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New Orleans, Louisiana, United States
Admire John McPhee, Bill Bryson, David Remnick, Thomas Merton, Richard Rohr and James Martin (and most open and curious minds)

30.11.16

Restaurants

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Ten Restaurants that Changed America by Paul Freedman. We all recognize the cuisines of places like France, Mexico, and Thailand. What is America's cuisine?:

"Is there such a thing as American cuisine? In many countries the very idea provokes amusement because Amer­icans are assumed to be uninterested in any food that doesn't come from McDonald's. More knowledgeable foreign observers admire the variety of American 'ethnic' restaurants but are mystified about what, if anything, native to the United States underlies this diversity. Even in a country like Germany, with a multitude of Italian, Greek, Turkish, and Thai restau­rants, there is a strong sense of regional and national ingredients and recipes -- something missing from the modern United States.

"In the nineteenth century, the United States presented considerable regional culinary variety, from Chesapeake Bay terrapin (turtles) to New Orleans gumbo; from Low Country (South Carolina) perlou (a rice dish) to Western bison and other game. The twentieth century witnessed the ero­sion of regional distinction caused by a decline in the number of farms and the rural population; the degradation of the environment, thus endanger­ing local specialties; and the proliferation of burgers, pizza, doughnuts, and other fast-food items that are the same from one end of the country to the other. ... Antoine's [Restaurant in New Orleans] ... exemplifies the most robust of American regional food traditions -- that of Louisiana and particularly New Orleans. Apart from isolated areas of the country, however, there are few other places that have preserved their culinary legacies except in an artificial and commercialized sense, as found in Texas chili cook-offs, Maine lobster festivals, and the like.


Antoine's New Orleans
"Dividing the country into culinary regions is too weak to support a unified concept of American cuisine, however, and so dining out in the United States might better be considered in terms of an eclectic collection of options, particularly with the availability of dozens of different ethnic restaurant types. As early as 1873, the indefatigable and celebrated French writer Alexandre Dumas observed that, after Paris, San Francisco had the most restaurants and that unlike Paris, there were restaurants represent­ing the cuisine of every country, even China. Twenty years later, L. J. Vance, writing in Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, could boast of New York's culinary internationalism, where it was possible to 'breakfast in London, lunch in Berlin, dine in Paris and have supper in Vienna.' In 1892 San Francisco was again singled out for its variety. A reporter named Charles Greene, writing in The Overland Monthly, said that San Francisco provided the gastronomic equivalent of a grand tour, and he was a little more adven­turous than his New York colleague in including Chinese, Italian, Jewish,
and Mexican possibilities.

"A correspondent for a magazine called The Steward in 1909 declared that with regard to food, as with much else, 'Europe lives on tradition, America lives on variety,' a perceptive remark that shows a fundamental difference between what Americans look for in food in contrast to the approach of almost everywhere else. To take just one example: Lucknow, India, has a local specialty called shirmal -- a flat, leavened bread flavored with saffron. Derived from Persian influence, this bread is found elsewhere in northern India but is associated particularly with Lucknow, where, in fact, there is a street whose shirmal makers are renowned. On that single lane crammed with shirmal vendors, one stand is generally regarded as producing the best example (in terms of taste and texture) of something that can be found everywhere on this street, in the city, and throughout this part of Uttar Pradesh. The shirmal has only a few ingredients, but it requires skill in preparing, resting, and baking the dough. Factors affecting the quality of the shirmal include the difficult process of incorporating the ghee (clarified butter) into the dough, where to place the dough in the tandoor oven, when to splash on the saffron milk, oven temperature, timing, and so forth.


Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana  
 
"This fanatical attention to basic products is not what built the culinary world of the United States. True, there are examples of local competition for a specific dish. In New Haven, Connecticut, the rivalry between Pepe's and Sally's for thin-crusted, charred pizza is legendary, and aficionados line up on either side. Generally, however, the United States has been about choice, not craft. Even in this special pizza sector, Pepe's now has branches outside of New Haven, and New Haven-style pizza is available in New 
York and elsewhere.

"The erosion of regionalism and the standardization of food supply and preparation have tended to promote variety rather than comparison among different kinds of the same thing. Instead of discussions over who can best make tortellini in Bologna, or dosas in Chennai or rice pilaf in Isfahan, the American scene has offered mass-produced products in many flavors. The yogurt might not be very good, since it is produced in a fac­tory and consumed hundreds of miles from where it was prepared, and weeks afterward, but it is available in dozens of flavors; the orange juice in the market comes to processing plants in trucks and then is sealed in plastic-coated paperboard cartons, but it can be purchased with pulp, added calcium, without pulp, or mixed with grapefruit juice. Providing options is a way of diverting the subject away from quality."

