Sanctus Aurelius Augustinus Hipponensis

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...to praise you is the desire of man, a little piece of your creation. You stir man to take pleasure in praising you, because you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you. (Confessions I.1)

August 28th is the feast day of St. Augustine of Hippo.  And I couldn't be more excited (with, of course, the exceptions of Christmas and the Easter Vigil).  It will be a quiet celebration in may ways.  No, the shops won't close down, gifts might not be exchanged, and large feasts shared with family and friends are not to be seen.  But, nonetheless, I shall likely spend the early hours reading some of the works of one of mankinds greatest minds, and one of Christianity's greatest saints. I shall likely say some prayers of gratitude for St. Augustine and for the survival of his writings down to our own time.

How will you celebrate this occasion?  I suggest that those of you out there in the blogosphere who have yet to read St. Augustine's Confessions go out and purchase a copy and begin reading it... you won't be disappointed.

Don't feel like reading?  Check out where you can see the new movie (unfortunately, it may not be easy).

If you don't know who St. Augustine is, watch the movie, read his Confessions, or buy me a coffee and I'll introduce you to him.  He does have a very exciting story.

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Thoughts on Ethnicity and Identity...

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I guess having a child can refocus certain questions that have previously lain dormant. One of those, at least for me, has been the question of heritage and identity.

I suppose that there once was a time when such a question would have been less common.  This would likely have been a time when the society in which one lived was more of less homogeneous (or at least it would have been pre-suppositionally perceived that way). But, even in those increasingly rare cases in our multi-cultural / heterogeneous society where both parents have a very simple ethnic lineage to trace back, the question of identity is not terribly simple.

In my case, as a father, I ask myself what ethnic identity, if any, am I going to pass on to my children?  My ethnic makeup is not easily sorted-out.  Even the ideal of an ethnic make-up seems problematic.  Historically, ethnic identity was understood within the rather misguided paradigm (in my opinion) of race.  The bloodline was the thing and it was measured in fractions.  For example, if a person had a German mother and a Chinese father, this person would be understood as being 1/2 German and 1/2 Chinese. And if this person had a child with a Russian person, the child would then be 1/4 German, 1/4 Chinese, and 1/2 Russian. Repeat this process a few more times and the fractions begin to get ridiculous.  But, isn't the mere idea that fractions can make up a person's ethnic identity rather ridiculous no matter what those fractions are?  What does it mean to be 1/4 German or 1/16 Aboriginal?  Numbers don't add up to identity.  And this, perhaps is my central issue with this way of approaching ethnicity: even if the number is 100%, that doesn't say anything about identity.  My dear wife is 100% Dutch... what does that mean.  Simply put, it means that both her parents were 100% Dutch.  But, the problem is that this really doesn't tell us anything about her ethnic identity.  You might be thinking, "No Tyler, this in fact does tell us a great deal... she's Dutch!"  Ah, but what does that mean?  What does it mean to be Dutch?  For ethnic identity has never been grounded in percentages (even 100%) - it has always been grounded in story... in history.  Lineage is important not because of the mere fact of that lineage, but rather because of the stories and history contained in that lineage.  And, as we know, all history is selective.

History is always selective.  It always gives preference to some things (people, places, events, etc.) over others.  All people groups derived from the confluence of several other people groups.  The Dutch, for example, are not a homogeneous group (no matter how much it may seem so to outsiders).  They derive from the intersection of disparate peoples (to varying degrees) who, for various historical reasons, found common cause and cultural identity.  As time passed, the attention to the differences increasingly gave way to focus on the growing similarities (as found in culturally symbolic events, practices, modes of thought, religion, and of course, language).  The idea of the Dutch people is a cultural construct.  Furthermore, the idea of Dutchness (i.e. what it means to be Dutch) can be subtly, and surprisingly diverse.  When one considers the emigration of Dutch people from their homeland to Canada, this issue becomes more clear.  What Dutch-Canadians might considers important aspects of their Dutchness, could be quite divergent from what Dutch persons living in the Netherlands consider important.  This, again, is because history is always an identity making process: we find our identity in our history and in turn construct our history in the image of our identity (a dialectical process).  The history of Dutch Canadian immigrants is much different than that of their relations who stayed behind in the home country.  Therefore, they construct different identities from their different histories.

Moving from the theoretical to the practical, I then return to my question of ethnic identity.  What is the ethnic identity that will be traditioned to my children.  What stories, what history will my wife and I pass on to our children?  My wife, no doubt, will pass on the Dutch Canadian identity as she has experienced it and understands it.  She will tell stories of her parents and her (predominantly) Dutch Canadian community in which she was raised.  She will tell stories of her Omas and Opas making the great journey to Canada and finding their place in this new land (stories of courage and fortitude).  This Dutch identity will find voice in the stories, but also in symbolic items (blue and white depictions of windmills and young Dutch maidens perhaps) and family customs.  I look forward to her sharing her Dutch Canadian roots with our children.

