Ash Valentine.

I am informed that the last time Ash Wednesday fell on St. Valentine's Day was 1945. The following July we tested the first A-bomb and the world entered the age of nuclear war. 

COINCIDENCE? 

Talk about ashes to ashes

Well, the sad fact is, we're all going to die, but we hope not all at once. Life has been compared to a stream, a river, a race, but it's just a road. We merge into the lane with a peer group, but almost immediately some are taken off the road. As we continue, our cohort does all right, but the farther down the road we get the faster we lose members of our group. Then, one day, we each are diverted off the road ourselves. We hope to go somewhere better, somewhere where all roads end in joy. But most of us are not in a rush to get there. 

It does feel weird to have the day o' love coincide with the annual reminder by the church that we are going to die. But is it so weird? For goodness' sake, there are enough stories of people dying for love. Really, though, we ought to have more stories of people living for love -- devoting themselves through all the difficulties of life to serve those we love, and of course the God who made us from dust. Well, the universal drama of death always commands the audience's attention.

Enough of this death stuff. May your heart be gladdened on this Valentine's Day, and may you not get lousy candy. If you're gonna break a Lenten pledge right out of the starting gate, at least get some quality candy out of it. Good chocolate is da bomb! 

Get ready to fight!

So it's Ash Wednesday again, and boy are my arms tired. Wait, that's the wrong joke. 

Am I ready for Lent? No. Usually I like to pick a project, like reading all the Pslams, but I haven't managed to do that. Well, maybe I'll think of something today. I do kind of have a theme. 

Last Sunday's readings included the Beatitudes, especially the part about turning the other cheek, and our pastor went bananas on it. I mean that in a good way -- inspiring. He shared stories of forgiveness of people who had suffered more than I ever will, and how freeing forgiveness was to the forgivers. 

That got me thinking. Any Christian will tell you that the Evil One, the Bad Guy, is always seeking our collective and individual ruin. Sometimes you have to be ready to literally fight when circumstances call for it. And sometimes you have to figuratively fight, which can be a lot harder. 

I grew up reading comic books, as you undoubtedly know, and at the heart of comics, fighting evil comes down to one thing: Punching someone. 

Again, don't get me wrong: Sometimes nothing less than Clobberin' Time will do. But there are reasons Jesus didn't come into this world to tell us to find God's enemies and slug them. 

Let's face it -- we can't outsmart the devil, or overpower him, or trick him, or probably even beat him at a violin playing contest. 

Maybe the Blessed Mother can punch him in the
face, as in this 13th century image, but we can't.

The only way we can beat him is to do what Jesus told us. Help others. Forgive our enemies. Correct those in error. Love God. Avoid sin. Sacrifice our own desires. Think of ourselves less. 

I know, I know. Punching is a lot easier. That's why we have a 40-day period of exercising our spirirs. We don't have a 40-day period where we do a training montage and come out throwing fists. 

The power of clean.

 Ranked from weakest to strongest, the fundamental forces of the universe are: 

• Gravity
• The Weak Nuclear Force
• Electromagnetism
• The Strong Nuclear Force
• The Power that Attaches a Hair to the Side of a Toilet

Got the spider!

Baby dog Izzy was off to the groomer yesterday morning, so I put aside my paying labors to clean the bathrooms. It's very difficult to do any chores around the ten-month-old scamp, because when chores are attempted he goes through a few stages, all of which are useless:

1) Curiosity -- What is going on?

2) Participation -- I'm going to help!

3) Frustration -- This is boring and smells bad.

4) Interference -- This is stupid! Let's go play!

It's much better to take any opportunity when he is not around to get things done. 

So I'm glad that's done, but today is Ash Wednesday, which means it's time for me to consider cleaning something much more gross than any ol' bathroom -- my miserable soul. I'm not going into hiding this year like one of the Desert Fathers, nor have I planned to give up anything like chocolate, like one of the Dessert Fathers. (rimshot) I'm up in the air at this late date about what to do for Lent, but I'll do something. 

Meanwhile, remember how glad I was yesterday that I survived February without a big fall? Guess who stepped on black ice this morning and introduced his hip to the tarmac? Yes, your old pal Fred. Izzy sort of freaked out, while Tralfaz just laid on the snow looking at me. Man's best friend. 

Funeral in the time of COVID.

The obit said it would be a Mass, but it actually wasn't. I wonder if the family or the pastor decided against an actual Mass, knowing how popular the deceased was and how they would have to turn away mourners if the ceremony was to be held in the church, in compliance with state edicts on how many people may be inside a church, as Chinese Death Virus ravages the nation.

