Schizophrenia--Spiritual and Otherwise

Walking the Labyrinth, July 3, 2009—Today, the Russian Orthodox Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Nobleborn Prince Gleb of Vladimir, one of the many sons of the Nobleborn Prince Andrei Bogoliubsky. The young prince Gleb, was from an early age devoted to reading books and attending church services, and was “much loved of the clergy of the city.” He died at nineteen in 1174. His church biography tells us no more, but modern historians say his death was under “mysterious circumstances.” Perhaps it had to do with that phrase “one of many sons.” In 1423, Louis XI, who ruled France from 1461 until 1483, was born. He was called “Louis the Prudent” by his court and “Louis the Spider” by everyone else. He loved plots and conspiracies but during his reign, France steered clear of wars and the monarchy consolidated the power which would one day blossom into the much-admired reigns of Louis’ successors. Basil Rathbone gave a delightful performance as The Spider King in the movie “If I Were King,” a fantasized account of the life of the medieval French poet-thief, Francois Villon. Louis also makes a “cameo” appearance in Victor Hugo’s novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Louis had an interest in science and once pardoned a man from the gallows if he would allow himself to be operated on for the removal of his gallstones, a problem which also plagued Louis. The man escaped the noose, but died under the surgeon’s knife. At two o’clock in the afternoon, on July 3, 1863, General George Pickett ordered more than 13,000 Confederate soldiers to attack the Union forces entrenched on Cemetery Ridge outside Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. More than half of them were shot down in the attempt. The survivors dragged themselves and their wounded comrades back across the bloody mile they’d just come, under the jeers and bullets of the Federal Army . The disaster of Pickett’s Charge brought to an end three days fighting at Gettysburg. Lee’s army limped back to Virginia, and though the War Between the States continued for almost two years more, the Confederate loss at Gettysburg and the surrender of the Confederate army at far-off Vicksburg the next day, marked the turning point of the war. Years later, when asked why his attack failed, Pickett is said to have quipped “I always thought the Yankees had something to do with it.” Although his family loudly insisted he was “born on the Fourth of July,” George M Cohan’s birth certificate lists July 3, 1878, as his birthday. His musicals dominated Broadway for twenty-five years, and during that time he wrote over 1500 best-selling songs (“Give My Regards to Broadway,” “You’re a Grand Old Flag,” “Over There,” “Mary Is a Grand Old Name”). He died of cancer in 1942, a few weeks after the just completed biography of his life, “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” starring James Cagney, was privately screened for him. Today is the 184th day of 2009; we have 181 more to go.

UNLESS YOU LIVE in a cave in Egypt (not an entirely unattractive thought), you know Michael Jackson died this past week. Several major stores in Los Angeles greeted shoppers over the past few days with large signs: “No Michael Jackson Items Left.” He has been eulogized by our new President and is undergoing a secular canonization in the press. His music doesn’t appeal to me, so I am not a fit judge of his talents, but if the number of his enthusiasts is a good indication, he was a man of much talent. I do know, regardless of the truths or untruths surrounding his personal life, he was plagued by many demons, inside and out, physical and mental and most certainly demons spiritual. Like so many who play leading roles in our society, he had both a public persona and a private character, and the divorce of the two led to a type of schizophrenia, a torn and damaged personality. A look at the news coverage over the past week shows the fascination our society has with both sides of Michael Jackson. But he is far from exceptional. A respected “family-values” governor crumbles right in front of television cameras as he reveals his love-sickness. A few months ago Bill Clinton was paid $500,000 for a speech he made to a group of bankers in Dubai, but one of them told reporters afterwards, “All we wanted to do was meet the man who soiled Monica Lewinsky’s dress.” We can’t seem to get enough of it. Is it too much of a leap from there to say that with these sort of leaders, our society is increasingly schizophrenic? The bulwarks of our society—political, educational, religious, financial, medical—are failing to hold up under pressure. There is much talent, much flash, much glamor, but little inner strength. More and more, we are becoming less and less.

Tomorrow, we celebrate the Fourth of July. What are we celebrating? Surely it’s more than a national remembering that the Declaration was signed in Philadelphia 233 years ago. We must be saying those events mean something today. Not just because our taxes are lower today than they were under King George, not because our liberties are now greater, the restrictions on us less, the government not as intrusive…well…um…on paper we have a right to the government we want, so look the situation at Los Angeles City Hall, the State House in Sacramento and the columned halls of Washington DC and ponder the “more perfect Union” we’ve formed. But before we vent our righteous indignation at those damned politicians, bear in mind the men and women in public office rarely do anything on their own. They are more followers than leaders, looking to polls rather than principles before making up their minds. That shouldn’t be surprising. The Founders of our country knew they would, and designed a government accordingly. Ours is not a direct democracy, where every vote ultimately matters. We have a representative democracy, a republic, where we choose people to do the governing for us. The Founders left us a government that would, by and large, reflect what we believe and do what we want. This is all by way of saying, the government we have embodies the society we’ve built. As society changes, so too does government. Every elected government official says what his constituents want to hear. Can you imagine Theodore Roosevelt, 100 years ago, or John F Kennedy, 50 years ago, supporting the infanticide, the broad sweep of abortions throughout America today? Democrats and Republicans alike support this horror, because they believe their constituents do. Euthanasia doesn’t have much support in Congress, because there’s little support or demand for killing off gramps right now. Wait another 25 years, when we’ve got an increasing number of octogenarians draining government revenues and see what the polls say then. We don’t have a government of principle but policy. Our public policies are schizophrenic because our society is schizophrenic.

