About
By Auguste Meyrat
Although the idea of a midlife crisis feels like an outdated concept these days, there is still something to be said about it. It may look different for men today, but they are still forced to confront certain personal challenges that arise around their forties.
This is because men at this point in their lives often must assume responsibility for everything and everyone everywhere: at home, at work, and in the community. In order to successfully manage these responsibilities, men in their midlife learn to develop routines, clear moral structures, and a stoic outlook. This approach to life may seem dull and repetitive, but it also ensures the necessary stability and progress that enable lasting contentment.
Nevertheless, there comes a time when a man must step back from the routines and responsibilities and reflect on their meaning. What goals does the father/employee/citizen/Christian/neighbor still have for himself? After all, many of these goals were set when he was a young man unconsciously adopting the ways of adults around him. Maybe he has grown out of these beliefs, or maybe they no longer fit with his world. Or perhaps they still hold, but require further refinement.
Such is the subject of Peter Giersch's new book Talking of Michelangelo: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell in the Burgundy Region. Right around his 40th birthday, Giersch – a father of five, former teacher, business consultant, and active Catholic – decides to visit France to take part in a spiritual retreat. What begins as a breezy pleasant travel log eventually deepens, however, into an emotionally fraught spiritual renewal that fundamentally changes Giersch.
Unlike many spiritual memoirs, Talking of Michelangelo is not a feel-good narrative of a distraught individual finding joy in his religious beliefs. Rather, it something more unusual and provocative: it is the story of a complacent yet virtuous individual experiencing an intense disturbance in his faith.
Judging from its beginning, one would never suspect this kind of conflict from a man like Peter Giersch. From any angle, he comes off like a Catholic version of Ned Flanders, the corny Christian neighbor of Homer Simpson. He's wholesome, devout, and even sports a goofy sense of humor. The very prospect of this type of person doing a retreat in France mostly portends gentle reflections on gratitude, grace, and good food.
And much of the book fulfills this expectation. As he makes his way to France, he recalls past journeys, the people on those journeys, and offers a thoughtful analysis about a decadent French comedy that he watches on the airplane.
When he arrives in Paris, he reconnects with old friends, attends Mass at Notre Dame, and enjoys a few hand-rolled cigarettes. He takes in exquisite views of the city, visits the Louvre and Eiffel Tower, and relates a time when he once played an extra in a World War II movie.
So far, so good. Giersch is obviously an intelligent, cultured person with a wealth of interesting experiences. And he is not a stuffy intellectual snob, but a down-to-earth goofball like the rest of us – his story proceeds enjoyably.
All this changes as he leaves Paris and heads to the monastery in Flavigny, which hosts a weeklong Ignatian retreat. As if mirroring his emotional state, the weather becomes unseasonably cold and rainy. Giersch concedes that he began the retreat with no small amount of condescension, bragging about his accomplishments to the man guiding the program, Fr. Andre. The monk seems unimpressed and treats Giersch like everyone else anyway. At first, Giersch goes along with the program, thinking about the sermons and mental exercises that he is asked to do.
But when he brings up a personal matter (something to do with contraception) with Fr. Andre, he learns that he's in a state of mortal sin. This revelation triggers his conscience and a sudden doubt about God's existence. The narrative soon drifts into a stream of reflections and arguments...
Although the idea of a midlife crisis feels like an outdated concept these days, there is still something to be said about it. It may look different for men today, but they are still forced to confront certain personal challenges that arise around their forties.
This is because men at this point in their lives often must assume responsibility for everything and everyone everywhere: at home, at work, and in the community. In order to successfully manage these responsibilities, men in their midlife learn to develop routines, clear moral structures, and a stoic outlook. This approach to life may seem dull and repetitive, but it also ensures the necessary stability and progress that enable lasting contentment.
Nevertheless, there comes a time when a man must step back from the routines and responsibilities and reflect on their meaning. What goals does the father/employee/citizen/Christian/neighbor still have for himself? After all, many of these goals were set when he was a young man unconsciously adopting the ways of adults around him. Maybe he has grown out of these beliefs, or maybe they no longer fit with his world. Or perhaps they still hold, but require further refinement.
Such is the subject of Peter Giersch's new book Talking of Michelangelo: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell in the Burgundy Region. Right around his 40th birthday, Giersch – a father of five, former teacher, business consultant, and active Catholic – decides to visit France to take part in a spiritual retreat. What begins as a breezy pleasant travel log eventually deepens, however, into an emotionally fraught spiritual renewal that fundamentally changes Giersch.
Unlike many spiritual memoirs, Talking of Michelangelo is not a feel-good narrative of a distraught individual finding joy in his religious beliefs. Rather, it something more unusual and provocative: it is the story of a complacent yet virtuous individual experiencing an intense disturbance in his faith.
Judging from its beginning, one would never suspect this kind of conflict from a man like Peter Giersch. From any angle, he comes off like a Catholic version of Ned Flanders, the corny Christian neighbor of Homer Simpson. He's wholesome, devout, and even sports a goofy sense of humor. The very prospect of this type of person doing a retreat in France mostly portends gentle reflections on gratitude, grace, and good food.
And much of the book fulfills this expectation. As he makes his way to France, he recalls past journeys, the people on those journeys, and offers a thoughtful analysis about a decadent French comedy that he watches on the airplane.
When he arrives in Paris, he reconnects with old friends, attends Mass at Notre Dame, and enjoys a few hand-rolled cigarettes. He takes in exquisite views of the city, visits the Louvre and Eiffel Tower, and relates a time when he once played an extra in a World War II movie.
So far, so good. Giersch is obviously an intelligent, cultured person with a wealth of interesting experiences. And he is not a stuffy intellectual snob, but a down-to-earth goofball like the rest of us – his story proceeds enjoyably.
All this changes as he leaves Paris and heads to the monastery in Flavigny, which hosts a weeklong Ignatian retreat. As if mirroring his emotional state, the weather becomes unseasonably cold and rainy. Giersch concedes that he began the retreat with no small amount of condescension, bragging about his accomplishments to the man guiding the program, Fr. Andre. The monk seems unimpressed and treats Giersch like everyone else anyway. At first, Giersch goes along with the program, thinking about the sermons and mental exercises that he is asked to do.
But when he brings up a personal matter (something to do with contraception) with Fr. Andre, he learns that he's in a state of mortal sin. This revelation triggers his conscience and a sudden doubt about God's existence. The narrative soon drifts into a stream of reflections and arguments...