Aisle be passing by.

I would like to thank Gloriam Marketing, a Catholic PR firm, for the following chart.

A better explanation of Catholicsthenics I have not seen. It would apply, of course to any Christian church that has kneeling, and to a lesser degree to anyplace humans congregate that involves the dreaded aisles. 

Getting past seated people is no fun in movie theaters, which is why people often like to sit on the end of a row (as in Mass as well). It is better to be put upon than to be embarrassed as the put-uponer. This is complicated by people carrying enormous buckets of popcorn and a soda large enough to hydrate a derby winner, either of which may be worn by the put-uponee if things go sideways (literally). At least that's one peril one hopes to not see in church. Church can have its entertainment value, but please -- no snacking. 

Aisle passings are even worse at live theater or sporting events. The immediacy of the performance makes everything more dramatic. You don't want a view of some guy's butt as he passes by to cause you to miss Hamlet stabbing Polonius (oops, spoiler!) or a thrilling game-tying steal of home plate. You can't get those moments back. 

The worst has to be the airplane, though. Crammed into a seat not on the aisle -- perhaps at the window or, God love you, the center -- you had better be able to contain your bodily fluids for the length of the trip. Otherwise I promise the aisle seat will be occupied by a large human who does not want to get up to let people in or out and will definitely make that opinion known. With almost zero headroom, you couldn't even leap over him. It makes for a travel experience packed with grumbling, recriminations, and discomfort. 

I usually think of people who enjoyed the COVID lockdowns as being kind of loony, but when I think of aisles, it makes more sense. 

Anyway, I showed the illustration above to my wife, and she thought it would be great to incorporate such workout techniques into Mass officially. She thought the choir could start with something cheery for stretching and warmups, then sing a dirge at the end for cooldowns. You'd shower after church rather than before. I think I'll mention it to the Cardinal; like me, he could stand to take off a few pounds.  

Gloria, in extremis.

“This life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness.”

My mom loved Christmas dearly, and she instilled that love in me. My dad really seemed to think anything out of the normal work routine was a waste of time and money. Dad had had no religious upbringing. Mom had had plenty, but when a death in the family plunged the survivors into chaos, with the real threat of crushing poverty, it seemed to have drained all hope in God out of her. 

So here I am on Christmas morning, praying for them both. In my darkest days, bouncing from thoughtless atheism to agnosticism or to flirting with paganism, I never stopped loving Christmas. It was like the net that God used to keep me from drifting away from Him entirely. 

Folks in the neighborhood going big on Christmas spirit.

At one point in my childhood Mom decided we should start going to church -- although not Dad, who was uninterested and worked seven days a week anyhow -- but I believe that her heart was never in it. Kids can tell. If Mom is just doing it because a friend thought it would be a good idea, or because Mom thinks it will keep the kids from growing up bad, but has no desire for the thing herself, kids know. If Mom doesn't really care, why should we? The experiment didn't last more than a few months. Then it was back to the bulk of my faith formation being episodes of Davey and Goliath (because there was little else for kids on Sunday morning in those days, young'uns).

But Mom sure did pray, and mostly because of us lousy kids. Rather than the Our Father or the Glory Be she prayed the "What did I do to deserve this, Lord?" And she wasn't saying it to be funny. 

I have found that there's a real problem with praying in extremis only, having done a lot of that myself, and it's that the heart in those times cannot bear anything but instant relief from the terrible situation that brings on the prayer. But as that relief is usually not forthcoming immediately, despair rapidly follows. Whereas those in a greater habit of devotion are usually able to muster patience and hope in darkness. My mom had a million wonderful attributes, but the ability to find hope in dire situations was not one of them. 

I'm a Catholic now, and I do try maintain some discipline of faith, but it's always going to be a little like speaking a second language to me. My main language is that of fear and pessimism -- the language of my people. But Christmas I knew of as a word of hope in a long book of terror and darkness.  

I really love this banner. I don't know if it's really old or just made
to look old, but it's beautiful. 

I wish you a very happy Christmas and a blessed new year. Keep the light shining -- darkness cannot defeat it, but it sure as hell is always going to try. 

Oopsie! Church edition.

Advent is under way, and I was glad to be in church yesterday for it. It took a little intestinal fortitude to do so, mainly because the week before I had sorta put the congregation in danger of seeing something attached to my intestines. That is to say, my fly was open and I didn't realize it until I got home. 