Ten Restaurants That Changed America
Author: Paul Freedman 
Liveright Publishing Corporation
Copyright 2016 by Paul Freedman

Garrison Keillor: Maybe a Trump presidency is what God intended - The Washington Post

Garrison Keillor: Maybe a Trump presidency is what God intended - The Washington Post

A tour of New Orleans' thriving restaurant scene | Travel | The Guardian

A tour of New Orleans' thriving restaurant scene | Travel | The Guardian



Vendor at Good Bird rotisserie chicken stall in New Orleans’ St Roch food market

29.11.16

#45

Hostile Takeover

Lewis Lapham on the 2016 presidential election.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 2016
IMAGE:
 Donald Trump in Reno, Nevada, on January 10, 2016. Photo by Darron Birgenheier, Flickr.
The populace may hiss me, but when I go home
and think of my money, I applaud 
myself.
—Horace, Satires
It’s been three weeks since the election, and in the mirrored halls of the news and social media the contributors of uplifting opinion have been telling themselves that no matter what else might be said about the campaigns and the vote, it was a great day for democracy. Rough-and-tumble democracy in the raw, free-range, artisanal, and organic, the will of the people trampling out the vintage of political correctness, emerging from the ash heap of vicious cant, texting yes to the Declaration of Independence, no to an uncivil transfer of power. Cue the music, roll the camera and the flag. The people have spoken. Our democracy lives. Government of the people, by the people, and for the people is not perished from the earth.
Which might have been the case had Bernie Sanders been on the ballot. He wasn’t, and neither was democracy. What was on the ballot was plutocracy, complacently stupefied and transparently corrupt at the top of the Republican and the Democratic ticket. Two gold-plated names on the same boardroom door, both candidates representative of and privileged by a government of the rich, by the rich, and for the rich that for the last thirty years has been arranging the country’s political and socioeconomic affairs. The election campaign was the struggle for control of corporate management, Hillary Clinton seeking to fend off a hostile takeover by Donald Trump, the lady and the lout both standing foursquare and true blue for the freedom of money, steadfast and vigilant against the freedoms of movement and thought.

Clinton lost the election because she tried to pretend what she was not—a caring friend of all the people, ardent believer in the rule of law. She could talk the prerecorded talk, but she couldn’t walk the walk, her prior record, like her every move and gesture, showing her to be in it for herself, deserving of the deference owed to the Queen of England, the jack of diamonds, and the ace of spades.
Trump won the election because he didn’t try to sell the Gettysburg Address. Upfront and fascist in his scorn for the democratic idea, he declared his candidacy on June 16, 2015, a deus ex machina descending by escalator into the atrium of Trump Tower on Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue, there to say, and say it plainly, democracy is for losers. Money, ladies and gentlemen, is power, and power, my friends, is not self-sacrificing or democratic. Never was and never will be; law unto itself, and the only one that counts. Name of the game, nature of the beast.
The mogul could afford the luxury of truth because he was really, really rich, unbought and unbossed, so selfishly and fearlessly rich he was free to do and say whatever it came into his head to do and say, whatever it took to root out the cowardly incompetence in Washington, clean up the mess in the Middle East, plant well-paying jobs in the American heartland. His was the greatest brand on earth come to make America once again the greatest show on earth, revive it with the sweet smell of his signature men’s colognes, Empire and Success.
Trump didn’t need briefing papers or policy positions to refine the message. He embodied it live and in person, an unscripted and overweight canary flown from its gilded cage, telling it like it is from the inside looking out. Had he time or patience for messing around with books, he could have sourced his wisdom to Supreme Court Justice Lewis Brandeis, who in 1933 presented the case to Franklin D. Roosevelt at the outset of the New Deal:
We must make our choice. We may have democracy, or we may have wealth concentrated in the hands of a few, but we can’t have both.
In the world according to Trump, as it was in the worlds according to Alexander Hamilton and Ronald Reagan, democracy is a tip on a dead horse. An idea as far past its sell-by date as FDR’s straw hat, not up to the task of keeping America safe or running the trains on time. Too long-winded and slow, soft in the head and weak in the knees, no match for the barbarians (Mexican and African, radical Islamist and leftist academic) at the gates of Westchester County and Palm Beach.
Not the exact words in Trump’s self-glorifying mouth, but the gist of the commandment he brought down from his Mount Sinai penthouse suite in June 2015, the one that for the next eighteen months he tweeted to phone and shouted to camera in red states and blue, pandering to the popular resentment and loathing of the Washington politicians and Wall Street masters of the universe who for two generations have been playing ordinary Americans for suckers.
Trump never tired of trash-talking the system of which he was a proud and ornamental figurehead, and the fans on fairgrounds in Kentucky and Ohio screamed and stamped in agreement because what he was saying they knew to be true—not as precept from a high-minded think tank but from their own downwardly mobile experience. Up close and personal they had suffered the consequences of the plutocracy’s ongoing and bipartisan slum-clearance project—class warfare waged by the increasingly frightened rich against the increasingly debt-burdened, disenfranchised, and angry poor, the bulk of the nation’s wealth (actual and virtual, animal, mineral, vegetable, and intellectual) amassed by 10 percent of its population, more laws restraining the freedom of persons, fewer laws limiting the license of property, the systematic juggling of the public light and land and air into the private purse, a national security apparatus herding sheep into the shelters of heavy law enforcement and harmless speech, every occupant of the White House from Reagan to Obama pleased to hold himself above the law, both houses of Congress reduced to impotent paralysis, a political discourse made by a news media presenting presidential candidates as game-show contestants mounted on selfie sticks and played for jokes until brought to judgment on election night before the throne of cameras by whom and for whom they are produced.

