What 'Beauty and the Beast' can teach us about Love

By Megan James

Few people were as excited as me when I found out Disney were releasing a live action Beauty and the Beast. I mean, I was hyped. Growing up, books were my biggest source of joy and comfort, so when my nan first popped that wonderful VHS of Beauty and the Beast in the video player, I knew I had found my Disney Princess idol. Belle was everything I wanted to be; she had a million books that she was always reading, she had great hair, a dreamy princess dress, and she ended up marrying a hunk of a prince (#LifeGoals). Oh, and she also gave me the strange aspiration of befriending a talking tea-cup because, let’s face it, Chip was the absolute cutest. 

However, as I have grown up, not only have I realised that talking tea-cups aren’t really a thing (sorry to break it to any Chip fans out there), but I also realised that Beauty and the Beast is so much more than your run-of-the-mill ‘prince and princess live happily ever after’ fairy tale.It is very much a lesson to all of us in how to love, even when the object of that love isn’t particularly easy to love. In short, it’s a lesson in real Christian love.

“There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast’,

 that a thing must be loved before it is lovable.”

G. K Chesterton.

In the story, the Beast is cursed to live a life as a monstrous creature until he not only learns to love, but also has that love returned to him by someone else. Yet, as G. K Chesterton points out, the truth of the film is that it is through Belle, and especially in the recent live action, through those characters such as Mrs Potts, Lumiere and the rest of the gang all loving the Beast, that he himself learns how to love others.

This is our relationship with Christ; we ourselves are able to love others because He, who is Love, loved us first.

In the same way that Belle loves the Beast, Jesus did not choose to love us because we were loveable, in fact, he loved us despite the fact we are often quite the opposite. He loved us, not because we deserved to be loved, not because he had anything to gain from us, but simply because His very nature is love.

‘God, who needs nothing, loves into existence wholly superfluous creatures in order that He may love and perfect them… God causes us to be that we may exploit and take advantage of Him. Herein is love. This is the diagram of Love Himself, the inventor of all loves.’

C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves.

In this same way, Belle did not love the Beast because he was a charming prince who wooed and flattered her. The Beast, at the start, is exactly that; a Beast. He imprisons her, separating her from her father. And yet, Belle shows him compassion. Belle reaches out and heals his wounds when he is hurt. Belle loves him, even when he gives her little reason to. This is Christ-like love, it is not self-seeking or self-serving, it is selfless.

The interesting part of the new adaptation (if you haven’t seen it yet, go and see it now so I don’t spoil it for you!) was the background as to why the servants were cursed too. Mrs Potts tells Belle that when the Beast was a young boy, his mother died, and the years following her death, she and the rest of the staff watched as the Beast’s father ‘twisted’ him into someone unloving, long before he became the Beast. It was an enlightening scene, and Mrs Potts tells Belle that they too, along with his father, are to blame for how the Beast turned out because they did nothing. They acknowledge that to sit back and do nothing, to not extend that love and that care to a person, is just as bad as to actively harm, because doing nothing in itself, is harmful.

Everyone, no matter how cold or hard they may appear, needs love. It may not appear or feel as though they deserve love, but love is not something that we should feel someone has to earn or that we have the right to withhold when it suits us. No; love is charity, and charity does not come with terms and conditions. Charity is unconditional. 

“We are all receiving Charity.

There is something in each of us that cannot be

naturally loved.”

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Jesus does not call us just to only love those people who we, you know, like; that’s far too easy, and Jesus doesn’t do easy, Jesus does nailed-to-a-cross, died-to-save-us, hard.

We all at some point have encountered someone who has not always exactly pulled on our heartstrings. It may have been that difficult colleague, that annoying kid in class, that sibling who knows how to push your buttons, or that parent who doesn’t always seem to get you or is a little tougher on you than you’d like; but all of these people, no matter what the circumstances, need to be responded to with love. There is a vicious circle in which hurt people hurt others, in which bitterness and coldness just creates more bitterness and coldness, and you may not realise it, but when you reply to their negative attitudes or actions with anger, or even with apathy, you are adding to this cycle. Only warmth will cancel out the cold, and Jesus teaches us through his sacrifice on the cross, that the only way in which we can break the cycle of darkness is through love.

 “It is not enough to love.

People must feel that they are loved.”

St John Bosco.