But don’t write us off yet. Two thousand years ago, Cicero cried, “O tempora! O mores!” “Oh, the times! Oh, the manners!” feeling things couldn’t get much worse. Policies can change and so can societies. For them to change, we, the people, have to change. Our world can only grow in grace and wisdom, if we grow in grace and wisdom. Groaning and griping about bad politicians and pathetic leaders and stupid policies doesn’t take anybody off the road to ruin. It just makes the journey the more unpleasant for everybody. To walk a labyrinth is to walk a road of grace. We walk with the assurance that the journey will end happily, no matter our difficulties and failures along the way. One thing though, a word to the wise walker: don’t gripe and grumble down the path, bemoaning the state of things with grumbly—eloquent, but grumbly—Cicero. The time will come, when you will be called on to fight the good fight. When it comes, do your best. Fight to the finish. But don’t let the “iron enter into your soul,” as the Psalmist said. Don’t be twisted by the times or discouraged by the battle. When you and I come to the Center of our labyrinths, our walk will end. We’ll then be Otherwise Occupied. If I was to guess (and I’m a pretty good guesser), I would guess the true peace and genuine freedom we have waiting for us Elsewhere, will be in proportion to the peace and freedom we have found—and made, for ourselves and others—walking through the life we are living right now.

FROM MY BOOKSTACK this week, a couple of fun things I wanted to share. First, not a book at all, but a printed menu! Fr Robert Sanchez, my old Romish friend, made a gift to me last Sunday of an antique menu from the Hollywood Brown Derby. It's not dated, but has “Thursday” printed at the bottom right corner. So, naturally, the first thing I did was to look at the dishes and how much they cost. Under “Brown Derby De Luxe Dinners” the Whole Broiled Live Lobster, with Drawn Butter, the Soup du Jour (Chicken Broth with Egg Noodles) and Derby Salad with French Dressing, Assorted Vegetables and Choice of Potatoes cost the Thursday diner $3.00. The front of the menu is decorated with caricatures of well-known Hollywood patrons of the establishment. I mentioned the menu to Dolores Davis, a friend who keeps tabs on me for our Writing Group, and a chef of renown. She loaned me an aging book titled The Brown Derby Cookbook, my most fun book this week. It was written by Leonard Lewis Levinson in 1949. While most of a cookbook is wasted on the likes of me, I did write down about six or seven recipes I want to remember, including Avocado Neptune Derby, Mexican Barbecued Lamb and one listing titled simply Brown Gravy (underneath the title, Dolores long ago penciled in “Very Good!”). Aside from the recipes, though, the book has a wonderful essay, “The Story of the Brown Derbies” giving an account, historical, mythological and culinary, of the eateries. The book also includes a “Glossary and Table” to help understand the Derby’s unique recipes, and a concluding section titled “How to Read a Menu.” The last of the Derbies (Los Feliz) closed when I was pastor of St Mary’s, right down the street. I used to treat ecclesiastical visitors to a meal there while it was still open. I wish I’d known about this book back in those halcyon days.

Quotes from the Principals:

“He who does not know how to lie, does not know how to reign.” King Louis XI

“For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened… Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand and his sword in the other waits, looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet…”— William Faulkner on Pickett’s Charge, Intruder in the Dust

“Many a bum show has been saved by the flag.”—George M Cohan

Okay—one recipe:

Fresh Shrimp Saute Brown Derby Serves 3

4 oz butter; 1 lb raw shrimp, peeled, split and cleaned; 1/2 lb mushrooms,sliced; 1 bead garlic, chopped fine; 2 tbs finely chopped green onion; 1/2 tsp basil;
1/2 cup white wine; 1/2 cup Brown Gravy or chicken broth; 1 tsp celery salt; 1 tsp Worcestershire Sauce; 2 cups steamed rice

Heat butter in heavy skillet. Add shrimp and sauté on medium heat for 8 minutes. Add mushrooms, garlic, green onion and basil. Saute 2 minutes more. Add wine and reduce by two-thirds. Add brown gravy, celery salt and Worcestershire Sauce. Serve over steamed rice.

Gracias, Dolores!