Seasons of Grace

Is plastic surgery immoral?

Chances are, you think it’s a bad idea to have breast enhancement surgery (in the vernacular, a “boob job”). You think it’s (choose one or more): too risky, too expensive, superficial, degrading to women, likely to cause cancer or adverse side-effects in old age, likely to impair breast-feeding….

Chances are, conversely, that you would unquestioningly shell out $3,500 of your hard-earned dollars for orthodontics to straighten your pre-teen son’s teeth.

* * * * *

I was stuck in traffic one day, driving the 30 miles from my office to my home in Oakland County, when I realized that I had passed five—count ‘em, FIVE!—plastic surgery clinics along my route. In the affluent communities north of Detroit, breast enhancements and “nose jobs” are de rigueur.

What’s worse, a Reuters report just out of Korea claims that students who have passed grueling college entrance exams are being rewarded by their parents with plastic surgery. In Korea, the most popular cosmetic surgeries have the dual goals of “Westernizing” the nose (giving it an upward tilt) and making the eyes appear larger through double-lid surgery. One hospital takes it to the next level with an advertised “combo package”: If a student chooses to modify eyes and nose at the same time, the hospital offers the student’s mother a free Botox injection.

If silicone injections to achieve cosmetic results seem to you somewhat shallow, just what is the imaginary “body modification” line you will not cross in order to achieve a certain standard of beauty? You will have your own “tipping point” along the CUSP (Continuum of Unessential Surgical Potentialities—I just made that up), stopping somewhere along a line like this:

BAD SURGERIES

• Sex change operation
• Breast enhancement from size 34B to 42EEE, to boost your career in the entertainment industry
• Botox of the lips to achieve Angelina Jolie pouty profile
• Tattoo of a dragon across your back, chest and down the right arm
• Tattoo of your child’s footprint
• Pierced nipple or navel or….
• Pierced lip
• Breast reduction surgery (for comfort, not for sex appeal)
• Liposuction for tummy reduction
• Eyelift to correct sagging eyelids after the age of 50, restoring full vision
• Rhinoplasty (shortening of the nose)
• Hair implants to counter premature baldness
• Acne treatments
• Surgical removal of a scar or birthmark
• Pierced ears
• Reconstruction of the breast after cancer surgery
• Stitches and restorative surgery following a dog bite
• Repair of a cleft palate
• Skin grafts and reconstructive surgery after a fire or chemical explosion

GOOD SURGERIES

In essence, the Church admonishes us to respect life and physical health as precious gifts entrusted to us by God. However, as the Catechism warns in 2289: “If morality requires respect for the life of the body, it does not make it an absolute value. It rejects a neo-pagan notion that tends to promote the cult of the body, to sacrifice everything for its sake, to idolize physical perfection….”

Beauty is only skin-deep, and we must strive to achieve the “inner beauty” that comes as we advance in virtue. We must appreciate that “inner beauty” in others we meet, too—thus encouraging confidence in those with plainer features, so that they can accept the body that God has given them.

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GOT FAITH? And what’s it worth to you?

On this day, people of faith remember 20^th century martyr Miguel Pro, a Jesuit priest who died by firing squad on November 23, 1927. His joy and courage in the face of execution are an example to all of us. While we will most likely never be asked to defend to the death our deepest held beliefs, we do face “little” persecutions—the scorn of nonbelieving co-workers, or the disdain and disregard of liberal media—on a daily basis. Miguel Pro shows us how to persist in faith, even when the cost of discipleship may be great.

Miguel Agustin Pro was born in Guadalupe, Zacatecas, in central Mexico, in 1891. He entered the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits) in 1911—just as the Mexican Revolution got under way—and was ordained to the priesthood in 1925.

When Father Pro returned to Mexico in 1926 to serve at Veracruz, he was forced to go “underground.” The Mexican president at that time, Elias Calles, vigorously enforced the anti-Catholic provisions of the constitution—imprisoning priests who criticized the government, and fining any who wore clerical garb outside their churches.

Authorities took advantage of an attempted assassination plot to arrest and charge Miguel Pro—ostensibly for the assassination attempt, but in reality for continuing to defend and spread the Catholic faith. Although Pro was innocent of any charges, President Calles gave orders that he should be executed by firing squad.

To the end, Father Pro embraced his faith. On November 23, 1927, as Father Pro was led from his prison cell to the courtyard where the firing squad would take his life, he stopped and blessed the soldiers. He paused for a minute, knelt on the ground and prayed quietly. Father Pro refused a blindfold, instead facing his executioners with a crucifix in one hand and a rosary in the other. He held out his arms in imitation of the crucified Christ and shouted out, “May God have mercy on you! May God bless you! Lord, Thou knowest I am innocent! With all my heart I forgive my enemies.”