The camera doesn’t do democracy; democracy is the holding of one’s fellow citizens in respectful regard, not because they are beautiful or rich or famous but because they are one’s fellow citizens and therefore worth the knowing what they say and do. The work is tedious and slow; too many words with too little action doesn’t sell tickets. What sells tickets is celebrity, and because the camera sees but doesn’t think, it makes no meaningful or moral distinction between a bubble bath in Las Vegas staffed by pretty girls and a bloodbath in Palmyra staffed by headless corpses. The return on investment in both scene settings is the bankable flow of emotion drawn from the bottomless wells of human wish, dream, ignorance, and fear.
It didn’t matter what Trump said or didn’t say, whether he was cute and pink or headless. The journalists on the road with the mogul’s traveling circus weren’t covering a play of ideas; like flies to death and honey, they were drawn to the sweet decaying smell of overripe celebrity, enchanted, as is their custom, by the romance of crime.
Blind to homespun shoes on common ground, the camera gazes adoringly at leather boots on horseback. So does the America moviegoing public. Always a sight for sore eyes, the boots on horseback. They ride into town with the lonesome-pine hero in the trail-weary saddle, knight errant, deadly and just, up against the odds and the system, come to remove the corrupt sheriff and redeem the God-fearing settlers, clean up the mess in the Middle West saloon, set the crooked straight, distribute moral fabric, civic virtue, and a fair share of the loot to the storekeep, the shepherd, and the schoolteacher.
Trump pitched his campaign on the storyline the moviegoing electorate likes a lot better than the one about Honest Abe Lincoln. The networks, the cable channels, and the self-adoring social media hoisted him up there in lights with robber barons Vanderbilt and Rockefeller, gunslingers Eastwood and Stallone, mafia dons Corleone and Soprano. November 8, 2016, may become a night to remember, but it wasn’t a great day for democracy. 

23.11.16

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving by Melanie Kirkpatrick. Religious controversy attended George Washington's 1789 proclamation of the very first Thanksgiving Day:

"On Friday, September 25, 1789, [the first U.S.] Congress was about to recess when Representative Elias Boudinot of New Jersey rose to introduce a resolution. He asked the House to create a joint committee with the Senate to 'wait upon the President of the United States, to request that he would recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging, with grate­ful hearts, the many signal favors of Almighty God.' Boudinot made special reference to the Constitution, which had been ratified by the requisite two-thirds of the states in 1788. A day of public thanksgiving, he believed, would allow Americans to express gratitude to God for the 'opportunity peaceably to establish a Constitution of government for their safety and happiness.' ...


George Washington's Thanksgiving Proclamation, 1789
"Boudinot's resolution sparked a vigorous debate. The opposition was led by two members from South Carolina, Aedanus Burke and Thomas Tudor Tucker. Both disagreed with Boudinot on the proper role of the executive branch: Boudinot wanted a strong central government, while the South Carolinians favored a weak one. Another source of difference was religion. Boudinot was a devout Presbyterian -- trustee of the Pres­byterian-founded College of New Jersey (now Princeton University) and later the first president of the American Bible Society. The religious affiliations of Burke and Tucker are not known, but both raised con­cerns about the implications for religion in the new constitutional order.