My situation is decidedly more complicated.  I'm one of those all-too-common compilations of fractions.  I've been struggling with this of late.  Where does ethnic identity come from for those whose story/heritage is more difficult to simplify.  I think this is what I've come up with (thus far):

If I went with the fractions, it would be easy.  But, as I've discussed above, humans do not find identity in the brute logic of mathematics.  So then, what is the story that I've been told?  Inevitably a story must favour some aspects over others - some lineages must be subsumed by others.  The two stories that have been passed on to me have been that of my Irish ancestors and that of my Native ancestors. Interestingly, though my Native lineage is the lesser according to the mathematics, it has been the overwhelmingly stronger story that has been shared.  This story has not been shared in narrative form.  It has been shared in the form of a deep respect for, and appreciation of, the Native people of our land and their rich cultural heritage.  I guess this is what I have to pass on to my offspring.  This is the story I have to share.  Strangely, it will likely continue to be a story told in the third person rather than the first person voice.  My Irish heritage is more difficult to reconcile.  Due to situations outside of my control, the Irish story has fallen by the wayside (I hesitate to use the word, lost, though).  In what way I am able to address this, well, I don't know.

In many ways, I understand that my situation is not that different from my wife's:  I will tell stories of my father and stories of my mother; I will tell stories of my Granny and her life; I will tell stories of my experiences growing up; I will tell stories that convey to my children who I am and where I come from.  The biggest difference is that the label which I attach to these stories will not be as easy to explain.

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Post Script: Perhaps I will post on another occasion about the other very important lineage in which I find my identity.

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A funny little interaction...

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Sitting in the campus library in the computer area looking up some books for class.

The girl on the computer next to me: "This is going to sound like a strange question but, can you show me how to friend somebody on Facebook?"

Me (laughing): "This is going to sound strange but, I've never been on Facebook."

Girl next to me: "REALLY?"

Me: "Yup. We certainly are an odd pair."

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Thoughts on Procreation...

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Recently, the question of why people have children has been on my mind.  Put more accurately, what are the reasons people have for desiring to have, or choosing to have, children.  People have children because they have sex: yes, sex leads to procreation (perhaps  in the future I will muse about this concept which is so foreign to many in our current society).  Okay, back to the topic at hand... what are the reasons why people choose to have children?

This question has had me thinking, what were my motivations for having our little guy?  I don't think that I had asked this question at the time; in fact, I'm pretty sure that I didn't.  I don't recall ever asking my dear wife what her motivations were either.  We both knew that we desired children.  It really just came down to the question of when was the "right" time.  Previously, that is, previous to meeting my wife, I hadn't any real desire for children.  Previous to my conversion to the Christian faith, I had no desire to get married, let alone have children.  But that all changed.

Oh, I knew theologically why we were to have children.  Love, true love, is procreative.  This is a core truth within the Christian Gospel.  It is, as John Paul II wrote, the Evangelium Vitae (gospel of life). I knew that love is dynamic and alive, that it grows. I knew that Christian marriage is directed towards the dual purposes of unity and procreation.  I knew that both marriage and family are intended as a means for sanctification (growth in holiness).  All this I knew.  But, looking back, I don't think I really put much thought into what my personal reasons (if I can speak in such terms) for desiring and pursuing children were.

Upon reflection, I think I would have answered then as I do now: I love my wife.  My love for her included a desire to join with her in the act of creation.  I desired to see our love come to fruition in new life.  I longed to see her as the mother of my children.  Indeed, I looked forward with eager anticipation to seeing the deep inner beauty of my wife passed on to our offspring.

Procreation, when I take the time to consider it, has to be one of the greatest gifts that we humans have been granted by our loving Creator.  It has to be one of the greatest honours bestowed upon us.  Think about it for a moment: God has invited us to participate in the act of creation.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. (Genesis 1.1)

In this simple phrase found at the very outset of God's written revelation we learn the nature of divinity.  The Church's teaching is that God is a creator, one who created the universe our of nothing (ex nihilo).  What is truly incredible about procreation is that we have been invited to participate in such an act.  The very power through which the entire universe was wrought at the inception of time is brought to bear with each new child growing in the womb. And we are invited to share in this new creation. There was a time (a little over 15 months ago) when there was no Isaac, and suddenly, through an act of conjugal love, there sprung into being a new life, a new person.  Yes, truly incredible.

I desired children because of love.

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Post Script: People have been having children for a multitude of reasons, some of them rather vapid and senseless (at least in my estimation), some of them more considered and reasonable (whatever that means).  Ultimately, people have children because they have sex.  Whatever their reasons may be, everything changes in the eyes of their newborn child.  Reasons for having children and reasons for loving and raising children can greatly vary. I think that the question of why disappears, or at least fades into the background, upon their arrival. In the eyes of a helpless, and completely vulnerable child, new reasons suddenly spring forth .

