My daughter Vivian Marie was born six months ago today and left this world after a mere fifteen hours of life. Despite her departure, her story has continued. It lives on and receives a telling in our stories, in the stories of her family and of those who loved her. Vivian remains present to us through cherished memories, mementos, and belongings, of course, but also through much more than these. She is in our prayers, a saint to whom we pray and ask for prayers. Her place of rest, found in a place called Baby Land, has become for us a holy destination of weekly, sometimes daily pilgrimage. We bring her gifts and flowers and tend to the grass that grows over her grave. We have stood before her in the biting wind, under the nurturing sun, within the blankets of snow, among the song of birds and flights of butterflies. Never before have we felt so bound to a location. A finality and permanence mark her story, yet, because her story is bound with ours, because we continue to narrate it, who she is continues to grow and surprise us. We do not know what twists and turns her tale will bring. We have come to know and continue to learn that death does not bring with it the words “The End.”

I recently received two locally-published magazines in the mail addressed to the resident of my address—or possibly someone named Resident, a cruelty that would give credence to my position that parent-given names should require the approval of city council or at least the parent’s pastor. In any case, the two magazines tell complementary stories about what it means to be a resident of this fair city. Let me note that I live in one of the fastest growing and most affluent cities in the country. Its median family income has shot up in the past decade from under eighty grand to over six figures. Billboards in neighboring cities advertize our schools to housing developments that fall into our independent school district. We have more restaurants than I could ever possibly sample even if I made something approaching the median income. Concrete parking lots seem to span miles. We have everything imaginable, it seems: consignment shops, designer clothing stores, malls, a store devoted entirely to soccer, another that sells only yogurt, mega churches, and a thirty-foot marble statue of me. Okay, I’m still fixing to make that last dream a reality. My efforts to change the redundant city motto, “Progress in motion,” have kept me busy and made me powerful enemies, so the progress towards my statue hasn’t been in much motion.

The first magazine I received is our unofficial city magazine, a publication that seeks to capture the style of the city. This particular issue has stories about the city’s past and current economic development. We could easily have become another bedroom community, but an early push to make shopping available in the city, while difficult at times, paid off over the years. Our city has a fascinating history of dreams, hopes, risks, benefits, and immense growth. We have successfully become a city marked by mass consumption.

Economic prosperity can be a great thing; in no way do I mean to pooh-pooh it in itself. I live in a fabulous place to raise a family: we have plenty to do, top-notch schools, a relatively safe environment. All we’re really missing is a massive statue of yours truly, but that’ll come in time. That said, the consumerism of this place does seem to be a foundational and fundamental aspect of who we are as residents. To be a character in our city’s story would seem to mean being a consumer.

The second magazine, a publication about living in these parts, features a cover story about becoming a new person through plastic surgery. Another prominent article shows us the 10 shoes every woman really needs. The managing editor writes about how great skin is a foundation for beauty and how we need to feel pretty in order to be pretty. There doesn’t seem to be much difference between the articles and the barrage of advertisements for spas, ultra-white teeth, style floors, home theaters, hospitals, laser body sculpting, white teeth, weight loss, sports orthopedics, more white teeth, stores that proudly sell city apparel, galas, resorts, crawfish, tummy tucks, and divorce lawyers.

I can’t say that my story coheres much with the narrated identity of my city illustrated by these magazines, though I’m not so above or below it all to conclude that the consumerism of this city could never define me. I’m not looking for a plastic surgeon right now, but if I actually had expendable income, I’d be happily browsing and buying from the stores devoted to videogames, computers, and books. So while I cannot very well participate in this city’s story of consumption, I cannot claim at heart to be an antagonist in the tale. I’m in the background, waiting for the plot to push me into the foreground, waiting to be made a center-stage champion of consumerism, waiting for the city to award me with a statue. Of course, were I to embrace consumerism wholeheartedly, I would only be waiting to be, at the end of my days, miserable. A deeper drama underlies our fears of economic collapse: we may get everything we want and find, in time, only misery. At least people will know where to look for divorce lawyers.

Kyle Cupp is an independent contributor to MetroCatholic publications. Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

The philosopher Paul Ricoeur compared reading a text to the execution of a musical score, an analogy that highlights the plurality of possible readings while keeping those readings situated in the text. Just as each musical performance of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto differs from all others, even those others performed by the same musician, while still remaining true (or false) to the score, so too will each reading of Moby-Dick differ and realize new semantic possibilities of Melville’s novel. Each reading of a text and each execution of a score involves interpretation; each interpretation brings forth more than the intended and inherent meanings of the text and sheet. What the author and composer write functions more as a guide for interpretation than a dictator of meaning. Nevertheless, the reader has no more liberty to make the text mean anything he wants it to mean than the musician has the liberty to play impromptu melodies when performing Chopin. Reading is an exercise of pluralism, not relativism. It gives birth to a surplus of meaning, not its absence.

Kyle Cupp is an independent contributor to MetroCatholic publications. Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

My wife and I took a break this weekend from packing and cleaning to watch Up and Star Trek, two films we would have liked to have seen in the theater. Both were quite good.

