A certain figure has been looming unexpectedly in my mind over
the last month. The adverb “unexpectedly” is the key — it could
not refer to the Holy Father, whose passing gripped the Church and
the rest of the world. Pope John Paul II, may he rest in peace.
Rather, the figure that plagues me was provoked by something
quite removed from the Pope: whining. And that figure? Veruca Salt.
There isn’t a person in my generation who hasn’t seen “Willy Wonka
and the Chocolate Factory.” Since the classic is soon to be remade
(like all classics), I’m sure another generation will be made
familiar with Miss (or Ms.? She might like that) Salt. For the
reader who does not know this young lady, I’ll make
introductions.
While I regrettably have not read the book, I have seen the
movie more times that I can count. Forgive me if I unwittingly
diverge from Roald Dahl’s text! Veruca Salt is one of the youths
who wins a tour of Willy Wonka’s candy factory. In this strange
morality tale, almost every child (and accompanying parent) who
wins the contest displays some kind of vice: one boy is obsessed
with TV; a girl incessantly chews gum. All are spoiled, and each
meets his bizarre demise. But Veruca, at least in my mind, is the
most spoiled of all. The child of wealthy, pushover parents, she
whines incessantly and throws violent tantrums. When told that she
cannot have any of Willy Wonka’s golden geese (which, of course,
lay golden eggs), she screeches:
Veruca Salt: Gooses! Geeses! I want my geese to lay
gold eggs for Easter.
Mr. Salt: It will, sweetheart.
Veruca: At least a hundred a day.
Mr.Salt: Anything you say.
Veruca: And by the way.
Mr. Salt: What?
Veruca: I want a feast.
Mr. Salt: You ate before you came to the factory.
Veruca: I want a bean feast!
Mr. Salt: Oh, one of those.
Veruca: Cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake with no nuts, so
good you could go nuts.
Mr. Salt: You can have all those things when you get home!
Veruca: No, now!!… I want today, I want tomorrow, I want to
wear ‘em like braids in my hair, and I don’t want to share ‘em. I
want a party with room fulls of laughter, ten thousand tons of ice
cream, and if I don’t get the things I am after. I’m going to
scream! I want the works, I want the whole works, presents and
prizes and sweets and surprises of all shapes and sizes, and now!
Don’t care how, I want it now!*
What in the wide world could possibly remind me of whining, and
of dear Veruca, and of those lovely lyrics? I happened to watch the
coverage of the Holy Father’s death, which included much
commentary. Some praised his charisma; others, his love of fellow
man. Then there were those who would form their brows into a tragic
crinkle, utter a sigh, and lament the fact that the Pope was out of
touch with American Catholics. So right-wing! So divisive, with
iron fist firmly grasped! This was usually followed with the
“wise-up” argument, which went something like this: “you know, most
American Catholics don’t even follow the Church’s teaching on birth
control/divorce/premarital sex. We need someone who will move us
into the 21st century.”
In light of these kinds of laments, I can easily make a broad,
extreme, and uncomfortable statement. American Catholics are the
most spoiled Catholics on the planet. A Catholic in Baghdad just
hopes that his church won’t be bombed this Sunday; Sudanese
Catholics hope that they can face another day without brutal,
unspeakable religious persecution. In many of the dioceses of the
world, a roof on the church or running water would be nice. And we,
in all of our prosperity, want more ease. We can go to church when
we like, say what we like, do what we like. We want, if it’s even
possible in this world, an easier life, a life less uncomfortable,
and one that doesn’t involve explaining “arcane” doctrines to
non-believers. The idea of prosperous people sliding into laziness
and insolence is not unheard of in history. The real outrage is
that it is happening to a people who has received teachings that
extol sacrifice, humility, fidelity, and love of the helpless and
lowly. The excuse “But Zeus does it, too” won’t work for us.
And what is so wonderful about this century that we should
gleefully embrace it, as so many golden geese? School shootings? Or
perhaps large doses of anti-depressants? Exploitation of cheap
labor overseas? Pornography? Forgive me if I’m not convinced yet.
If the Church had fully embraced the first century, I suppose she
would have accepted many of the same issues that face us, and then
some: infanticide, contraception, divorce; attendance at bloody
Coliseum games, participation at pagan sacrifices. Need I comment
on the status of women in that “sexually liberated” era?
Having faith does not mean making Christian morality (as it has
been passed down to us from that first century) conform to one’s
urges. I sometimes want to eat multiple pints of double fudge
brownie ice cream. Why should the Church inconvenience me by saying
that this activity is gluttonous? Doesn’t the Church realize that
sometimes young women eat pints of ice cream at a time? Geez, so
demanding. If one needs not possess sexual self-control is all its
aspects, what other moral teachings can we jettison? I only ask
because there’s a few other aspects of morality that inconvenience
me to some degree, so let me know when we decide to revolt against
them, as well.
Those who insist on granting “sexual freedom” to us shackled
laity have absolutely no scriptural or doctrinal basis for doing
so. Jesus didn’t tell the woman at the well to go forth, be nice,
and buy only fair trade coffee. He insisted that she sin no more,
which for her, meant no more “husbands.” Where do our liberators
find their sources? This culture, which, like any culture, will
pass away, in all its imperfection. Instead of loosening our
shackles, they would chain us to a burden that will only weigh us
down. Sex and the City will be forgotten in a matter of
years, and we’ll all look awfully silly wearing plunging necklines
and talking about last night’s hot date at the nursing home
breakfast table.
Indulgence is not the key; we need those “hard sayings” which
make us reflect on our lives and act accordingly. Sometimes we
fail; but we must try. Which brings me to Veruca: she was given
everything she ever wanted, and never had to sacrifice. Those
around her never challenged her to self-control or charity. When
our eager “freedom”-fighters speak, they remind me of Miss Salt and
her laundry list of demands, many of them incongruous. Who ever
heard of a bean feast? But which is more incomprehensible: lunching
on legumes, or a Christian Catholic who advocates acting in a way
that is neither Christian or Catholic?
Veruca’s song ends when she jumps upon an egg scale. This scale
determines whether a goose’s egg is good or rotten: if good, it is
wrapped up for sale. If rotten, then it’s jettisoned through a trap
door. One can easily guess what happens next with this young lady.
If only we had a similar scale.