By showing these difficult people love, we, like Belle and the gang, are showing them how to love. It might not be an instant transformation like in the fairy-tales where one kiss changes the Beast to a prince, but when you show that person love, a transformation will eventually take place (even if sometimes it’s more inside of you than in them).

So, the next time someone challenges your patience and your ability to love, remember Beauty and the Beast. In that moment, when confronted with a Beast, you have a chance to be Belle, you have a chance to love without cause, without reason, and without gain. Why? Because, once upon a time, not too long ago, you too were that Beast, but Love Himself loved you and transformed you; so why not offer them that same kindness?

Surrender: Stories from the Cardiff Retreat

Catherine Horsnall

'I came to Cardiff very reluctantly. I’d had a terrible week, was feeling tired and overwhelmed with work and the last thing I wanted was a 5 hour round trip to Wales in the rain when I could be relaxing at home. However, it turns out that it was exactly where I needed to be. 

Having just moved to London, I’d been feeling the loneliness of having lots of new acquaintances nearby but my close friends and family scattered across the country. One of the beautiful things about Christian fellowship is the authenticity of relationship that it generates – there are very few other contexts where people so readily seek to love one another and show care for one another without any personal agenda. The friends I have made through Youth 2000 are rapidly becoming a form of family that I can just relax and be myself with and just being around them over the retreat gave me the grounding and healing I needed to go back to work feeling ready to face the week. Sometimes the greatest gift Jesus gives us in each other.'

Martha Harrold

'For me, the weekend was a breath of fresh air. So often in our lives, we get caught up with anything and everything except God. It’s so easy to become engrossed in uni deadlines, friendships, Netflix shows, and a million other things that are all good, important parts of our lives but are so fleeting. During the retreat, I was painfully aware of all the things in my life that I juggle, allowing them all a slot, trying to hold on to them all. Obviously, God is there in the mix. Prayer is there. But those are just a few of the many things I am juggling.

Spending a weekend with Jesus in the Eucharist as the focal point of everything I do is always SUCH a reality check. This weekend I felt so challenged to go deeper, to stop juggling, to simply get caught up with God who is unchanging, rather than being caught up with the things that come and go. Although there were so many beautiful things going on over the course of the retreat, for me the most poignant part of those few days was the re-realization that God is tirelessly pursuing my heart and just waits for my ‘yes.’'

Megan James 

'For me, the weekend was one of freedom. I entered the retreat with so much weight; the stress of a dissertation looming, the pain of grief, and anxiety as to what on earth God’s plan is for my future as I stand on the uncertain ground of final year and personal struggle. The idea of Surrender seemed pretty darn hard; it’s hard to trust and let go when everything around you feels so out of control. However, to my surprise I found so much unceasing joy within the four walls of the throne room as I sat and listened to some incredibly gifted friends speak about Jesus, about trust and surrender, and I found so much freedom in praise around the Blessed Sacrament. I looked around me on the last night and I saw a family. I looked around me and I felt at home.

During a time of hardship, the Lord showed me through a room full of love and fellowship just how well He provides for each of us, and He reminded me that He has given me so much to thank and praise Him for. He reminded me that faith means I have to trust Him, even when the path I’m on appears dark and seemingly unending. So, on that final night, when we entered into that electric time of Worship following the healing service, despite the troubles I brought with me, I had zero trouble holding my hands wide open to the Lord, singing whole heartedly and feeling Him move me to complete and utter peace. There is so much power in praise, and so much liberation in surrender. Thank you, and thank God, for a beaut weekend, Cardiff.'

We are the free : the Church and Community

By Kirsten Brown

The Portuguese language has this beautiful concept - ​Saudade -​ which describes the nostalgia and longing we can feel for a place/person ​that is lost. Growing up outside of my ‘home country’ I often experienced bouts of this - especially following big family parties, never quite knowing where it issued from or why. A language that was familiar but unintelligible; food which brought comfort but was foreign, even music which could evoke deep set memories. 

It was not that something was ‘missing’ ​per se​ but, rather, that I had never possessed my community to begin with. I have found that stepping into adulthood while we start to become grounded as individuals, we also start to gravitate ​back​ towards those that we identify strongly with - our families, our communities - because that sense of knowing oneself and ​belonging​ is a fundamental human need.