When I was a kid, an incident like that would have made me want to crawl under the bed and stay there until, well, my current age. A sure sign of maturity is that it isn't like that now. Not that I don't kick myself for old mistakes -- I most certainly do, usually when I awaken in the middle of the night -- but silly things like forgetting to XYZ before leaving the house? Not so much. 

It's unclear whether my exposure was even visible. I had been wearing a drapey shirt (a shent, I guess), and I was wearing black undies rather than white (which I might have been, as I do own a couple of pairs of classic tighties). That is to say, the black shorts may have been hard to notice even if they were not covered by my shirttails. 

No one said anything. I think the deacon gave me a look, but he's a retired cop so he probably gives everyone that look anyway. 

Besides, it'd be far from the most embarrassing thing I've ever seen in church. I've seen a lector who accidently started reading the Gospel (the priest or deacon has to do that); I've seen people drop the Host (big no-no); I've seen a nun and a priest trying to get the symbolic robe on a newly baptized adult and working at cross-purposes until it looked like they were taking a hostage; and of course -- an all-time classic -- I heard a lector introduce a reading from the Letter of St. Paul to the Philippines. Wherever there are people, there can be embarrassing stuff. A little flagging fly ain't much of anything. 

Really, I've seen far more embarrassing things per capita everywhere else. Schools, clubs, bars, offices, public transportation, supermarkets, press conferences -- pound for pound, these have far more embarrassing incidents than church. It's just the reverence in church that makes them stand out more.

Anyway, Advent is here, and that's nice. I feel like I'm well behind my neighbors. They all seem to have completed all their decorations by last Thursday. But I'm not going to rush myself in getting the job done. That's how you wind up hanging off the roof by a string of lights. Talk about embarrassing!

Bloody sacrifice of the cash cow.

Once you notice it, you can't stop noticing it.

All the best and brightest around us who achieve high positions in any capacity feel obliged to follow this series of steps:

1) Examine the state of the organization.

2) Determine what segment of the market is outside its current reach. 

3) Viciously attack its strongest adherents in the hope of winning over the outsiders. 

We all know the term cash cow from marketing -- that beloved quadrant of the business that just keeps pulling in money, year after year, without very much tending, a segment that yields predictable if unspectacular dividends that can be used to fund more risky, more potentially wealth-generating projects. All the company has to do is feed the cow and not murder it. 

It seems that all the grads from the business schools get a complimentary butcher knife along with their sheepskin. They loathe having to work on a dull part of a dull company that just makes money. Blech! (People who blech! at profit are people who have never had to worry where their next meal is coming from.) They would much rather be social engineering!

Step one: Kill the cow. And the fastest way to do that is to insult its greatest adherents to the point of libel and make them angry every time they see your logo. The next step is to be shocked that people got upset, and then get panicky when the sought-after new audience segment does not flood into the doors and double the revenue. Step three: Write a book about your great accomplishment a fail upward into a new job.

Gilette. Bud Light. Disney (subsets especially include Star Wars). The NFL. These are only some of the prominent businesses that have suffered at the hands of their young geniuses. 

The United States is doing it to its citizens. The very people who love this country and the principles upon which it stands and would die for it are treated with suspicion and worse by its own government, which is run by people who would not suffer a rainy weekend for it. Meanwhile, noncitizens are welcomed, no matter how illegal their entry, no questions asked, and criminals are allowed to run the streets. 

And now, the Catholic Church?

Every devout Catholic I know is worried that the Holy Father, a.k.a. Hippie Pope Frank, has called the three-year synod to make some rash changes, like ordaining women (which the church has declared is not possible), encouraging more illegal immigration (but not into Vatican City), easing up on divorce, or blessing same-sex unions, following the lead of some apostate bishops in Germany. (Germany: Birthplace of Bad Ideas Since Forever.)

The stupid logo they commissioned for it fills me with dread. Rather than being focused on Jesus, God, or the Trinity, it looks like a pagan tree god sheltering the usual multiculti mob, which schleps forward into a future of tribalism and special pleading.

I know church membership is down since World War II, but that's true for all churches. The reasons are varied, ranging from scientism/positivism to the apathy of wealth to the sickness of Communism to worldwide PTSD from the war. It's not just because the Pope doesn't like the Pill. 