I wasn’t sure how the whole time travel motif, common in the Star Trek universe, would play. I expected that Leonard Nimoy’s presence in the movie might annoy me, but it worked, and it actually proved a cunning way for the filmmakers to rewrite the Star Trek mythology, and even change its history, while remaining true, and even historically true, to the old mythology. Star Trek fans have reason to interpret the mythology with both a hermeneutic of continuity and a hermeneutic of discontinuity. Not being a convention-frequenting Trekkie, I wouldn’t have taken to the streets in geeky protest if Abrams and company had just started from scratch and written a whole new origin story for Kirk and company, but I was pretty much pleased with their choices.

Mythologies deserve rethinking and re-mythologizing. Doing so can enrich them and enrich us. I toast to the fact that Homer and Shakespeare didn’t frown upon composing their unique versions of twice told tales. I don’t share the disdain for sequels and prequels and creating new versions of old stories. Bring on the Batmans and the James Bonds and the Hamlets. Let the heroes and villains be given new life and new voice. Heck, let’s turn them topsy-turvy and see what happens. Would it take much to turn the soulless killer James Bond into a villain?

Personally, I’d like to see The Lord of the Rings get treatment by a filmmaker who actually understands holiness and magnanimity. Let’s have another round of Star Wars films while we’re at it, perhaps even new takes on Lucas’ imaginative but at times poorly crafted stories. I’d like to see the six episodes reduced three films depicting the rise, fall, and redemption of Anakin Skywalker. Written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson or Joss Whedon.

What can I say about Up that hasn’t been said already? And is asking that question inconsistent with what I said above? I will say that Pixar has yet to make a bad movie, and if more companies had Pixar’s dedication to quality, our economy would be in much better shape. Up is first-rate movie magic, a comedy gravely serious about its emotional drama. Squirrel!

Kyle Cupp is an independent contributor to MetroCatholic publications. Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

The world of weblogs can be the propagandist’s dream world, a place where his talking points, simplistic narratives, and manufactured emotions find seemingly infinite repetition and affirmation. People repeat ideas and display emotions they find attractive but do not understand; their unique voices become lost as they speak only as a conduit for the propagandist. Blogs written by very different people nonetheless appear very much the same, full of the same phrases, buzzwords, and feelings.

I’m still a fan of the medium, though. For while the blogosphere can be home to the ugly sameness of hateful emotions and unthinking repetition, it also affords people the opportunity to speak as many, to share their uniqueness, their differences. Blogging can be a very personal activity. The best bloggers, in my opinion, have not only something to say and say it well, they also speak as no one else does. They communicate who they are in what they say. They may repeat, but they do so with understanding and with personal uniqueness.

Kyle Cupp is an independent contributor to MetroCatholic publications. Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

My son Jonathan informed me yesterday that one of his lifelong toys named Baby Edward had died. He prefaced this sad news by asking me where he could find the Jesus that we had received at the end of his sister Vivian’s funeral. I directed him to our home office and to my wife’s desk where the crucifix was temporarily kept. He took the crucifix to Baby Edward, had Jesus kiss what he said was the toy’s boo-boo, and informed me that Baby Edward was healed. Jonathan and I, along with a couple of the characters from Bob the Builder, then took turns holding the healed Baby Edward.

Like the rest of us, Jonathan is trying to make sense of his sister’s death. We’ve told him how Vivian’s soul is in Heaven while her body rests in the garden until the time that Jesus will heal her. A few days ago, Jonathan mused that he might bust into Heaven and bring Vivian back.

It makes perfect sense to me that Jonathan tries to understand what cannot be understood through the act of play. While we adults may not play with toys – well, while other adults may not play with toys – we try to make sense of life’s tragic mysteries by telling stories, by creating fictions, forming myths, constructing symbols. The storyteller plays with words.

My wife and I are now faced with the question of how we respond to our three-year-old son’s playing and narrating. Do we want him entertaining the idea that Heaven is a place from which people ought to be saved? I would think not. It is strange, though perhaps not so strange, that just as we would ask if a story our son heard was in some sense true, we have to ask whether his play – a serious activity, to say the least – reflects the mysteries he is trying to understand.

Kyle Cupp is an independent contributor to MetroCatholic publications.  Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

-by Kyle Cupp

In their book Radical Hospitality, Father Daniel Homan, O.S.B. and Lonni Collins Pratt say the following about American spirituality:

American spirituality is basically consumer spirituality.  God is a product with incredible benefits.  God helps us live well, live healthfully, be prosperous and emotionally strong.  God is like a great motivational speaker or talk show host who offers a banquet of options for successful spirituality.  You look over the banquet and select what appeals to you.

 

[…]

 

It is tragically and poignantly adolescent, with the deep emotion and angst that goes with adolescence.  It is a spirituality that seeks improvement for life—a better me, a better relationship—but it does not seek God and it does not move us toward others.  It just keeps us running on the treadmill of our little egocentric worlds.

