8501. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, #142

142. THE CONTRADICTION

OF ALL

Sitting in those churches, just

mentioned  -  sometimes just

for warmth, other times for

need, I would think about a

hundred things  -  remember,

I was still fairly fresh out of

a cloistered seminary-school

life, and then the miserable

turmoil of some months of the

regular, miserable high-school

crap to finish up that final year.

Everything still ached, and all

the ideas, and memories, were

still fresh and  -  I guess  -

oriented yet in that direction.

OK, so. I used to think about

Martin Luther a lot. Yes, that

guy  -  the 1500's German

church one, not Martin Luther

King  -  who, frankly, back

then, didn't much concern

me. Martin Luther was, for

me, one of the guys who

broke it all open. And that

'opening' immediately

presented all the enigmas

and paradoxes with which

'Modern' man has been

often struggling. (Another

nice thing, here  -  go listen

to the 'Enigma Variations',

by composer Edward Elgar;

see if you like that). Luther

hung up ('posted'), you may

recall, those 95 theses on the

Wittenberg Castle church

door one night. I used to

picture him, or even me,

doing something like that

here, on any one of these

strange New York Churches;

a list of protests, a list of

objections. The collective

yawn would be heard for

miles (that's kind of a writer's

challenge there, imaging the

'hearing' of a yawn. Pretty

daring!)  - the world is that

much different now. But,

back then, something like

that was a vital bulletin

board of the town center.

But eventually all of

that caused a real rupture

in things, and a vital

problem too; it gave

us the 'modern world'

in all its gimcrackery

and foolishness. The

problem, sort of, of the

'common man', who up

until then had basically

been pissed upon by those

above him, or her without

anyone much really caring  -

life was cheap, you followed,

you went along or you got

stampeded. The secular

end-result of all this

(actually) now is the useless

rabble-rousing crap we

foist off as Democracy

and personal liberty

and all that. Captive

nations of the world (are

you listening USA?) arise!

You have nothing to lose

but your chains! (How's that

for original?) Anyway, part

of what Martin Luther used

to say, and which I thought

about and studied over long

and hard, and in all these

raggedy church pews too,

was that each person had

the absolute right to approach

Scripture, God, Faith, and Belief

individually and on their own

terms. (That's why there were

so many of these churches, all

with different names and

denominations and connected

creeds). Before that, it all had

to come THROUGH others,

through the lines and edicts

of a false priesthood, a

churchyard dictatorship,

a controlled dripping-out,

and an enforced and

bought-for point of view,

promises, indulgences,

salvation, and all that.

No, Luther said, 'Hold on!

We want it our way, in our

own language, plainly

spoken, and we'll make

up our own minds, thank

you.' Not having to 'answer'

to religious authority,

'Justification by faith

alone', it came to be called.

That was landmark-status,

ground-breaking stuff, and

it frazzled people's brains.

They suddenly could read

their own Bibles, and that

was that; make up their own

minds, get on with their lives,

and that was that too. It was

about plain text, simple language,

the stuff one could understand  -

without all the smoke and

mirrors, funny hats and layers

of official trappings. When the

plain sense of a text is brought

forth, that's all one needs  -

what the text means is what

you say it means, not what

some philogian or historian

of an ancient society says

it means. Clarity. I understood

that clearly, especially  -  I found

-  in the face right then of all

that lying Vietnamese War

language, where everything

was obfuscated and no truth

was left, a real sensible scheme

of things. Truth be told. Plain

speaking. (In 1972, 'Plain Speaking'

was the title of a Merle Miller

biography of Harry Truman.  In

Luther's own day, one of his

students, to show the miraculous

clarity and 'plain speaking' of

Luther with his students, around

the dining tables, published

his own bio-book, entitled

'Table Talk', about Luther). I'd

think of how much must all the

war-smokescreen of 1967

language have been like, in

its way, even to Martin Luther's

day. The brutal paradox, and

what screwed everything up all

over again, back then, for his

church days, was that with

every person reading the

Bible for themselves and

living by the meaning they

found ('claritas scripturae' was

his term for scripture being clear

in in itself  -  and it played a

fundamental role here), then

any reader might say, with

Luther, 'I do not accept the

authority of popes and

councils, for they have

contradicted themselves

over and over, and made

their new words to fit their

new shapes. My conscience

is captive to the Word of God

as I see it. (sola scriptura).'

And then came the trouble,

the big flip (as I sat there, I

realized I knew what I was

thinking, smack in the middle

as I was of the grand societal

paradox of all time, reflected

there for me now in New York

Fantabulous City of God. What

was I, then, St. Augustine anew?).

The trouble: If everyone else then

can see things as they choose,

personal revelation and all of

that, Luther, and John Calvin

too, became immediately

impatient with those new

and unruly prophets who

sprang up around them, and

who claimed to find the Spirit

in all kinds of novelties in

scripture and producing all

sorts of disorder by their

preaching. The 'claims' of

clarity of scripture and

depended by much on

who was doing the looking.

The proverbial 'cat' was out

of the bag, and  -  suddenly  -

Luther, and Calvin and the rest,

realized what they'd unleashed.

They immediately had to impose

their own 'snap-backs', not much

different then from what before

had been coming from Rome :

all those endless denominations

and feuding sub-groups I just

mentioned. A conundrum, a

paradox, a new mess. Hello

Withcraft! Hello Salem! The

clarity of scripture was a bit

tricky, yes, with the 'context'

determining the 'application.'

Whew! What a mess, all that.

The 'common sense' of tradition

versus the untrammeled freedom

of the individual interpreter.

-

A lot of this thinking went

on for me at St. Francis

Xavier Church, on 16th street;

right nearby was the NY 
Foundling Hospital, a place
with a legacy that fascinated me;

a sort-of help mission of the

ages for NYC infants and

indigent babies, a leftover

adjunct of the old missions

and Sanitary Commission

days in old immigrant NYC.

St. Francis church took everyone

in, including me, and there was

a food kitchen. 590 6th Ave.

was the hospital, and the

church was just east of that. 
To get up to the church, which 
was always open and like a refuge,
huge dim lights, a quiet and dark 
holy space, you had to climb maybe
20 steps, and below you, on either
side would stretch the line for the 
soup kitchen, for whatever serving 
it would next be open. Men, quiet 
and sullen, would limply be in line, 
awaiting prayer and food (you had to 
partake a very short prayer service 
downstairs first. Sometimes it was sad 
and eerie too to see all those eyes 
looking up. Believe it or not, I still,

to this day, stop in there.

-

I don't think this chapter 

142 would end correctly 

without my including the 

following close : Around 

me everywhere were the 

people and the activities 

of the streets. At first I 

was stunned; day after

day of the sounds and 

aromas, odors and the lines

of all the passing panorama.

It was a broad and heady

brew, an entire mixed-up

new head, for a kid from

Avenel. I was hungry  - but

not for food. For the learning

and study and knowledge to

have this all make sense.

Canto III, Dante's Inferno  -

"Language diverse, horrible

dialects, accents of anger, words

of agony, and voices high and

hoarse, with sound of hands,

made up a tumult that goes

whirling on forever in that air

forever black, even as the sand

doth, when the whirlwind breathes...

I will tell thee very briefly. These 

people have not any hope of

death; and this blend of life of

theirs is so debased, they envious

are of other fate. No fame of them

the world permits to be; Misericord

and Justice both disdain them.

Let us not speak of them, but

look and pass."