"Burke, who had been born in Ireland, objected to Boudinot's reso­lution on the grounds that a day of thanksgiving was too 'European.' He 'did not like this mimicking of European customs, where they made a mere mockery of thanksgivings.' His argument was somewhat ob­scure. In Europe, he explained, both parties at war frequently sang the Te Deum, a hymn of praise sung in the Catholic Mass. Burke apparently was objecting to what he viewed as the hypocrisy of both the victor and the loser singing a hymn of thanksgiving.

"Tucker raised two objections. The first had to do with the separa­tion of powers as enumerated in the new federal Constitution. Tucker argued that the federal government did not have the authority to pro­claim days of thanksgiving; that was among the powers left for individ­ual state governments. 'Why should the President direct the people to do what, perhaps, they have no mind to do?' he asked. 'If a day of thanksgiving must take place,' he said, 'let it be done by the authority of the several States.'

"Tucker's second reservation had to do with separation of church and state. Proclaiming a day of thanksgiving 'is a religious matter,' he ar­gued, 'and, as such, proscribed to us.' The Bill of Rights would not be ratified until 1791 but Congress had just approved the wording of the First Amendment, and the debate about the proper role of religion was fresh in everyone's mind. The First Amendment prohibits any law re­specting an establishment of religion.

"It fell to a New Englander to stand up in support of Thanksgiv­ing. Connecticut's Roger Sherman praised Boudinot's resolution as 'a laudable one in itself.' It also was 'warranted by a number of prec­edents' in the Bible, he said, 'for instance the solemn thanksgivings and rejoicings which took place in the time of Solomon, after the building of the temple.'

"In the end, the Thanksgiving resolution passed -- the precise vote is not recorded -- and the House appointed a committee made up of Representatives Boudinot, Sherman, and Peter Silvester of New York. The resolution moved to the Senate, which quickly approved it. Senators William Samuel Johnson of Connecticut and Ralph Izard of
South Carolina were appointed to the joint committee.

"On September 28, the senators reported that the joint commit­tee had delivered the congressional resolution to the president. Five days later, on October 3, George Washington issued his now-famous Thanksgiving proclamation. He designated Thursday, November 26, 1789, as 'a day of public thanksgiving and prayer.' Washington opened his proclamation by asserting that it is 'the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God' and 'to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor.' He asked the American people to observe a day of thanksgiving and prayer by 'acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceable to establish a form of gov­ernment for their safety and happiness.' ...

"Washington sent a copy of his proclamation to each of the thirteen governors along with a kind of cover note known as his 'Circular to the Governors of the States.' He wrote: 'I do myself the honor to enclose to your Excellency a Proclamation for a general Thanksgiving which I must request the favor of you to have published and made known in your State in the way and manner that shall be more agreeable to you.'

"Note that the president used the words 'request' and 'favor' when asking the governors to distribute his proclamation. Similarly, Con­gress's joint resolution had asked Washington to 'recommend' to the 'people of the United States' a day of thanksgiving. This was the first presidential proclamation, and Washington's language suggests that he understood that it did not carry the force of law.

"In the event, the proclamation was well heeded. According to the editors of The Papers of George Washingtoncompiled by the Universi­ty of Virginia, Thanksgiving Day was 'widely celebrated throughout the nation.' Newspapers around the country published the president's proclamation, and states announced plans for public functions in hon­or of the day. Religious services were held, and churches solicited dona­tions for the indigent. ...

"His Thanksgiving proc­lamation of 1789 set the standard for similar proclamations by future presidents, a list that includes James Madison and then every presi­dent since Abraham Lincoln.

