Far Worse Things Have Happened to the Church

As I understand it, Cardinal Ratzinger was not the Cardinals' first choice. That was, interestingly, Cardinal Hans Grapje. Grapje was raised in a Catholic school in The Hague and, as a young man, aspired to become a priest, but was drafted into the Army during WWII and spent two years co-piloting B17s until his aircraft was shot down in 1943 and he lost his left arm. Captain Grapje spent the rest of the war as a chaplain, giving spiritual aid to soldiers, both Allied and enemy. After the war, he became a priest, serving as a missionary in Africa, piloting his own plane (in spite of his handicap) to villages across the continent. In 1997, Father Grapje was serving in Zimbabwe when an explosion in a silver mine caused a cave-in. Archbishop Grapje went down into the mine to administer last rights to those too severely injured to move. Another shaft collapsed, and he was buried for three days, suffering multiple injuries, including the loss of his right eye. The high silver content in the mine's air gave him purpura, a life-long condition characterized by purplish skin blotches. Although Cardinal Grapje devoted his life to the service of God as a scholar, mentor, and holy man, church leaders felt that he should never ascend to the Papacy.


They felt that the Church would never accept a one-eyed, one-armed, flying purple Papal leader.

Fear

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." - Litany against Fear, Dune (Frank Herbert).

Vicarious

Last week I saw Ice Princess with my siblings and some miscellaneous hangers-on. It was really very good (not quite as funny as Princess Diaries) and like all good films it was about relationships, conflict, and of course, passion. The protagonist had passion worth fighting for; enduring pain and sacrifice to do something that made her feel alive, strong, and beautiful. I think it is passion that draws me to films, television shows and books like this, my own desperate search for passion, for something worth living for. My own life is utterly devoid of passion, so I seek it out vicariously through immersing myself in fictional stories of passion, particularly in fantastical forms. When I watch these things I identify with the characters and there struggles, gaining some kind of catharsis from a mundane life. Often these characters feel every bit as real to me as the actual world I live in, prompting me to wonder how this vicarious existence has effected my real one. How much has Babylon 5 or Dune changed the way I see my surroundings? Is the ready availability of vicarious sources of passion preventing me from finding one in my physical life? Does it explain why I'm unable to integrate myself into any of the many social situations I experience, trapped as an accepted, but unthought-of of observer?

I have no dreams,
so I borrow the dreams of others and wrap them around myself/Linus's
blanket curled about my bare feet to keep out the chill of a hurricane/hold me
peacefully in its eye until
it returns me to the bare coast I came from/my feet are still cold.