Protestant churches who ran out in front to rubberstamp everything people wanted lost attendance even faster. Why? There's no point to a church that asks nothing, because a church with no firm moral center can give nothing. A church that approves everyone's bullshit can neither inspire nor educate, and certainly can't compel adherence or the personal sacrifice that leads to spiritual growth. If they're just social service stations, who the hell cares? The government already does that and tithing to them is not voluntary.

Is the Catholic church killing the cow with the so-called synod? Is it Vatican III, "Just do what you want"? Which would utterly infuriate and demoralize the faithful, who have kept the joint up all this time. And the church would be following a modern heresy. 

Heresy is not what the atheists say; that's simple unbelief. Evildoers within the church are not usually heretics; they are evil bastards who would have been better off sunk with a millstone necktie. Heresy comes from focusing on one part and blowing it up to be the whole thing. Worship of poverty like Tolstoy or worship of spiritual matters as secret magic like the Gnostics are heresies. Love of people to the exclusion of the laws of God would be the greatest heresy to ever invade the church. 

If the pope is thinking of doing something nuts -- not ex cathedra level but still -- he will not bring any of the "lost sheep" and he will lose the powerful love and devotion of those he has. He may think he's being Christlike, leaving the 99 to go after the 1, but when he gets back with the 1 and finds the 99 have fled and then the 1 kicks him in the nads and tears off, he'll feel a little stupid.

If that's possible. None of these cash-cow-killer geniuses ever seem to regret, understand, or appreciate anything. You explain that people don't like it when you attack them and their cherished beliefs, and they act like it's weird that stupid people would have feelings. They fail to grasp the most simple ideas, and we're the stupid ones?

The people in charge of things hate the very people whom they need the most. Once you see it, you see it everywhere. 

Urbi et orbi.

Suppose my church decided to enforce a twenty-percent tithe on all members. Ten percent is the usual request, based on the old temple requirements -- the word tithe means ten. But poor people would be exempt, and in fact would be given money from the church treasury. Indeed, it soon turned out that so much money was given to them that the church went into serious debt. 

Then the church decided that people could live in the building rent-free, even those who were not members, nor believers, nor even respectful. Food was provided. Some people who came in were in desperate need. Others, however, were not. It was obvious that most were addicts or insane or both. Despite the clear rules, they wouldn't go outside to smoke; they drank alcohol, did drugs, had sex; they ate and left garbage in the sanctuary. They stole the sacramental wine; they even peed in the baptismal font although there was a bathroom available. They got into fights. They ripped up carpet, broke chairs, shredded Bibles and missalettes, stole anything that was not bolted down. People were brought in to watch over them at the church's expense, but they continued these antics. Rules were never enforced; in fact, the watchers brought in were specially instructed not to interfere in any way. 

Meanwhile, the parish elementary school no longer bothered to teach the children math or science or even religion. The claim was made that learning leads to inequality, so there must be no learning. It became nothing more than a filthy, feral daycare center for children up to ten years old. But tuition doubled, then tripled.

Then the church demanded thirty, then forty percent of our income to cover all the new expenses. Still, there was never enough money for basic upkeep. The place looked terrible; parishioners feared it would burn down one night. When they went on Sunday it was a revolting experience. Maybe worst of all, the priest never even talked about God's Word anymore. All he said was what a great place the church was and what a privilege it was for us to be members. If we objected to the people ruining the building and interrupting the church's traditional duties, we were wicked and cruel. Meanwhile, there were rumors that the priest and his pals were raiding what they could from the treasury and having a wonderful time with it. 

My friends among the nonbelievers and non-adherents said I was insane to keep going to this church. And they were 100% right. And yet, when I looked around, I saw that every other parish had become exactly the same: mismanaged, broke, useless, filthy, and dangerous. 

Does this fictional example differ from the way American cities are treating their citizens?

The two things really have a lot in common. 

Let's assume cities and churches both have a duty to help the poor. Both have or ought to have a sense of purpose. But like the church in my illustration, the cities have completely given up on the idea of their proper duty toward the citizens -- safety and streets and sanitation. The citizens are just suckers, paying more and ever more to live in places that are dirtier and more dangerous by the day. 

