Column Downloading the mysteries
By DEMETRIA MARTINEZ
I had no idea what I was doing --
and had no business doing it. Late one night I set out in search of a radio
station over the Internet. I had in mind some obscure broadcast emanating from
the foggy highlands of Peru or the smoggy depths of Mexico City. Isnt
this what cyberspace is all about? Once we sat around bonfires; now we warm
ourselves by a flickering computer screen, spreading gossip, catching up on the
news.
There was only one problem. I had only recently bought a computer.
I took a class and for the first time learned the difference between the hard
drive and software, downloading and defragmenting. It was like a beginning
driver class, and cruising the World Wide Web was not on the syllabus.
Undaunted by my ignorance, I signed on and began clicking my way
into wonderland. My mouse scampered toward a sign that said Spanish
Family. Not exactly The Heights of Machu Picchu, I thought,
but youve got to start somewhere. Maybe Id hit on a Juarez radio
station where I could listen to the news and upgrade my Spanish.
Nothing is simple anymore. Nada. Next thing I knew Jesus, Mary and
Joseph appeared before me, incarnated in simple line drawings. Arrows indicated
choices, and too many. I could click on the creed, the Our Father, the Gloria,
a Hail Mary and more.
I clicked. A voice came forth. It spoke Spanish. It proceeded to
instruct me in the finer points of the mysteries of the holy rosary.
The recitation began. The voice recited the first half of the Hail
Mary. A group chimed in on the final, Santa Maria madre de dios,
ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte,
amen.
I yanked my hands back from the keys. Should I close my eyes?
Should I pray along? Should I call AOL and tell them off? I examined my
motives. As usual, they were mixed.
I could pray the rosary, offering it up for my friends and their
various ailments, an activity I believe should be central to Catholic spiritual
practice.
Or I could bypass God altogether and recite the rosary the way one
downs a shot of tequila: for the sheer pleasure of it, for the linguistic rush
of reciting what I long ago memorized but that tastes better each time it
touches the tongue.
Nothing in the catechism prepared me for this, I thought,
appreciating how each generation must rewrite the rules when technology
encroaches anew on spirituality. Back in Grandmas time, the St.
Josephs Daily Missal let it be known that she could say the rosary while
driving; even if you dont have beads in hand, you can still deduct days
from purgatory, so long as the beads are on your person, said the
instruction.
I considered grabbing my mothers first Communion rosary,
which I keep by my bed. For all I knew, people around the Spanish-speaking
world were seeking enlightenment together at this very moment. I looked at the
clock in the corner of my computer. The hour was late.
Suddenly my motives became pure as light. I wanted out of the
sorrowful mysteries. Now. My bed was calling. If there was holiness to be had,
Id tune in tomorrow.
I pointed, clicked and closed screens repeatedly. Somehow my
e-mail screen reappeared. Time to sign off.
But the voice, which Id found weirdly monotone, did not
respond to my mouse. It went on like something out of a horror movie. The
rosary was reciting itself.
For 10 minutes I pressed buttons, fearful that the computer was on
the verge of a breakdown. I was getting anxious if not sick. I remembered to
breathe. Either we are witnessing a miracle, I announced, or
else I mucked things up badly.
Im not quite sure what you did, my friend said.
But that was no radio station. Its a program that you downloaded.
You can toss it in your computers trashcan.
Nothing in the catechism prepared me for that one either. It may
be just a program, but it was the rosary, after all. Oh technology! I
remembered the uproar with the advent of televised Masses. Did it cheapen the
meaning of Mass? Did it fulfill Sunday obligation?
The line of questioning still holds. Can mystery light up our
lives if it has to pass first through a screen -- TV or computer?
Ill leave these ponderings to the theologians. For now,
Ill play it safe and savor the greatest mystery of them all: that I can
stick a message in a bottle and toss it into the great cybersea, and somewhere,
near or far, a friend receives it and responds.
Thank heaven for e-mail.
Demetria Martinez lives in Tucson, Ariz.
National Catholic Reporter, March 30,
2001
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