I'm not sure I can honor myself by calling the deceased a friend. I certainly admired him, and saw him many times. I was never part of his close circle, though. And he now has the singular distinction of being the only person I knew personally to die from COVID -- at least so far. The last time I saw him, in January, he seemed healthy enough, for an older guy with preexisting conditions, but the next I heard he was in the ICU, and he died on Ash Wednesday. 

So the funeral ceremony was held outdoors, in fog, beneath heavy skies. The hearse pulled up; the casket wheeled under a small tent near the cemetery grounds. But even this was all for show; the deceased was going to be cremated at a later date; the casket would be put back in the hearse and taken away. 

The ceremony began. A laptop was set up so some mourners could see the livestream. There was a reading, a brief homily, a eulogy, and a blessing, and it was all over in half an hour. The family made an announcement that there would be a reception... later, at some unknown date, when the Chinese Death Virus was no longer ruining everything in the world. 

So congratulations to the Chinese Communist Party, for taking yet another head through its malfeasance and wickedness. And God bless the family, the wife, the kids, the grandkids, who are deprived of a beloved man, and have to give him such a diminished farewell. 

And God, please restore our nation to sanity before it's too late. Unless it already is. 

Fred's Book Club: Oh So Bad.

Greetings, book lovers, and welcome to the Humpback Writers, our Wednesday (Hump Day) book feature -- this week, the Ash Wednesday book feature. No actual humps have yet been detected, but that doesn't mean our authors are all beauty pageant contestants, let me tell you.

Since it is Ash Wednesday, I considered profiling a book of great theological wisdom, humility, penance, and historical importance, like The Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross. But I decided to go the other way.

Sinner is a sort of book of confession by Lino Rulli, host of The Catholic Guy Show on SiriusXM radio's Catholic Channel. When I say it's a book of confession, I mean like Confessions by St. Augustine, except nothing at all like that. Well, maybe a little. It's just that Lino is nothing at all like that. Maybe he's akin to St. Augustine as he tries to live a Christian life, but like all of us he doesn't quite pass the Augustine bar. In fact, he rarely passes any bars. (Rimshot.) 

From the introduction, Lino discusses his intentions:

Having me write a book about the Catholic faith is like having a really bad actor write a book about the craft of acting. (Speaking of which, why hasn't Pauly Shore written a book about acting yet?)

The only way I could wrap my head around writing this book was if I called it Sinner, because that sums me up.

And I knew I had come up with the right name when not one person disagreed with it. If I called it The Catholic Guy's Path to Sainthood or Holy Lino's Guide to God, there would have been protests in the street and the burning of my image in effigy.

But everyone seemed to agree on one thing: I'm a sinner. 

Lino's youth, as the only child of one and a half devout Catholics, was not particularly ordinary. One day while praying in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel at St. Peter's Basilica on a family trip to Rome, his father (the half-devout one) felt God was telling him to leave his career as a parole officer to become... an organ grinder. Of course, every organ grinder needs a monkey:

My dad sat me down to explain. "Lino, we can't get a monkey. First off, we can barely take care of the two cats in the house. Second, there's no room for a monkey around here. And third, we can't afford it. The insurance is too expensive. He could bite someone, they'd sue us, and we'd be stuck." 

This all sounded like common sense. And I couldn't help but wonder if there were any other father-son conversations taking place on the planet at that moment about why the family couldn't get a monkey.

"OK, Pops," I said, thinking he just needed to get this information off his chest. As I got up to go, he stopped me.

"Since we can't get a real monkey..." There was a pause. Maybe he wanted me to figure it out on my own. Maybe his conscience was getting the better of him.

"I need you to dress up like a monkey and ask for money."

He got up and left the room, but walked back in with one more thought.

"Oh, and don't bite anyone or we'll get sued."

And with that, I became a monkey boy.

Lest you think he's making it up, there is a picture in the book of Monkey Lino, Pops, and the organ.

So we are entertained by stories of his eccentric Midwestern youth, his quest for a Mrs. Lino, and his tortuous career path. But you may be wondering if Lino ever gets around to the Catholicism stuff. And he does, quite a bit. He is a big fan of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, known colloquially as Confession, and he has some advice on the topic:

Welcome to the least reverent guide to confession you'll ever read.

After you've committed to the idea of going to confession, you've got to figure out which lucky priest will hear your sins. If you find a parish that has confession by appointment only, move on to the next parish. A parish of three thousand people that offers confession on Saturday from 4:00 to 4:05 might not be where you want to pour out your soul, either. Find yourself a parish that offers confession frequently. Daily is preferable.