I have written before that our beloved former pastor wanted to use the old chapel as a warming station in the winter, allowing the minuscule homeless population of the town to stay there in the winter. What happened was similar to the disaster described, as many of us expected, right up to the peeing in the baptismal font. Our pastor, probably somewhat chastened by the experience, had to close the doors to them. Groups that used the chapel for legitimate purposes were asked to check the sanctuary to make sure no bums slipped in while we were there, because for a couple of years after the failed experiment they kept thinking of it as their home -- and bathroom. Our pastor had learned a lesson. But at no time had he ever lost sight of the primary mission of the church -- to bring God's Word to the people. 

Cities aren't like that. Many adherents to the church of Leftism aren't like that, either. They get their stuff stolen, cars taken at gunpoint. Their streets are covered in garbage and feces. The schools are rattraps and kids come out dumber than they went in. Poor neighborhoods are shot up; old properties become a different type of shooting gallery. Expensive civic projects come and go, and the only thing that gets larger is the debt. And yet the Leftists continue to vote for the same kinds of imbeciles, grifters, and creeps who are making their lives miserable. Worse, if they move to some other town out of terror, they start voting for the same kinds of imbeciles, grifters, and creeps that ruined the place from which they came. They seem to cling to their faith more strongly than Catholics do to theirs, and much more than your average Methodist or Presbyterian. A Catholic who gets mugged may forgive his mugger, knowing that if the crook believed as he did, the poor soul would reform. The Leftist who gets mugged knows that the mugger believes the same things about life that he does, so there's nothing to do but accept it, or lash out at inappropriate targets. If it weren't for those rich people, no one would mug anyone! 

When a church fails in its duties, it is held up as an example. When a government does, it is considered par for the course. I do not understand why so very many people can cling so hard to something that fails them over and over again. 

Working out the kings.

I don't think that I'm really worthy to make any comments on English royalty, being an American. There were reasons beyond the crimes of George III that we wanted out of the empire, but man, did we give George the business in the Declaration of Independence. 

Still, I am glad that the royal family remains a rallying point for many Brits who love their country. Genuine patriotism is a genuine good, and is being steadily killed by the people who run countries, and to hell with that. I also don't care if the royals stole stuff from other cultures, diamonds and whatever. All top dogs tend to be very grabby, and if they were better at it than the heads of other nations, too bad. If the tables were reversed and the Great Emeralds of Yorkshire (can you imagine such a thing?) were held by the Chinese, say, hell would freeze over before Yorkshire got them back.  

But today I'm writing as an American a little annoyed by Americans' interest in the whole Royals saga and spectacle. Yeah, it's history, but when you get down to it, it's really institutionalized celebrity and worship of wealth, all tied up with a cord made of Disney/Hallmark culture and a cord made of soap operatic mishmash. Something for everyone, I guess. It's happy fun royalty, with all the dough and pomp but without the teeth. Charles III may be able to have someone bumped off if he really needs it done, but it won't be legal and it won't be public. No hanging of his enemies and leaving the bodies to rot on display at Execution Dock.

Many Americans may think they would like to be a king or queen, but these people really would not want to live under the rule of one. If they think they would, ask if they'd like a King Joe or King Donald. One or the other would make them throw up. There's only one way peasants can get rid of a tyrannical family, and it's not an outpatient procedure.

Well, the job's done, Charles is installed, and I didn't watch a bit of the Coronation, although I was up early enough. 

Speaking of the kingship not having any teeth: People who did watch the show tell me that Chuck 3 doesn't look too healthy, a much older 74 than his mum was at that age in 2000. I trust the gang at the Crown Jewel room in the Tower of London has Wills's hat size on file. Might need to resize some crowns soon, is all I'm saying. 

The end of Christmas!

Sure, it's Groundhog Day (again!), but that's just a silly regional fun day. Today is also a more somber day, one on which we remember one of my favorite saints, Simeon.  

First of all, we should note that in medieval England, the Christmas celebration ended on Candlemas, February 2, forty days after Christmas Day. This may seem like too much of a good thing, but we have to remember that Advent was not a time of Christmas parties and general hoopla as it is now. Rather, Advent was like a mini-Lent, and not the celebration period. So for them, Christmas was the start of the festivities, not the end. I enjoy what we call the Christmas season (Thanksgiving through New Year's), but it really has turned the celebration on its head.