Reading this reminded me of a telling scene in Woody Allen’s movie, Hannah and Her Sisters.  In the movie, Allen’s character, after learning that he doesn’t have brain cancer, begins a short-lived search for deeper meaning by exploring various religious faiths.  He encounters Christianity – Catholicism in particular – as nothing more than a well-marketed product for consumption.  We see him standing outside a Christian bookstore, looking through a window at a picture of Jesus.  When Allen sways to the left, Jesus’ eyes open; when he sways to the right, his eyes close.  Next we see Allen return home with a paper grocery bag.  He sets in on the counter and pulls out a crucifix, a framed picture of St. Jude, and a loaf of Wonder Bread. 

To Allen’s character, and probably Allen himself, Christianity is just a brand-name hyperbolically promising something it cannot realistically deliver.  Like Wonder Bread.  It may give comfort, but it doesn’t deliver real wonders.  I can’t really blame Allen’s character for moving on to another religion.  True, his chosen exposure to Christianity was too brief and way too superficial, yet this superficial consumerism is too often the mark of how Christians practice and market their religion.

If spirituality is nothing more than a product that delivers comfort, then it’s an easily replaceable product.  A feel-good movie, a bar of chocolate, a cold beer, or a pill can do the same.  It’s with these things that consumer spirituality competes in the market place.  Genuine spirituality, Homan and Pratt remind us, “is not cozy, and seldom makes you comfortable.  It challenges, disturbs, unsettles, and leaves you feeling like someone is at the center of your existence on a major remodeling mission.”  Genuine spirituality involves risk and hospitality, opening one’s heart and one’s space to the stranger.  The writings of the saints and mystics attest to this deeper, harsher, but more rewarding reality of spirituality.  Spirituality takes us outside of our comfort zone and opens us to others, to what is foreign, alien, alternative, dangerous, and even to what is infinite. 

Kyle Cupp is an independant contributor to MetroCatholic publications.  Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

My wife and I learned during Holy Week that our daughter in the womb has a fatal condition called anencephaly; since then we have struggled to share with Vivian the little bit of life she has. My wife has done what she can to stay healthy, exercise, and eat well. She’s made our daughter birthday gifts to present to her at her hoped for day of birth. She’s felt her roll and kick in the womb, savoring those precious gifts from Vivian.

Prior to this experience, when pondering the meaning of fatherhood, I would have thought of showing my children affection, forming their character, teaching them their parts of speech, instructing them in the faith, or playing games of all sorts. I have been able to do these things and more with my son. My daughter will not likely have the opportunity to see me smile at her, hear my words of affection, or feel me holding her. Anencephaly doesn’t generally allow for such sensations.

I have come to the conclusion that what it means to be a father to Vivian is this: I am there with her, suffering with her, even if she cannot know me. Is this experience of fatherhood in any way akin to the fatherhood of God, who loves and weeps for his children? God doesn’t always get what he wants. He is our loving Father, not a cosmic engineer who prevents all disasters or fixes all breakdowns in the system. We certainly can’t fix our daughter’s condition. Nor could we have prevented it. It happened as many sad events happen. I love her and suffer with her, and therefore I am a father to her. I pray for the grace to be a good one.

Kyle Cupp is an independant contributor to MetroCatholic publications.  Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.

In a recent post on abortion, George wrote:

There are those who think the Truth should be sugar-coated or watered down to make it more pleasant-sounding to others who are not willing to accept the Truth.

Certainly, all persons deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. We do not advocate violence, hatred, or ill-will of any kind to persons who do not receive the Truth. However, that does not change the mandate.

I don’t advocate sugar-coated or watered down language when speaking about the abortion procedure or those who defend or practice it; however, I believe we pro-lifers could do better at using language ordered toward persuasion. In the last few days, I’ve noted not a few instances of people remarking that they hold a pro-life legal philosophy, but shun the pro-life movement because of what they see as its use of divisive and alienating language. Not every complaint may be worth our attention, but some of these complaints have a valid point.

It’s a standard rule of debate that you present the opposing side in a way the opposition would agree is accurate, yet many of the descriptions pro-lifers use to depict the other side fail to correspond to what the other side actually holds. Inaccurate and demeaning terms such as “abortion enthusiast,” “baby-hater,” and “bloodthirsty baby-killer” don’t advance the discussion; they bring it to a grinding halt and convince abortion rights advocates not to give us the time of day. Such rhetoric also alienates potential friends.

Our language will not always persuade, but persuasion should be its purpose. There’s no clear formula to persuasion, as what persuades one person may not persuade another, but in general persuasive language is accurate, clear, and true. Sugar-coated or watered-down language, on the other hand, is inaccurate, obscure, and false. Ultimately, it’s counter-productive. So is language that demonizes and alienates.

Kyle Cupp is an independant contributor to MetroCatholic publications.  Kyle publishes the blog Journeys in Alterity, which features his thoughts on culture, hermeneutics, language, literature, moral dilemmas, personal life, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion.