Modern Man is both Bored and Boring
More wisdom from the pen of Fr. Smith...
**************************
The most oppressive rule in that most oppressive of rule-making bodies is the Catholic Church’s enforcement of God’s Third Commandment: Remember to keep holy the Sabbath. This means that one may not do servile work on Sunday, including dashing off that little report left over from Friday needed for Monday’s meeting. This means that Holy Days of Obligation are to be observed in the same manner as Sundays, including the prohibition of servile work, such as doing the week’s shopping instead of going to Mass. This includes understanding that the Lord’s Day is not an odd celestial phenomenon in which a rotation of the earth occurs within the fifty-nine minutes of the early Low Mass with Father’s abbreviated sermon; but the acknowledgement that twenty-four hours do a day make. This means, on pain of mortal sin, that you will pray, you will rest, you will enjoy your family and yourself and not tucker yourself out on needless work and worry! What tyranny!
It is ironic to the point of hysteric bitter laughter that Holy Mother Church is accused of impinging on men’s freedoms. She requires that at least one day in seven be spent in quiet, rest, recreation with the family, and communion with the All-Loving God. She has as one of her primary obligations the comforting of those whose lives are disordered, burdensome, and hopeless. Her highest law is that of charity, which commands that whatever a brother in need asks, for mind, body, or soul, must be given, at the risk of the selfish being damned for all eternity. She calls her children to imitate her Lord, who teaches that perfect love offers all of life and receives the reward of endless life, complete joy, and the vision of infinite glory.
This, however, does not satisfy the modern sophisticate. He would rather have his boss insist that he miss his daughter’s fifth birthday so that he can play golf with the big client being wooed in New York. His equally sophisticated live-in mate, the mother of his daughter, is upset, not because her unhusband is missing their child’s birthday party, but because she can’t find a new job. She wants to quit her current job because the couple’s two-week old “accident” can’t get into daycare until he’s three months old, and her boss won’t give her paid leave to stay with the baby until he’s older. Without the job they can’t afford daycare, which they need so that she can work. And she’s not thrilled with her boyfriend right now, not because he’s going to New York to play golf on their child’s birthday, but because he wants her to have her tubes tied but refuses to have a vasectomy. She thinks it only fair that both of them end up mutilated. He thinks that even though she might not want to bear more children, he might still want to make some with another woman some day. That part about another woman bothers her less than him missing their daughter’s fifth birthday. After all, she can always get another guy, but their daughter will only turn five once.
Other examples of liberated, freethinking modernism include the hordes of people walking around with wireless chains attached to their ears. Butlers to the King of England answered bells at odd times, in inconvenient moments, and for strange demands. This is considered servile and undignified in contemporary society. No self-respecting, twenty-first century empowered citizen would willingly stoop to such depths of servitude. Instead, in the middle of meals, a bell goes off and they leap to respond to whatever command issues forth on their text-messaging service. A different bell goes off, the opening strains of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, for instance, and the modern freeman rushes to find out which out-of-state client desires him to leave the orchestra concert to discuss what was discussed in the conference call this afternoon. Yet another ring happens, and an emancipated denizen of modernity stops her friend in mid-sentence to speak on the telephone to the friend who isn’t speaking to the friend that she is speaking to over coffee.
In the home, the family exercises a newfound freedom unknown before electricity. “Daddy, tell me a story.” “Sure, sweety. Bring me the DVD box and let’s choose a movie.” “Mommy, sing me a song.” “Of course, dear. Let Mommy find our favorite CD and pop it in the computer.” “Big Brother, come and play with me.” “Sure, squirt. Let’s go downstairs and get out the video games.”
Some demur and say that not everyone, for example, sings well, thus, recorded music is a real help for them. To this I respond: Then stop doing anything for your children! If only the best is good enough for little Jane and Joe, then they will hear nothing but the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for bedtime lullabies, Sir Laurence Olivier must act out the Brothers Grimm on rainy days, and Julia Child will prepare their afternoon snacks. I am firmly convinced that every child believes that his mommy’s voice is the prettiest, her face the most beautiful, and her cooking the tastiest in the whole wide world! The only children who think otherwise were taught such lies by their own parents mouthing foolishness like, “I can’t sing” or “I’m too fat” or “My cooking is awful”.
A bizarre phenomenon is occurring in our day. Everyone mouths platitudes about family values, but when it is suggested that people actually spend time with their families unimpeded by electronic devices, admission fees, or interstate-highway travel, suddenly the members of the family bear a familial resemblance to a herd of deer staring down a pair of headlights on the aforementioned interstate. No one has anything to talk about with their loved ones. No one has any common interests with their loved ones. No one knows their loved ones – and everyone shows very little interest in curing their mutual ignorance.
Why not cook a meal from scratch together? How about a game of tag? Perhaps it would be fun to pop popcorn – in a skillet with oil on the stove! – and tell ghost stories in the dark. When was the last time you built a neighborhood of card houses? Wouldn’t it be great if Mom, Dad, and the kids spent more time enjoying each other’s company than in the company of ogres at work, bullies at school, and strangers in the living room?