His last words before the firing squad were “Viva Cristo Rey” (“Long live Christ the King!”)

Perhaps the first Christian martyr of the contemporary era, Fr. Pro was photographed before the firing squad. Photos of his execution were widely circulated in the newspapers of the day; but the government’s plan to instill fear backfired, and instead others were inspired to remain staunch in their belief.

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He is before all things,
and in him all things hold together.

Laminin is the building block of the human body, the glycoprotein which holds all together. And what does this glycoprotein look like?

Yes, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

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Christ Jesus, I acknowledge You King of the universe.
All that has been created has been made for You.
Make full use of Your rights over me.

I renew the promises I made in Baptism,
when I renounced Satan and all his pomps and works,
and I promise to live a good Christian life
and to do all in my power
to procure the triumph of the rights of God
and Your Church.

Divine Heart of Jesus,
I offer you my efforts
in order to obtain that all hearts
may acknowledge your Sacred Royalty,
and that thus the Kingdom of Your peace
may be established throughout the universe.

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I consider myself an experienced traveler. Over the past twenty years I’ve explored seven or eight countries, and all but a couple of the contiguous American states. I’ve traveled at least twice by train: once as a small child, when my grandmother took me to Toledo aboard the last steam train to provide service in Michigan; and once with my own children to Ann Arbor for a day of museums and adventure.

So who would have expected that a five-hour train ride from Dearborn to Chicago would be so full of new experiences? I mean, had I embarked on a cross-country ride on a Harley, or cruised the Yangtze, or hiked Mount Kilimanjaro, I’d have expected to be somehow changed by the experience. But meandering along through Kalamazoo, Battle Creek, Dowagiac, New Buffalo, Hammond-Whiting, and Chicago?

Knobs and Handles - Planes and trains have followed distinct evolutionary paths—so the systems which I’d come to expect on an aircraft, such as a sliding door lock for the restroom, presented new challenges on the train. The restroom faucet is an enigma in itself—there is no handle, and after a bit of fiddling I found that pressing against it from beneath released a splash of warm water.

The Secrets of Cities and Swamps - But I was surprised by more than the mere mechanics of the passenger car itself. Cities and towns reveal an older, seedier side from the vantage point of a moving train. I’ve driven Ypsilanti’s Main Street a hundred times, even enjoyed the festivals in historic Depot Town; but from the tracks one sees the city’s effluent: its discarded bikes and lawn chairs and rubber tires, forgotten tractors, dirty, unwashed rear entrances. At Kalamazoo, graffiti artists had reclaimed bridge abutments with their wild and colorful strokes. In cities all along the way, beyond the weed-strewn bed lay smokestacks and service plazas, steeples and storage units, and the stubble of industry gone sour. But here, along the tracks, nature had reclaimed the land. Beavers had erected their lodge in a swamp; and I watched as a wild turkey rose from the low grasses, oblivious to the fate of its domestic cousins, already destined for stardom at next Thursday’s Thanksgiving feast.

And Most of All, the People – If cities and countryside are to be experienced and enjoyed, and animals are to be loved, how much more then can the people we meet enrich our lives and fill our hearts?

So it was for me aboard Amtrak Wolverine #351 on Thursday morning. There were all kinds of plain and fancy folks: young ingénues with laptops and DVDs; elderly vacationers heading off to see a brother in Missouri; unemployed workers seeking a career or just a job in the next town; business commuters, heading for meetings in the Windy City.

Seated behind me, a young man entertained his companion with tales from his personal “Blair Witch Project”: “He spotted me on top of the building and called out, but I jumped and ran into the woods. He followed, and I could hear his breath, hear the branches and twigs break beneath his feet. He almost caught up with me, but then….” To my disappointment, the two young men disembarked at Kalamazoo for a “seven-minute smoke break,” as promised by the conductor, and either stayed behind or returned to sit in a different seat, so I never heard the end of the story.

Amtrak’s conductors and crew were caricatures of themselves, as though pulled from central casting for “The Polar Express.” The white shirts with epaulets and gray conductor jackets and hats were reminiscent of an earlier era, and from the portly conductor to his young female counterpart, all wore them with pride. The youngest worker we saw, a girl barely past high school with wisps of long dark hair peeking from behind her ears, was so cute it brought a smile—and when I turned to my husband, I found him also grinning, enraptured by her youthful charm and oversized hat.

My life is so busy with “doing” that this experience—ten hours of forced “being” and “thinking”—was a great gift. I was warmed by the sheer goodness of mankind, as evidenced by the people who were my companions on my journey. How much, I thought, must God love us, if I can so love these people—people I scarcely knew, but who each, by their lives and comportments, revealed the essence of humanity. It was a long, tiring, and very rewarding day!

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