Orangepekoe

A Blog Entry in Three Parts

I.  The island that is not baptism
II. The plight of the Boston Globe
III. Three kinds of Newspaper deaths

From “Devotions upon Emergent Occasions: together with Death’s duel” (1623)

By John Donne
2nd Edition: University of Michigan Press, 1959

XVII Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris

“Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die.”

MEDITATION

PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.

And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God’s hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.

As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness. There was a contention as far as a suit (in which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest.

If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.

Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbours.
Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.

No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.
If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.

Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another’s danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

I.  The island that is not baptism

Continuing my rant from my previous entry — I am not disgusted with the baptism because it was done by a D list actor, for his is part of the continuum that is the church and in most Christian traditions, while it is not the preferred method, baptism by  believer is valid. What offends me is that the D list actor  viewed himself as a kind of an island whose shored the pre-baptized person washed up onto by accident of reality TV. The baptism was done on an island with voyeurs watching from the sea. This is what is offensive. For baptism is a celebration within the community that Donne speaks of us all belonging. To do such a rite in the midst of reality TV is to proclaim that the baptized is merely the latest drama queen whose actions become a kind of p–rno that is  viewed for entertainment and thrills.  Reality TV creates islands that mock true community and term intimacy into entertainment. It’s disgusting. It’s a kind of death that affects us all. The only credibility that this B list actor can possibly have after his trite exercise of a sacred and ancient rite that is rooted in God’s relationship with humanity is to leave the spotlight, go to a dessert and never  be seen in the venue of reality TV. But I’m not so sure we’re going to be that lucky. At best, he will continue being a B list actor, providing annoying performances that remind us why the actors on Bravo TV are so good. At worst, he will leave reality TV and become a televangelist. Let’s not ask for whom the bell toll, it tolls for us.

II. The plight of the Boston Globe

This morning, the news radio report of the Newspaper Guild’s rejection of the paper’s owner was delivered with much sobriety by National Public Radio. It was delivered slowly and deliberately, not with rapid fire facts or arrogant analysis. It was quietly stated, and you could almost hear the pain in the voice of the broadcasters. Another good report on this event came from a newspaper which has within the past two years ceased its paper edition and publishes only online. As I put the latest copy of the Globe, thin and unread, into the recycle bin, I wonder if my daughter will ever know the joy of reading a morning newspaper. I know that the thought of an afternoon newspaper has already faded into history. I understand the Guild’s decision, for the pay that they were offered would reduced the Boston Globe to a second or third rate publication by well-meaning reporters who are over taxed and over worked and under that kind of pressure, would not win a Pulitzer Prize or uncover a historic church scandal. Like the kind of newspapers I use to work for. Let’s not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for us.

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III. Three kinds of Newspaper deaths

There are three kinds of deaths, I once heard during a chapel service in seminary. One is when you die. The other I forget, but I suspect it has to do with cowardice. The last death is when everyone who ever knew you is dead.

I was laid off in 1982 from the Philadelphia Evening and Sunday Bulletin of Philadelphia. The jingle still rings in my ears, nearly everybody reads the Bull-e-tin! I was a newspaper carrier. I was within months of  collecting a scholarship after  four years of service to the newspaper. The scholarship, as well as pension and other benefits of the workers evaporated before our eyes.

Ironically, on June 1, another paper in Philadelphia which took the name, the Evening Bulletin, also shut down and laid off its entire staff.

There are three kinds of deaths for a newspaper, when you fold, when you stop being a public watchdog out of cowardice and profit and when all of your readers are dead. Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris “Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die.”