So what is Candlemas, more officially known as the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord? It's what it sounds like, the commemoration of Mary and Joseph taking the baby Jesus to the temple, which was the custom of the time, to have the baby consecrated to God. (This followed the 40-day purification period after childbirth, which enabled the mother to get over having birthed a child!) Since we don't know much about the childhood of Jesus, this does make a natural bookend to the Christmas season. 

At the temple, according to Luke, two saints are met: the prophetess Anna, and my man Simeon. There is something about Simeon I love. His extraordinary patience is admirable -- I have no patience, so I admire it in others. 

Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon.

This man was righteous and devout,

awaiting the consolation of Israel,

and the Holy Spirit was upon him.

It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit

that he should not see death

before he had seen the Christ of the Lord. 

He came in the Spirit into the temple;

and when the parents brought in the child Jesus

to perform the custom of the law in regard to him,

he took him into his arms and blessed God, saying:

    “Now, Master, you may let your servant go 

        in peace, according to your word,

    for my eyes have seen your salvation,

        which you prepared in the sight of all the peoples:

    a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

        and glory for your people Israel.”

The child’s father and mother were amazed at what was said about him;

and Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother,

“Behold, this child is destined

for the fall and rise of many in Israel,

and to be a sign that will be contradicted

--and you yourself a sword will pierce--

so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

Pretty harsh words for Mary, but he only spoke the truth. The prayer to God, known as the Canticle of Simeon, is called also the nunc dimittis, from the opening words in the Latin vulgate -- "Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine" ("Now thou dost dismiss thy servant, O Lord").

So now Christmas is over. You may take down your decorations. I almost waited that long, but just because I was so busy -- the fake tree didn't retire to the cellar until January 20, I think.

Today's Feast of the Presentation is also called Candlemas because of the traditional blessing of the candles used in church at Mass. Parishioners are often invited to bring candles from home for this blessing, too. This comes from Simeon's declaration of Jesus as "a light for revelation to the Gentiles". 

So is it just a coincidence that Groundhog Day calls on Candlemas?  

Probably not. According to Dr. Wiki, the Germans had a superstition related to Candlemas, about its weather being the determinant factor of the timing of spring weather (although the Germans turned mostly Lutheran, they held on to Candlemas). This predictive belief got tied to the local badger, whose actions during Candlemas week would give them a heads-up on when they could expect to start planting. That got transferred with the Germans to Pennsylvania, and the preponderance of groundhogs rather than badgers led to the modern Groundhog Day. 

It's an interesting lesson for how we shuffle things around in the modern world. A period of fasting and preparation (Advent) becomes the period of feasting and merriment (the Christmas season) and a day of dedication and blessing becomes a day for a rodent to forecast the weather. I'm sure there's more to be made of this topic, but I'm cold and grumpy. Just walked the dog and I'm freezing. That little jerk in Punxsutawney had better not see his shadow today. 

Catch as catch catechism.

This will probably be of no interest to you non-Catholics, so I'll be as brief as I can. The topic says something about the Church, yes, but also about yours truly and his ability to commit. 

On January 1, Ascension Presents started a new podcast/video series called Catechism in a Year. Last year they did a Bible in a Year series, which I had wanted to follow but never did. This year I am all in. 

Everyone knows what the Bible is; the catechism is more easily dismissed as the Catholic Church list of do's and don'ts. Since I was not Catholic growing up and did not have to spend my days being beaten by nuns (we just beat one another up instead), I don't have the dismissiveness toward the catechism that a lot of cradle Catholics I know do. The word catechism comes from late Latin (duh) via the Greek word katēchēsis, or oral teaching. So, the catechism of the Catholic church is a little light reading, 900+ pages of who we are, how we got this way, and what it all means. 

This series is a much deeper dive into the faith than I've ever done, and I sponsored people through the Rites of Catholic Initiation for Adults program for a few years. 

The Ascension series is hosted by Fr. Mike Schmitz, a campus priest with the University of Minnesota in Duluth and what my Catholic school wife and her schoolmates used to call a Father What a Waste. Meaning, he's way too cute to choose a life of celibacy. 