"There is a notable absence in the list of presidents who issued Thanks­giving proclamations: Thomas Jefferson. The third president of the United States famously declined to do so. Jefferson had principled reasons for refusing to issue such a proc­lamation, which he explained in a letter to a New York City minister by the name of Samuel Miller, dated January 23, 1808. The Reverend Miller had written the president soliciting his views on whether his con­stitutional powers extended to naming a day of national Thanksgiving and prayer. Jefferson wrote in reply that he did 'not consider [himself] authorized' to issue a Thanksgiving proclamation because the Consti­tution prohibits a president from 'intermeddling with religious institutions."
Thanksgiving: The Holiday at the Heart of the American Experience
Author: Melanie Kirkpatrick
Publisher: Encounter Books
2016 Melanie Kirkpatrick
Pages 56-61

Grace


Why We Say Grace


My favorite coffee mug bears the image of the mosaic from the floor under the communion table at the Church of the Multiplication in Galilee. It’s my most treasured memento from my Holy Land visit. It depicts two fish, consistent with most of the biblical accounts of Jesus’ feeding miracle; but it only shows four loaves, not five. Why? The simple image contains a profound claim: the fifth loaf is the one being broken and shared at the table above the mosaic.
The mosaic – and my little coffee mug – remind me that it is by God’s hand that we are all continually fed. This truth is what inspires me to raise my daughters with the practice of daily mealtime grace.
Saying grace is a countercultural act in two ways. First, it shows our gratitude for what is present over against our anxiety about what is absent. Second, it pushes back against our society’s commodification of food by naming it as gift rather than as mere thing.
Giving thanks (eucharistia, in Greek!) connects our nightly family meal to the meal we share in church on Sunday. And like that petition from the Lord’s Prayer, “give us this day our daily bread,” our meal-time thanksgiving is part descriptive and part conviction: it says that the food that is here is enough; and it says we believe that God will continue to provide for our needs. We needn’t hoard food, or anything else for that matter. It offers us a continual way out of the myth of scarcity that informs so much of our consumer culture.
Giving thanks for our food classifies it as a gift we receive, rather than a mere thing we acquire. To call something a gift, is to acknowledge that is has, like all gifts, a story and a source. The source of our food is God – not a supermarket, or a lab, or a factory, or ultimately even a farmer. The story of each meal we eat is a rich and complex narrative of human and divine collaboration that results in the new creation on our plates.
salad-1710328_1280
In saying grace, we name ourselves as dependent creatures, who rely on both the grace of God and the sacrifice of other kinds of life to sustain us.
You may have noticed that so far in this post, I have avoided talking about how I actually say grace with my family. That’s because, admittedly, we’re still working out the kinks. Which is to say, we’re not especially consistent about it. The ages of our daughters (not-quite-1 and 3), plus 2 full-time work schedules adds up to a nightly dinner hour that is often chaotic, and frequently disrupted by the baby’s bedtime, a toddler meltdown about the menu, or both. Grace is sometimes just a sentence muttered by one of us before (or during!) the meal. Other times, we take time to hold hands and let the toddler lead us in a meandering “Thank you, Jesus…” litany.
I grew up saying a simple, one sentence grace that we never forgot to say, and never strayed from verbally: “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord; Amen.”
Now, go back and read that previous sentence about four times faster than you just did, and you’ll get a better approximation of what it actually sounded like at my family’s dinner table each night. I haven’t taught this particular grace to my older daughter yet, in part because I don’t want it to become something she breezes through by rote (as I did for many years) without stopping to think about it.
And indeed, when I’m visiting my family of origin, it amuses me to no end to hear my nephews race through that prayer even faster than I ever could. But it also surprises me all over again every time I slow it down to realize how much is packed in there: a petition for blessing of both the food and ourselves; the naming of God as the source of our food, and of the food as a gift; and an affirmation of the bounty of God’s economy.
Perhaps I should teach it to her. Perhaps I will, tomorrow. Probably, realistically, I won’t. But one thing I will be certain to teach her, as soon as she’s old enough to understand it, is the story behind that mosaic on my coffee mug. How it takes the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes and applies it to our own lives. How it shows that it is by God’s hand, not our own doing, that we are all continually fed. And that this happens not by magic, but by grace.

