a free copy of the Christopher News
Notes, “A Prison is People,” send a stamped,
self-addressed envelope to The Christophers, 12
E. 48th St., New York, N.Y. 10017.
We Wait
For
A Child
Joe Breig
Like the Virgin and Joseph, and like the Wise
Men, our far-flung family is waiting expectantly
for a child to be born. We are counting the days
until the time comes when we can welcome
into our midst, visibly, a new, immortal boy or
girl who will live as long as God lives.
Invisibly, the newcomer already has been
welcomed each day for months. This is our
fourteenth grandchild; and all of us have been
united in prayer for a happy landing on Planet
Earth for this tiny astronaut who has been
making the marvellous journey that began in
the creative love of God and of parents.
In all our houses, scattered in five cities,
there will be happy celebrating when the good
news of “mother and child are doing fine” is
flashed along the telephone lines. Prayers of
thanksgiving will rise from many hearts. And in
spirit all of us, though separated by great
distances, will assemble joyously around the
little one’s crib.
That moment is still some weeks in the
future. Meanwhile, along with hundreds of
millions of persons around the globe, we are
celebrating once more the birthday of another
child - the Christmas Child whose entrance into
history placed the final divine seal upon the
ancient Covenant between God and the family
of man.
Through many thousands of years, that
birthday, in which the Creator made himself a
member of the human family, was prophesied
often. Even in the Garden of Eden after the fall
of our first parents, the Lord pledged that in
due time the offspring of the woman would
crush the Serpent - that liar and murderer -
who had insinuated sin and sin’s consequences
into the world.
In the Book of Isaiah the Prophet it is
written that the Lord spoke to Ahaz, king of
Judah, saying, “Listen, 0 house of David! . ..
The Lord himself will give you this sign: the
Virgin shall be with child, and bear a son, and
shall name him Emmanuel.”
At the appointed time, when all the world
was at peace, and the shepherds watched over
their sheep in the Judean hills, the Virgin Mary
was overshadowed by the power of the Most
High, as the angel had prophesied to her. And
the Son of God was born to her in Bethlehem.
Thus was fulfilled, as is recorded in Matthew’s
Gospel, “what the Lord had said through the
prophet, ‘the virgin shall be with child and give
birth to a son, and they shall call him
Emmanuel,’ a name which means God is with
It is in this shining holy light that Mary my
wife and I have welcomed with soaring joy each
of our children and grandchildren through the
years since we pledged ourselves to each other
at the altar of God. For we know that like the
Christ Child, every child is a sign from Heaven.
Recycled
Sin
Rev. James Wilmes
A revival tabernacle had displayed for some
months on its front wall, a large hand-painted
sign reading, “Let Him Wash Away Your Sins.”
One night some mischievous boys, more
endowed with wif than with grace, painted out
the words “Wash Away” and substituted the
word “Recycle.” The sign was hastily removed
the next day, but the neighborhood evangelist
might have done well to let it stand for such a
modernizing change sets one to thinking.
Sins are so often the dark side of a coin
which has its brighter and better side. Most
sinners fear the thought of sin abolished and
annihilated. “What would be left?” they
wonder. And so the invitation to conversion
falls on deaf ears. Recycling leaves them life in
a better form. Perhaps not all sin can be
recycled, but most can.
A miserly, grasping Old Scrooge can be
recycled into a man who knows how to share as
well as how to earn. An extremely passionate
personality can be recyled into a
compassionate, caring, devoted friend of
childhood, youth, the aged and the needy. An
outgoing, convivial “life of the party” can
become for those around him or her a small
spark of the “Light of the World.” A wayward,
impulsive, energetic youth can turn into a
steady, undaunted young leader.
Actually, sins are being recycled nearly every
night at the revival tabernacle. And not only
there, for the Christian life does this for most
of us, slowly but surely. The sign might well
have been left on that wall for all to see and
ponder in its amended form, for every Zacheus
to see. (Lk. 19)
RESOLUTION: Realize that a recycled life
in Jesus brings the greatest joy as a pruned tree
brings better fruit, and a buried seed,
apparently dead, rises to a better life. Ask your
friends, if they were you, what changes they
would make, and try some of them.