Advent or penance services are a great opportunity, but make sure it actually involves going to confession. Don't be fooled by those "communal penance" services that involve thinking about sins but not saying them out loud. That's not confession, that's reminiscing.  

Around the time this book came out, I was driving to Westchester for work every day. My wife got me a subscription to Sirius, which is how I discovered The Catholic Guy Show. Eventually I had to start going into the city by bus, so I dropped the service, but I still sometimes catch the podcast version of the show, especially if I know I'll be in the car more than usual. It's entertaining. Since Lino wrote Sinner, he did find a wife and moved back to his native Minneapolis (he had been doing the show from Manhattan), so he's got a whole different set of things to complain about now than he used to. 

If you're Catholic, you'll probably find the book funny. Amusing for anyone, really. 

For a Catholic guy who hosts a show called The Catholic Guy Show, Lino Rulli is not much of a booster for the religion. He spends half his time knocking dull Catholic radio hosts, overzealous Catholics, and others who might be considered part of his fan base. 

But Lino's boss and friend Cardinal Dolan has seldom had to swat him for sinful radio, so he must be doing something good -- sinner though he is.

Fred's Book Club: The Two Bishops.

Welcome back to the Humpback Writers, the book feature that always features writers, but never features humps. It's Hump Day, that's all, otherwise known as Wednesday.

And today is Ash Wednesday for Christians in most denominations, especially the Roman Catholic Church. On that topic, today's book is one of the most peculiar in my collection, a graphic novel that is, I think, an example of great writing paired with the right art, that could be told as well in no other format. It is The Grand Inquisitor, by John Zmirak, with illustration by Carla Millar.

Where to start with this one? It's a story about the first black African pope -- or is it? When we first meet the man he is in a madhouse in Rome, having arrived there following a mysterious call from a Ukrainian cardinal. But the bishop's race is only a part of the story -- it isn't all about being black, or even being a Catholic leader in a nation of Islamic extremists, as he was. It's about this man of faith and his grim experiences that led him to promotion in the church, but also into this madhouse following the death of the current pope. 

That leads us to the other main character, the other bishop. This elderly cardinal, Fr. Primo, is a behind-the-scenes church leader, a fixer, an intellectual, a man of faith decayed but of determination no less. At once the title becomes clear, for "The Grand Inquisitor" comes from the famous story in Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov, a fable about the returned Christ meeting the titular official. 

And yet this is not a story even about naive faith and cynical administration; it goes beyond that. John Zmirak, senior editor of The Stream and author of The Politically Incorrect Guide to Catholicism, opens the book with this quotation from Pope Benedict XVI when he was still Cardinal Ratzinger, an excerpt that I further excerpt here:

In the course of a dispute, a senior colleague, who was keenly aware of the plight of being a Christian in our times, expressed the opinion that one should actually be grateful to God that He allows there to be so many unbelievers in good conscience. For if their eyes were opened and they all became believers, they would not be capable, in this world of ours, of bearing the burden of faith with all its moral obligations. But as it is, since they can go another way in good conscience, they can reach salvation.... Since that conversation, I knew with complete certainty that something was wrong with the theory....

And this is really what the book is about. It's a tale of secularism and faith, of salvation with and without God, of Man storming the heavens under the banner of Good, with failure and damnation and everything else. The old man goads and taunts "Black Pope" (as he calls him) for his ambition, for the sacrifices others had to make for his confrontational actions in Sudan. He is like Satan in that regard -- Satan, whose name means Adversary or Accuser. And has has had ambitions of his own, worked out in silence through the decades.

It is not a long book, but it has a magnificent scope and sweep. The two main characters are locked in a battle to the finish, each in his way a man of the past and of the future; it is not clear how this will end. 

The story is told almost entirely in Shakespearean dialogue. The verse in which it is composed is blank, and yet mostly written in iambs, the short/long syllable rhythm, with unexpected rhymes popping in to remind you it is verse:

The Church was meant to service man!

                         It fails,

and works instead to foster an elite

of spiritual aristocrats. And they

soak up the benefits that ought to pour

promiscuously on every needy prole.

You lack the intellectual control

to maintain a consistent position.

One minute you're a Catholic, the next

a Marxist dialectician. 

The art is Boschian, if that artist had focused on woodcuts instead of paint (and Bosch does get a well-deserved name check in the dialogue). Every panel is compelling, symbolic, hard to look at. 