Mercy



Nov 22 2016 - 4:00pm | Griffin Oleynick
Reading Dante in the Year of Mercy

Pope Francis closes the Holy Door of St. Peter's Basilica to mark the conclusion of the jubilee Year of Mercy at the Vatican Nov. 20. (CNS photo/L'Osservatore Romano, handout)
Pope Francis’ proclamation of the Jubilee Year of Mercy in 2015-16 coincided with another important event in the world of Italian culture: the 750th anniversary of the birth of the epic poet Dante Alighieri, author of the medieval masterpiece known as the Divine Comedy. This happy coincidence was not lost on Francis, an avid reader of Dante and a former teacher of literature during his early years at a Jesuit high school in Argentina. In May 2015, seven months before the Year of Mercy, Francis delivered a formal message in praise of Dante to Cardinal Gianfranco Ravasi, the president of the Vatican’s Pontifical Council for Culture. Citing the enthusiasm for Dante of his predecessors John Paul II and Benedict XVI, Francis lauded the poet as “one of the most illustrious figures not only for Italians but for all of humanity” and urged Catholics to reread his “immortal works” during the Year of Mercy. Indeed Dante, whom Francis calls “a prophet of hope” and a “herald of the possibility of human redemption,” has much to teach Catholics today about the complex dynamics of mercy.
A major theme stressed by Pope Francis in the Year of Mercy has been the transformative power of the human journey of conversion, made possible by God’s boundless forgiveness. In “The Face of Mercy” ("Misericordiae Vultus"), the bull of indiction of the Jubilee of Mercy, Francis retrieves the medieval spiritual practice of pilgrimage, urging Christians to travel to the various Holy Doors of Mercy stationed at major cathedrals and basilicas around the world in order to experience the abundance of divine mercy for themselves. “Life itself is a pilgrimage, and the human being is a viator, a pilgrim traveling along the road,” Francis explains. And to make a pilgrimage is to undertake a journey of conversion: “by crossing the threshold of the Holy Door, we will find the strength to embrace God’s mercy and dedicate ourselves to being merciful with others as the Father has been with us” (No. 14). The Jubilee of Mercy, then, has the goal of promoting a more merciful church, more attuned to works of love than to attitudes of judgment.
Dante’s epic poem, itself staged as a pilgrimage through the three realms of the Christian afterlife set during Holy Week in 1300 (another jubilee year in the church), recounts the author’s own extraordinary journey of conversion. As the pilgrim travels from the “dark wood” of the Inferno, up through the seven-story mountain of the Purgatorio and out past the spheres and stars of the Paradiso to stand before the very face of God, Dante paints a double portrait of human redemption, blending the intensely personal with the broadly universal. The Divine Comedy envisions not only the individual salvation of its author but the global transformation of a world made new, in which readers and society as a whole are led by the poem “from a state of misery to a state of happiness” (Dante, Epistle 13, No. 15). Pope Francis stresses this duality that lies at the heart of the Comedy, arguing that we can read the poem as a “great itinerary” and a “true pilgrimage” that features two separate yet interconnected dimensions of conversion: “personal and interior” as well as “communal, ecclesial, social, and historic.” This journey, as Dante makes explicit from the very beginning of the poem, is initiated, sustained and transformed by divine mercy.
In what follows, I will trace the contours of what we might call Dante’s “itinerary of mercy,” a process that unfolds progressively through the three realms of the Divine Comedy. In the Inferno we learn that it is God’s mercy that first makes possible the pilgrim’s journey home to God; in the Purgatorio we see how God’s mercy transcends all possible boundaries, even those erected by the church, by bringing healing to even the worst sinners; finally, in the Paradiso we consider Dante’s point of arrival, wherethe poet provides us with a striking image of a renewed church, united in diversity and reconciled by mercy.

Inferno: Mercy as the Starting Point for a Journey of Conversion

“God never tires of forgiving us; we are the ones who tire of seeking His mercy.” Thus in the 2013 encyclical “The Joy of the Gospel” (No. 3) did Pope Francis reiterate his message of mercy, with which he began his papacy during his first Angelus address earlier that year. Mercy, in the view of Francis, changes everything: it creates new relationships and it allows for new paths to emerge where none previously existed. This is precisely the situation that Dante dramatizes in the first canto of the Inferno.
The poem famously begins in medias res, where the pilgrim awakes, midway through the journey of our mortal life, to find himself alone in a dark wood, in which the straight way is lost. Commentators have traditionally interpreted this dark wood allegorically: Dante is lost in a twisted forest of sin and perdition, impeded from pursuing the clear path of moral virtue by three savage beasts—a spotted leopard, a proud lion and a ravenous wolf, representing the vices of lust, pride and avarice—who repeatedly block his ability to ascend the sunlit hill lying beyond the wood. Beyond the allegorical significance of these details, Dante draws our attention to the raw emotion, the sheer terror, confusion and hopelessness that he experiences while spinning helplessly amid the trees: “It is so bitter that death is little more so!”(Inferno, 1.7; I rely on the translation of Ronald L. Martinez and Robert M. Durling). At this precise point, where the journey is nearly over before it begins, a shadowy figure suddenly emerges on the horizon, whom Dante spontaneously asks for mercy:
         When I saw him in the great wilderness,
Miserere—on me,” I cried to him,