“…I think it is safe to say that while the South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted. The Southerner, who isn’t convinced of it, is very much afraid that he may have been formed in the image and likeness of God.”-Flannery O’Connor
By: Joe Bass
Few writers could pen a memorable quote like the shy Catholic girl with a towering intellect from Milledgeville, Georgia. Shakily responding to a patronizing comment about the Eucharist from a socialite, she once said, “Well…if its a symbol, to hell with it.” The “Christ-haunted South” quote from O’Connor has slowly embedded itself in my soul; frequently provoking new evaluations of my surroundings. Look at the picture at the very top of the post, taken by C.C. Lockwood. Lockwood, a transplant to Louisiana, abandoned a career in finance after being captured by Louisiana’s haunting beauty. Now I cannot speak to the spirituality of Lockwood, but I can confidently say one can come to know God more intimately through Lockwood’s images. Notice the contrast of shadow and light that are so intimately intertwined in the familiar bayou scene.
Back to O’Connor.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with her writings, I wouldn’t suggest you just dive in blindly. These are not cute southern folktales (I’m reminded of a peg-legged Hulga Hopewell stumping and grumbling around). O’Connor’s writings are the fruit of a mind and soul that have allowed one’s shadowy complexities to be thoroughly enlivened by the light of the indwelling Trinity. Put simply, she speaks of light by first emphasizing shadows. Thus, Lockwood and O’Connor speak the same language through different mediums. So how does this tie into Christmas?
I’ve payed special attention to my interactions this brief Advent, and can recall multiple little interactions with strangers that ended, sometimes with an affectionate hushed tone, “Merry Christmas.” It happened at the pharmacy today. It happened at a retail store a week or so back. But beyond the explicit wishing of a Merry Christmas have been the deeper interactions that I believe mirror Lockwood and O’Connor’s art. Last night I went to the vigil mass for the Fourth Sunday of Advent. Now I’ll be honest, I usually don’t hold hands during the Our Father. No, its not because I want to make some sort of snobby statement about the “traditional way of things.” I just got so used to praying the Our Father every day in the seminary where we were thoroughly formed with the understanding that our unity in Christ and his sacrifice unifies us more deeply than we could even fathom. After that reality, holding hands kind of faded away in my mind. HOWEVER, I will never snub someone who reaches out their hand to mine during the Lord’s prayer. All of this serves as background information for the Lord’s prayer at last night’s mass. A tender elderly woman reached her delicate hand over to mine and I held it. I noticed her grasping it a little tighter than the much younger woman who reached for my left hand. When the prayer was over, I dropped my hand and immediately noticed the weight of the elderly woman’s hand still holding on. I turned to look at her as she grasped my hand with both of her hands now. She simply looked at me and then my hand and said, “Thank you….thank you so much.” I won’t romanticize the moment to mean anything other than what was obvious. She longed to be embraced. Out of whatever shadow was in her mind or heart came the light of reaching out for communion with another. Shadow and light. Intimately intermingled. When mass was over, she leaned over to me, hugged me, and sweetly said in a Cajun accent “Merry Christmas, bebe.”
I’m not so naive, or more likely arrogant, as to assume that similar interactions don’t take place in other corners of the country. However, after living out of the South I can say these interactions are far more frequent and carry a deeper quality here. It seems to me that people are much more attuned to shadows here, and thus are more sensitive and responsive to light. Whether its the shadow of comparative poverty of our region, shadowy and light landscapes, the shadowy elements of the South’s past and present–I don’t know. I don’t want to give the impression that some of the darkness the South has experienced is somehow quaint and endearing. Not at all. In fact, the horrific realities of slavery, racism, and segregation are shadows which constantly stretch into the present day beckoning for the light and healing of Jesus.Whatever the case may be, it seems clear that we just don’t do secularism very well. Why? Because Christ haunts the memory of people here. Our shadows don’t seem to be as far removed from light as in other places. I’ve prayed in public with men and women of different creeds, colors, and orientations. Two months ago an elderly homeless man named Charlie reached into my car window to put his head against my chest and hug me after we prayed. I could smell the stale tobacco, body odor, and liquor. No money exchanged. Just names. I remember another elderly African-American man who asked if he could pray over me, years ago when I was a student at LSU. The fiery passion with which he called down the blessings and love of God are burned in my memory. We just had a friendly conversation and he reached out of the shadows of unfamiliarity and into the light of communion of persons in Christ. However you may explain it, I just don’t think we do secularism awfully well in the South because Christ permeates this place in a special way.
I have spent a good amount of time with the men imprisoned at Angola State Penitentiary. Most of them are serving life sentences. Many of these men confided to me that they think their souls would have been lost had it not been for their life sentence. Many of them met Jesus in what became the tiny monastery of their cells. Many of them built the only fully functional Catholic Parish within the walls of a Maximum Security Prison in 39 days. Their shovels, picks, hammers and saws working round the clock to build the temple of the Lord. Shadows are closer to the light here, I think.
What is Christmas, if not the grandest display of shadows of an earth without a Savior being illuminated by the One who is “The Light”? And yet, he still intermingled with the shadow of poverty, despair, abandonment, sin, and death. He also intermingled with the joy of marriage feasts, rest with close friends, tender love for his mama, a hard-working and loving father, and a life of hard physical labor, himself. It is only because Christ lives that we can ever wish another person a good night. Otherwise it would just be night without end. The night is now good because it precedes the glorious dawn. I know people here in Baton Rouge have seen a lot of shadow over the past few years with the floods, racial tensions, and personal tragedies. Christ knows. He understands. He loves. He loves you. He loves you, “bebe.” I pray that I may allow Christ to rid me of my selfishness and pride so that his haunting presence would be ever more replaced by his living presence. Bienvenue en Louisiane. Merry Christmas….”bebe”!