On the whole it is a dazzling display from both writer and artist. I first read it one Easter morning, having been at the long Vigil the night before. I found it horrifying, and depressing, but ultimately reassuring of faith and hopeful. That may seem crazy, but it's one of those books you experience, much like a stage play, rather than read. If you're going to check out a fictionalized tale of two strong clerics and the papacy, then prefer this one to that other piece of fiction from Netflix. Fake pews!

I would recommend The Grand Inquisitor to modern Catholics, but maybe to each one for a different reason. One person might appreciate the art, another the writing; a third might need to look at the course of secularism; a fourth might want to ponder how engagement with the world affects faith, or vice versa. And one might just want a powerful Church story. Zmirak and Millar have achieved something worthy of note with this story, and I hope it continues to find readers. It is set "ten years in the future," but is a story for our day.

Dust to dust.

The two main questions Catholics have about Ash Wednesday tend to be "When can I get ashes?" and "How soon can I get rid of them?"

Not, oddly enough, "Is Ash Wednesday a holy day of obligation?" (It isn't.)

The questions are strange, the equivalent of "When can I come get something free and how fast can I dump it?"

In the past I've made fun of Catholics who take this attitude. And I am currently doing so and probably will in the future. But it doesn't mean I don't understand the attitude and even the decency that underlies the thinking.

There are a few ways to look at this. As Catholics we are taught that at least you ought to come to church to participate in the Day of Ashes, getting ashes in the shape of a cross, for the reminder of our mortality (ash) and that we belong to Jesus (in the shape of a cross). Both of these things are good for humility and for hope.

After getting them some Catholics can't wait to get rid of them. Maybe they're embarrassed, or maybe they don't want people to think they are showing off like the hypocrites in Matthew 6:5: "When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward." So there are good reasons behind the seemingly contradictory actions of Catholics on this day. (For the record, the church usually encourages parishioners to keep the ashes on as a reminder to those we encounter that it is now Lent. I have a tendency to pull my cap down low, though....)

We're also encouraged to stick around for Mass on Ash Wednesday, although it is not an obligation, and Wednesday's a work day and all...

It's nice that churches even give out ashes without the obligation to attend Mass. It's hard enough to get people to go to the six non-Sunday days of obligation. In the Archdiocese of New York those are New Year's (Solemnity of Mary), Ascension Thursday, Assumption of Mary, All Saints' Day, the Immaculate Conception, and Christmas.

I'm writing this on Tuesday evening, and our plan is to go to church at six a.m. tomorrow for the distribution of ashes. Then I plan to go to work and try to not think about food until dinnertime. Okay, I'll check in following the six a.m. ash splotching.

(Music of time passing....)

Here we are back home on Ash Wednesday at 6:45 a.m. We got there at 6:13. The pastor told us that when he came to open the church there'd been about 25 people waiting. And then a fistfight broke out -- nah, just kidding.

I've been to Ash Wednesday distributions several times when I worked in Midtown Manhattan, and it was like an assembly line of repentance. I'd just walk into whichever church it was and get on the first line I saw, often running out into the vestibule, and come out covered in ashes. (Some ministers really like to splorch ya, especially with the grand mural my forehead presents.) Today we actually had time for a little reading from the book of Joel:

Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God,
For he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love,
and relenting in punishment.

followed by some prayers before receiving ashes. It was good.

So we're off on this journey of Lent, and I wish you all good graces. And if you're getting ashes today, I hope you get a tasteful little cross and not a big ol' splorch. It gets on your nose.

Lent: So, how's it going?

Well, I ain't killed no one yet, so I guess it's passable. They never let a guy have any fun, though -- no arson, sucker-punching, embezzling, nothing.

Got off on a bad foot -- did not make it to church on Ash Wednesday. It's not a holy day of obligation, although many Catholics think or at least feel that it is. So do I, in a way, and missing it felt like getting off on a technicality. As it turned out, I had a commitment I had made before knowing that March 1 was Ash Day, and it ate up most of the morning. Lame, but there it was.

I want to thank Bill Donaghy for reminding me what I missed.

(More extensive version here.)

I must cut this short today, but I will say that if Lent is supposed to be a time of suffering, I'm getting that part right this week. Got to see my accountant about my taxes ("The IRS says they won't prosecute if you sign over your house") and the results of my annual physical will be in ("The lab says your blood is basically Easy Cheese"). So suffering is guaranteed to ensue.

Smash Wednesday.

Here comes that old man Lent again, ruining everybody's fun.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the start of the season of Lent in many (not all) Christian churches. (My Eastern Orthodox pals actually started the Great Lent on Monday.) I usually look forward to Lent; I could use a chance to catch a breath, try to start off on a good spiritual footing.