**************************
The most oppressive rule in that most oppressive of rule-making bodies is the Catholic Church’s enforcement of God’s Third Commandment: Remember to keep holy the Sabbath. This means that one may not do servile work on Sunday, including dashing off that little report left over from Friday needed for Monday’s meeting. This means that Holy Days of Obligation are to be observed in the same manner as Sundays, including the prohibition of servile work, such as doing the week’s shopping instead of going to Mass. This includes understanding that the Lord’s Day is not an odd celestial phenomenon in which a rotation of the earth occurs within the fifty-nine minutes of the early Low Mass with Father’s abbreviated sermon; but the acknowledgement that twenty-four hours do a day make. This means, on pain of mortal sin, that you will pray, you will rest, you will enjoy your family and yourself and not tucker yourself out on needless work and worry! What tyranny!
It is ironic to the point of hysteric bitter laughter that Holy Mother Church is accused of impinging on men’s freedoms. She requires that at least one day in seven be spent in quiet, rest, recreation with the family, and communion with the All-Loving God. She has as one of her primary obligations the comforting of those whose lives are disordered, burdensome, and hopeless. Her highest law is that of charity, which commands that whatever a brother in need asks, for mind, body, or soul, must be given, at the risk of the selfish being damned for all eternity. She calls her children to imitate her Lord, who teaches that perfect love offers all of life and receives the reward of endless life, complete joy, and the vision of infinite glory.
This, however, does not satisfy the modern sophisticate. He would rather have his boss insist that he miss his daughter’s fifth birthday so that he can play golf with the big client being wooed in New York. His equally sophisticated live-in mate, the mother of his daughter, is upset, not because her unhusband is missing their child’s birthday party, but because she can’t find a new job. She wants to quit her current job because the couple’s two-week old “accident” can’t get into daycare until he’s three months old, and her boss won’t give her paid leave to stay with the baby until he’s older. Without the job they can’t afford daycare, which they need so that she can work. And she’s not thrilled with her boyfriend right now, not because he’s going to New York to play golf on their child’s birthday, but because he wants her to have her tubes tied but refuses to have a vasectomy. She thinks it only fair that both of them end up mutilated. He thinks that even though she might not want to bear more children, he might still want to make some with another woman some day. That part about another woman bothers her less than him missing their daughter’s fifth birthday. After all, she can always get another guy, but their daughter will only turn five once.
Other examples of liberated, freethinking modernism include the hordes of people walking around with wireless chains attached to their ears. Butlers to the King of England answered bells at odd times, in inconvenient moments, and for strange demands. This is considered servile and undignified in contemporary society. No self-respecting, twenty-first century empowered citizen would willingly stoop to such depths of servitude. Instead, in the middle of meals, a bell goes off and they leap to respond to whatever command issues forth on their text-messaging service. A different bell goes off, the opening strains of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, for instance, and the modern freeman rushes to find out which out-of-state client desires him to leave the orchestra concert to discuss what was discussed in the conference call this afternoon. Yet another ring happens, and an emancipated denizen of modernity stops her friend in mid-sentence to speak on the telephone to the friend who isn’t speaking to the friend that she is speaking to over coffee.
In the home, the family exercises a newfound freedom unknown before electricity. “Daddy, tell me a story.” “Sure, sweety. Bring me the DVD box and let’s choose a movie.” “Mommy, sing me a song.” “Of course, dear. Let Mommy find our favorite CD and pop it in the computer.” “Big Brother, come and play with me.” “Sure, squirt. Let’s go downstairs and get out the video games.”
Some demur and say that not everyone, for example, sings well, thus, recorded music is a real help for them. To this I respond: Then stop doing anything for your children! If only the best is good enough for little Jane and Joe, then they will hear nothing but the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for bedtime lullabies, Sir Laurence Olivier must act out the Brothers Grimm on rainy days, and Julia Child will prepare their afternoon snacks. I am firmly convinced that every child believes that his mommy’s voice is the prettiest, her face the most beautiful, and her cooking the tastiest in the whole wide world! The only children who think otherwise were taught such lies by their own parents mouthing foolishness like, “I can’t sing” or “I’m too fat” or “My cooking is awful”.
A bizarre phenomenon is occurring in our day. Everyone mouths platitudes about family values, but when it is suggested that people actually spend time with their families unimpeded by electronic devices, admission fees, or interstate-highway travel, suddenly the members of the family bear a familial resemblance to a herd of deer staring down a pair of headlights on the aforementioned interstate. No one has anything to talk about with their loved ones. No one has any common interests with their loved ones. No one knows their loved ones – and everyone shows very little interest in curing their mutual ignorance.
Why not cook a meal from scratch together? How about a game of tag? Perhaps it would be fun to pop popcorn – in a skillet with oil on the stove! – and tell ghost stories in the dark. When was the last time you built a neighborhood of card houses? Wouldn’t it be great if Mom, Dad, and the kids spent more time enjoying each other’s company than in the company of ogres at work, bullies at school, and strangers in the living room?
<< Home