When I started writing this series of columns on the mystery of beauty, I had no plan to include columns on the Fellowship for Performing Arts (FPA). The FPA was not present in my planning, but once I thought of it, I knew I had to include two columns about it. FPA is an excellent example of almost everything I have been promoting in this series of columns.
I regularly look for cultural events that might be a positive source for personal growth, my own and the growth of others. Frequently I write about those events in this column. Max McLean is an exceptionally talented actor. Back in the 1990’s McLean’s apostolate was to dramatically present Mark’s Gospel. Someone suggested that he expand his apostolate by starting a theatre group whose purpose was to present theatrical productions featuring a Christian theme.
During the many years that I have been teaching philosophy, I have discovered a special blessing. I am not referring to the axiom that if you become a teacher by your students, you will be taught, though I have found that axiom to be profoundly true. I am referring to the opportunity that, in challenging students to read great books, I am blessed to have the opportunity to read or re-read some great books. One gem that I strongly recommend to all readers of this column is Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning.”
Only recently have I noticed how often I use the word “awesome.” I use the word often in philosophy classes at St. John’s University and I use it often in Sunday homilies. In both classes and homilies, I am trying to help others appreciate in some new or special way what is part of their experience.
A regular activity of mine is trying to locate a book in my bookcase, some book that I have read and enjoyed and wish to read again, or at least to read again some sections of it. That I almost always find the book is amazing. I have so many books on my shelves that if one more book enters my room, I may have to move out.
A few weeks ago I had a wonderful experience in the theatre. I went over to Broadway to see a revival of Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town.” The distinguished playwright Edward Albee claimed that “Our Town” was the best American play ever written. I would not argue with him.
I wish a friend of mine were here with me in my study as I am writing this column. About two weeks ago, he told me about his experience trying to get his teenage sons interested in great films. He claimed that whenever he recommended a film, the first question they asked would be, “How old is this film?” The second question would be, “Is it in color?”
Recently, I had two experiences of beauty that moved me to reflect on what happens to us when we experience exceptional beauty. I would describe both experiences as “ecstatic.”
The last time I turned on my radio was about seven or eight years ago. I hope the batteries still function! I have found that I cannot read anything that has any depth if I am listening to music that has lyrics. Instead of concentrating on what I am reading, I begin to concentrate on the lyrics.
In the summer issue of the newsletter by Commonweal Magazine, there was an essay by Pat Ballan entitled “Every Picture Tells a Story.” The essay was about a painting of Joan of Arc that is present in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. I wonder if I have ever thought of paintings as telling a story.