Last year I wrote about forgiveness during Lent; instead of giving up chocolate or alcohol, why not give up holding a grudge? And it's still a good idea, although perhaps impossible for my more, shall we say, Irish friends. I'd often heard that Irish Alzheimer's is when you forget everything but the grudge; recently I learned of a sweet Irish lady who's suffering from dementia, who still is sore at the friend who shot her in the rear end during a paintball match a generation ago.

So: Forgiveness. Perhaps I ought to take some time each day this season to think of those who -- hard to believe, I know! -- bear some grudge against me, hate me, or just don't like me. Say a prayer for each one. Say, "God, if you would, please bless this person. Please watch over this person, please keep this person in your heart, please press that smite button that Gary Larson said you have right there on your keyboard..."

Or perhaps that's not exactly what I ought to be saying.

I can't recall a time when I faced Lent with less enthusiasm. I'm not real rah-rah on myself right now -- Christianity, when exercised properly, is an excellent means of stripping away pleasant illusions about ourselves -- and I seem to be facing a number of problems for which I have no solutions. At times like that you only want someone (or Someone) to hand you an answer; everything else is just noise.

That's where I am today. God, perhaps you could give me some direction here? Or maybe just do a little smiting on my behalf...?

Ash Wednesday.

People have asked what I'm giving up for Lent, and I am a bit torn. I'd like to give up chocolate, but Valentine's Day falls on Sunday, and if I get any I am eating it. I know me better than to think otherwise.

Others say you should focus more on doing something positive rather than giving up something negative. I think you can do both at once, by which I mean focusing on forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a positive act; giving up something is a negative one. By "negative" I don't mean bad, I just mean that you remove something that was there. In this case, a debt you are owed.

We know that the Bible refers to our sins using the metaphor of debt, that when we harm others we owe them for it, that those who have harmed us owe us. One translation of that section of the Lord's Prayer is "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors."

I find this very useful, not just because I desperately want my debts forgiven, but also because it gives me a helpful visual aid for those who have sinned against me.

Yes, the old Parker Brothers Game of Life Promissory Note, which paves the road to penury and lands you in the Poor Farm at the end. Let's say this represents the grievance committed against me by another. Like, perhaps, vicious gossip spread by someone who meant to get me in trouble.

I decide I will obey Jesus and forgive this person. Not trying to make excuses for her; it could have been a completely evil act, and I still am under orders to forgive her. So there's my promissory note, what she would owe me on the Day of Judgment were I to hold on to the memory like an Irish elephant. But I determine that I am going to forgive this person.

The problem with forgiveness is that I can do it, and then find myself getting mad all over again when the incident comes to mind. C. S. Lewis wrote about this, about not only forgiving once but every time the memory angers us.*

By burning the note---usually just mentally; I don't want to run through board game supplies---I realize that I have to let it go, because it was a bearer bond and I destroyed it. I can no longer cash in that note. It's gone.

In that way, I can make something into ashes, and make it into something good, all at the same time.

-----

* I forget which book that was in---I may make it a Lenten mission to find out.

Ash Wednesday.

I don't normally have much to say about Ash Wednesday, beyond wondering how a day that does not even require attendance in the Catholic church is one of the most popular for attendance. Ash Wednesday is not a holy day of obligation, but our local church has at least as many Masses today as they would for a day like All Saints or Ascension Thursday, plus an early imposition of ashes.

I had heard of C&E Christians, who only go to church on Christmas and Easter, but it was Curtis Sliwa who I heard refer to A&P Catholics -- ashes and palms. Not sure why those two days are particularly appealing---yes, you do leave church with a souvenir of sorts, but it's ashes (reminder of mortality) and blessed palm leaves (reminder to identify with those who praised and welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem and then turned on him).

Anyway: Lent begins today. I have noted before that the Church was wise to place Christmas at the beginning of winter, since the date of Jesus' birth was unknown. For those of us north of the Equator, it gave us hope and something to do as the days became minuscule. We know when the first Easter took place, as it was pegged to Passover, so its spot on the calendar was determined by God. Thanks, God!

It was -1 degree F. when I took out the dog this morning. Historically, and again for those of us in the north, Lent begins when winter is trying to talk us into hopelessness and suicide and the only ashes we see about are those in the fireplace, the last of the firewood burned up. But when we've traveled through the forty days of our Lenten journey, we find that spring has well and truly arrived.

Hold on, people!