I think that this also true when it comes to faith: our Catholic communities reflect where we have all come from and who we have the potential to be. So it follows that part of our faith journey is to enter wholeheartedly into our immediate communities or parishes. Scary, I know! If you’re anything like me (which varies from quiet, introverted to alarming levels of extroverted energy and noise) all I can say is: dive headfirst and keep these points in mind.

“I’m only here for Jesus” can also be an excuse to not talk to anyone

​It can be so tempting to leave straight after mass on Sundays. I use to absolutely loath having to go into the parish centre for tea. But my mum’s persistence, and the older people I began to talk to, gently rubbed down my attitude over the years. People I saw week-in-week-out who could have been complete strangers suddenly became for me a symbol of faithfulness and humanity in all its different aspects. Whether it was getting to know parishioners who were widowed, families, those who suffered debilitating disease, or more personally as family friends. These were the very people who built up my understanding of Catholic teaching, of charity and genuine friendship.

When we first moved here all those years ago, the first friends my mother made were parishioners. Having left the church for a while, when I did decide to go back it was these very people who had remembered me as a child and welcomed me back. 

“​Now​ ​you​ are ​the body​ ​of Christ,​ ​and​ ​each of you is​ ​a member of it​”

[1​ Corinthians 12:27] 

Since we are all the body of Christ, our communities ​are ​the church and we belong to each other. If Mass is only about ‘me’ in isolation from ‘others’ we have completely missed the point that we are called to a holistic faith - just as God is Trinitarian, we too are called to live in community and lead each other to Christ.        

Community will be your backup memory

​You will almost certainly go through periods during which doubt is the impossible shadow on a cloudy day. Yet there he is, defiant and stubborn. It can hit us in the most subtle ways (“one day without prayer won’t count”) to full on disillusionment (“I’m literally just talking to myself”). No matter how we experience a wearying in our faith, community is our physical reminder that no matter how we feel sensually disconnected from God, we are spiritually tethered to him, and can grow in faithfulness by choosing him despite our doubts. Seeing the faithfulness of others, witnessing how God is working visibly or spiritually in their lives serves as a source of hope for our own lives. 

One of Rene Magritte’s most evocative paintings, called ​Le Mal du Pays​ (homesickness), can be looked at in this light to give us a visual metaphor. It shows a man looking out over a river, in the presence of a Lion, appearing unaware of its presence. At times we can be like the man, stuck in the weight of our doubts, the feeling of an absent Christ, and our nostalgia for ‘what was’, so much so that we cannot turn in faith to see he is elsewhere (if hidden). Our communities, like the bridge barrier, hold us at bay so eventually we turn toward Christ. 

In the end all that is left is our relationships with one another

Ultimately, community helps prepare us for our heavenly lives. 

'Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth,

for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away.'

Revelation 21:1

When did it become cool to binge? Bingeing, Fasting and Freedom

By Isaac Withers

When I was in my first year of university, I did a lot of TV watching. But I had some good reasons to. Firstly, I had a lot of free time on my hands, and everyone I knew seemed to be telling me about a good show I ‘had to watch’. And they weren’t entirely wrong, we’re still in what’s being called a ‘golden age’ for TV shows, with big Hollywood actors signing up for recurring TV roles instead of movies (think Kevin Spacey House of Cards, or Matthew McConaughey in True Detective who arguably started the trend).

                

So I got in deep. Occasionally two deep. I remember watching the first three Game of Thrones seasons in three weeks, I got really into Daredevil and Peaky Blinders, and I got through True Detective’s first season in just three days. Which was rough. And yet, that last one is still kind of a fond memory if a hazy one. Sitting in a lecture sleep deprived but proud of my accomplishment and having enjoyed the indulgence of going all out on a show.

That habit has become how this generation watches TV: when we want, and however much we want. It’s kind of the whole basis of the extremely popular Netflix streaming service. And yet, as convenient and fun as that whole set up is, bingeing is also jokingly know for its withdrawal symptoms, reaching the end and craving more episodes, or filling that void with the next series. This has become a bit of a brag too, one I made in the past, there’s a pride to conquering a whole show fast, and moving to the next. And the joke only really works because everyone knows it’s unhealthy and no one really claims otherwise. Heck, it's got a whole culture of internet memes built around it.

Anyway, about two weeks ago, a guest speaker came from the Birmingham Oratory to our Uni chaplaincy to give a talk about Lent and to my surprise, he brought up this phenomenon in modern TV consumption, and talked at length about Netflix. But he set the discussion of bingeing right up against the practise of fasting, and it was such a stark comparison.