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Thoughts on the Holy Trinity...

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"Then Yahweh appeared to him by the terebinth trees of Mamre, as he was sitting in the tent door in the heat of the day.  So he lifted his eyes and looked, and behold, three men were standing by him; and when he saw them, he ran from the tent door to meet them, and bowed himself to the ground, and said, My lord, if I have now found favour in your sight, do not pass on by your servant." (Genesis 18)

Christians do not depict the first person of the Holy Trinity - God the Father.  We rightly depict the Son.  We also give artistic representation of the Spirit (generally, but not exclusively, as a dove).  God the Father is not represented since the only image we have of Him is Jesus his only begotten son.  It is an incredible thing that the Church does indeed have one icon which does indeed depict the three persons of the Holy Trinity.  Well, not exactly.  This icon is actually a depiction of Abraham's visitors at Mamre described in Genesis 18.  I find this a very interesting and telling fact.

The Church's only accepted icon of the Trinity has at it's core the theme of hospitality.  Hospitality, at least in its truest form, is the welcoming of strangers to be served as if they were Christ himself.  Thus, any understanding of the mysterious Holy Trinity, of Divinity, must include hospitality.  That is to say, that the nature of Divinity, if I may speak in such terms, involves a welcoming disposition.  Is this not the Christian understanding of love?  The love that we find in the three persons of the Godhead does not exclude.  The Father loves the Son and loves the Spirit, the Son loves the Father and loves the Spirit, and the Spirit loves the Father and loves the Son.  This community of mutual love, though, is not inwardly focused.  It is the nature of their love to look outwards and share that love-overflowing with strangers and welcome them into the community.  God is hospitable.

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Some (more) Thoughts on Love...

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I've written on love and sight before.  Apparently I talk about love a lot.  As my wife is fond of saying, "Of course, love... You're all about love."  I think love is due for a comeback.  You might be thinking, "but Tyler, love never went out of style."  Yeah, but I'm not talking about the appearance of love, but rather (if I can borrow a Marxist distinction) the essence of love.  True love.  Love of the kind which St. John talks about in his first epistle.

Anyway, I have been reading G.K.Chesterton's Orthodoxy (a great read by the way), and I came across this little bit of beautiful wisdom:

"Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is.  Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind."

My marital experience thus far tells me this is true.  I am bound in love to my dear wife.  But, I am certainly not blind to who she is.  In fact, as Chesterton points out, it was through the binding (i.e. entering into the faithful, lifelong sacrament of marriage) that I was able to remove the previous blindness which obscured her to me.   And now, having bound myself to her, my love - or better yet, our love - has brought clarity of vision to our relationship, and continues to.  It is, in fact, this binding which enables love to truly become love, rather than mere infatuation.  Don't mistake what I'm saying here, there is nothing wrong with infatuation but unless it is bound, it can never truly blossom into real love... unless it is bound, it will be forever blind.

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Thoughts on Prayer...

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It seems that, as my life transitions from one season to the next, I must rediscover prayer.  I've experienced so many seasons since I first met the One who is love incarnate.

When I was a little lad, my father used to tuck me and my siblings into bed each night.  He would say good night and we would say our prayers.  They were mostly rote prayers that we had memorized (e.g. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep...", "Our Father who art in heaven..", etc.).

Following a religious conversion experience over a decade ago I relearned how to pray.  I took off to an evangelical bibleschool in Germany and learned about praying with others and spontaneous, unscripted prayer.

In the years that followed I learned to pray in silence, to pray with my eyes and with my ears.  I learned to pray with the church throughout the ages.  I learned to pray the prayers of other as if they were mine - I learned to make them mine.  I learned to follow the guidance of the saints and martyrs of the church as I sought communion with God.  I learned the comfort of joining the great cloud of witnesses who came before me in a prayer unceasing.

Recently, my little sacred space for prayer that I had set up in my study was removed to make room for my newborn son.  I have found myself forced to rediscover - not in a major way, but in a logistical way, which is surprisingly challenging.  I had a place reserved for kneeling and for quietude.  It was a place where I could gaze upon the face of Jesus and simply be.  It was a place where I could ask for guidance, a place where I could bare my hopes and fears.  It was a sacred space that I could easily enter into.  It was very important to me and it's gone.

These shifts (both small and large) that take place during the various seasons of life often do indeed provide cause for relearning or rediscovering prayer.  I thank my God for them, for the chances to grow and face such challenges.  Christians are called to seek the divine face, to travel the road leading to greater and deepened communion with Him.  These changes, these challenges are opportunities to travel that road.  A road traveled by the heart rather than the feet.  We do not draw near, after all, by movement in place to the one who is present everywhere, but instead by a movement of the heart and of the will - this movement is only accomplished through prayer.

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