I know that when I’ve fasted from food for faith reasons (nowhere near as often as I’ve binged watched TV), it's made me appreciate food a lot more. On fast days I can look at a salad and there’ll be fireworks going off in my brain (and salads are just leaves in a bowl…). That feeling of appreciation is so far the opposite of the binge, just firing through something I should be valuing more slowly but can’t help. I know that on a deeper level, being in control of my habits makes me just feel better about myself, in a way that the easy, shared jokes about episode withdrawals never did.

So I haven’t really binged a show since second year, but there’s still something that interests me about how it became ok- no, cool, for me to do that. I think the heart of it is the discussion of what freedom is. 

In my first year, I also really found it hard to just go to sleep at a reasonable time, mainly because there was no one telling me to. Something my parents had had control of for most of my life, I now had the decision on. And so I made the opposite decision, and it cost me. I missed a fair few of my lectures, and knowing I’d had no good reason to, I’d feel down about that, and then my day would feel a bit rubbish, and my body clock would be way out, so I couldn’t help but repeat the pattern. It was how I was choosing to express that freedom, and it sucked.

Fundamentally, I think bingeing is socially accepted now, because we really don’t like to be told what to do, to be controlled, we like personal autonomy. And there’s so many areas where this freedom can go wrong, think the hours spent on social media by all of us, the endless funny videos on YouTube and even the massive statistics on visits to porn sites everyday. It’s socially acceptable to give however much time we want to all of these things, because it's our choice to. But we might need to start a new movement to argue for the opposite: fasting, the anti-binge movement.

That’s surely what Lent is, and reaching the end of those 40 days having had freedom from something that once dictated our hours to us always feels better on a deep human level, than the satisfaction of the next episode. What’s ironic is that these areas where we lose control and abandon to the binge, can so quickly start to feel like they are removing our freedom to not return to them. One of the readings at Mass at the beginning of this Lent was this.

'No one can serve two masters. 

Either you will hate the one and love the other, 

or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. 

You cannot serve both God and money.’'

Matthew 6:24

As soon as I heard that, I knew exactly what I had to give up for Lent (it wasn’t money), but the idea of two masters immediately made me aware of what I was spending too much time on unhealthily, and I knew it was obstructing me from living my faith well.

However, in the discussion of bingeing and fasting, we can’t forget feasting. That’s like leaving out the ghost of Christmas Present, and he’s the fun one of the three. We’re not supposed to be down about fasting because as well as it being freeing, this whole Lent thing started with pancakes and the feast of Easter is on the horizon. We as Catholics seem to know what we’re doing when it comes to feasting, we just maybe need to reclaim fasting a lot more. Heck, even Jesus was criticised for not fasting enough (Matthew 11:19), but he was also very clear that fasting should not look like a drag.

'When you fast, do not look sombre as the hypocrites do, 

for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. 

Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.'

Matthew 6:16

But just imagine if not only was fasting not sombre, but one day as cool as bingeing is right now. That’s the kind of cultural shift we need. 

Anyway, for now, enjoy the fast, and stay free.

5 Ways to Carry your Cross

By Megan James

I have thought and prayed a lot about the cross recently, and one thing has struck me; sometimes what hurts us the most is not really the cross itself, but the way in which we carry it.

The other day, my housemate was filling out a job application form, and I laughed at him far too hard when he read out ‘lifting’ as a special skill. However, he explained to me that at his job in a supermarket, he had to have special training in how to lift the stock safely because lifting any weight can be dangerous and damaging if it’s not done correctly. It only takes a slightly misplaced foot, a wrong bend, or a poor grip, and our bodies can take a serious hit.

So how do we make sure we lift and carry our crosses safely? There’s no training course like the one my housemate went on, so how do we know where to start and what to do? Well, here are just a few tips I have come across.

1) Get rid of the F-Word from your vocabulary

No, we’re not talking about that F-Word (although, you should probably get rid of that too…) I’m talking about ‘fine’. I’ve got a terrible habit of shrugging everything off as just ‘fine’. When going through a tough time and asked how I’m doing, I often just reply ‘oh, I’m fine’, or I’ll say something like ‘[this is going on], but it’s totally fine’.

So often we hide from the cross behind the lie of ‘fine’, but by doing this, we belittle the suffering of the cross. When we belittle the suffering of the crucifixion, we diminish the glory of the resurrection. We need to learn to be honest with ourselves and be real when we’re going through these tough times. The cross is by no means fine, and that’s okay! We’re allowed to show weakness, we’re allowed to cry and ask for help. Just ask Jesus.

When Jesus was crucified he wept, he cried out ‘God, why have you forsaken me?’. He admitted to doubt, to fear and to pain in the agony of the garden. There is no shame in being vulnerable, rather there is quite the opposite; there is freedom in showing struggle. It is when we finally admit to not being fine that we can start to be on our way to being to being good. .

‘We can ignore even pleasure. 

But pain insists upon being attended to.’

C.S. Lewis

2) Don’t be afraid to share the burden

Part of the beauty of the cross is that is doesn’t have to be bared alone. We are a part of something so much bigger than just ourselves, we are a part of the universal church, a part of Christ's body. In short: we are not alone.

Share your struggles with those close to you and let them help you. Even Jesus himself had help carrying his cross! We see him fall down three times, showing that even he struggled with the weight of the cross. We see Simon of Cyrene step up and take some of the weight, allowing Jesus to persevere.

So, ask your friends for their prayers, turn to the Saints for their intercession, turn to Mary and let her take you by the hand to her son, and turn to the sacraments for their healing and their grace. Most importantly, turn to the One who knows about the suffering of the cross more than anyone. Turn to Christ.

‘Carry each other’s burdens, that is how to keep the law of Christ.’

Galatians 6:2

3) Celebrate the small victories and thank God

At the Youth 2000 Retreat in Rotherham, Babs gave a talk on prayer and a quote that really stuck with me was this; ‘when we are people of gratitude, we are people of joy.’ This really made me think; even amongst suffering, we shouldn’t forget to thank God.

Do not live in the darkness of the shadow of the cross, but instead, every day try and find some light and some joy, and celebrate even the smallest of victories. We always have a reason to thank God. 

Thank Him for the people in your life who support you during these times. 

Thank Him for walking with you Himself through the darkness. 

Thank Him for this time of growth and reflection. 

Thank Him for the mercy He gives us freely. 

Thank Him for this opportunity to experience His cross and come closer to Him. 

Thank Him for everything He has already done for you in your life.

And as Babs said, it is when we recall all these reasons we have to thank God, we find the joy and the strength that we need to persevere.

“The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment 

and to thank God for what He is sending us every day in His goodness.”

St. Gianna Beretta Molla

4) Look for the lesson in your cross

No cross, despite how they may feel, is ever senseless. God can bring glory from all things, and there is something we can learn (about Him or ourselves) in every hardship we face. Instead of fighting against the cross, or feeling full of anger, fear or self-pity, try and take it all to prayer. This is by no means easy, but no part of the cross is easy.
               
Instead of asking God to lift your cross from you, 

ask Him to provide you with the wisdom to find the lesson He is trying to teach you.

Ask Him for the strength to persist. 

Ask Him for the courage to take the steps He is asking you to take. 

Through the cross Christ teaches us to be more like Him. He teaches us things such as humility, sacrifice, selfless love, resilience, faithfulness, patience, and compassion. The cross is the breeding ground of virtue.

‘Not only that; let us exalt, too, in our hardships, 

understanding that hardship develops perseverance, 

and perseverance develops a tested character, 

something that gives us hope.'

Romans 5:3-4 

5) Remember the cross has already been conquered

When we are faced with the cross, it is so easy to focus on the pain of the crucifixion, but what we often forget is that there is so much hope and so much glory bound to the cross, because there is always the resurrection. We need not fear what is ahead because Jesus has already conquered the cross. All our crosses He has already bared for us, and this is so important to remember, and is so liberating!

When we remember all the miracles Jesus has already performed in our lives, the crosses we face cease to feel impossible. There is no cross too large for our Lord, and through Him, we can overcome all things. If we live everyday with the joy and the hope of the resurrection in mind, our crosses lose their weight and their power over us. Jesus has already conquered, and therefore so can we.

‘There is no evil to be faced that Christ does not face with us. 

There is no enemy that Christ has not already conquered. 

There is no cross to bear that Christ has not already borne for us, 

and does not now bear with us.'

St. John Paul II