Before getting involved in Catechism in a Year, I'd followed Fr. Mike's own weekly podcast series for a while, and during the Chinese Death Lockdown we would watch his Sunday Mass online. He is a charismatic, enthusiastic priest, who was once on track marry a female person and become an actor. In fact, he was up for the part of Robin in Batman Forever, which means he would have been contracted to play Robin in Batman & Robin with George Clooney and Arnold Schwarzenegger, which means God took mercy on him and gave him the calling. (I don't know what Chris O'Donnell ever did to deserve that.)

Fr. Mike is a dedicated guy. When he says he's doing these series in one year, he means it -- one 15-20+ minute podcast a day, every single day of the year. He reads and comments on a small portion of the catechism in each episode, and a new one appears to subscribers (all free) every morning. 

I don't know how he recorded all that. I'm finding it hard to keep up. Ideas like listening to the podcast while walking the dog -- something I do daily anyhow -- were rejected, because the topic is complex and requires focus. Best that I sit at the computer, have a copy of the catechism out, and pay attention!!!! Which, as I have the attention span of a toddler, has never been easy. Worse, I rely on caffeine now, which I did not as a toddler, so I may be even more scattered as an adult.

Nevertheless, I am enjoying the education. People may think that the Church does things for cruel or arbitrary reasons, but that's never been the case. It's interesting to learn more about why we believe this and that and where we differ from other faiths and denominations. 

The commitment thing is tough. I've already missed a couple of days and had to double up to get back on track. No idea if I can make it through the whole month, let alone the whole year, but I'll keep trying. I'm much better about staying on mission than trying to regroup and restart later. Wish me luck! 

Missing thee.

It's never going to stop being strange to me, how in American churches we spend 99% of the Mass speaking like twentieth-century humans, and then the Lord's Prayer comes up and we're back in the 1600s. "Hallowed be Thy name...."

I think about this from time to time, mainly because I wonder:

1) How did "thee" and "thy" and "thine" and "thou" get shoved aside by "you" and "your" and "yours" and, uh, "you"? You was once the plural form of thee. Nowadays if we want to do a plural version of you we're forced to say youse, you lot, y'all, all y'all, and even sillier things, depending on where you are. (Contrary to popular belief, even the Amish don't use thee, thou, and thy when speaking English.)

2) Why have we stuck with the old construction on the Our Father (and some other ancient prayers like the Hail Mary), but not elsewhere in Mass? I don't know of any churches that use "thee" and "thy" except in the Lord's Prayer, and more modern ones have broken the tradition. Not Catholics! 

3) Is it dumb to keep theeing and thying when we don't speak that way normally? 

Courtesy of BibleInfo

Okay, so, first: What happened to thee? Merriam-Webster asked that musical question, "Why Did We Stop Using 'Thou'?" To quote from their piece:

Formerly we used thou as the second person singular pronoun (which simply means that we would use thou to address another single person). Thee was used in the objective or oblique case (when referring to the object of a verb or preposition), and thou was used in the nominative (when indicating the subject of a verb).

The thing is, one couldn't go saying to the king, "Hey! Thou king!" For some reason the privilege of office -- maybe to stress that one was not just talking to the king, but to everyone in his army sworn to defend him as well -- required the plural. Ah, but as Old English became nuttin' but a cheese and Middle English took over, the democratization of the language brought You to the masses: 

Initially you was used to refer to a person of high social standing (such as royalty, who would be addressed as “your majesty”) but soon came to be used as well when speaking with a social equal.

While dabbling with the Society for Creative Anachronism in college, I learned the classic insult: "I do not bite my thumb at you, m'lord, I bite my thumb at thee." Thee's fightin' words! 

Aside from insults, thou was mostly used for either servants or the socially intimate, but that faded over time as well. 

Okay, so why do we still use the form for the Lord's Prayer? Tradition! 

In the original King James Version, in Matthew 6:9, when Jesus is preaching the Sermon on the Mount, it's rendered in English this way:

After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

In Luke 11:1, the prayer is slightly different: 

And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth. Give us day by day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.

The King James translation was not the first translation of the Bible into English, but it was the premiere English-language Bible available between 1611 and 1769, so its impact had staying power. It was the Bible brought to the American Colonies. Further, when Benjamin Blayney created a revised translation for the Oxford University Press in 1769, he retained the thees and thous. In many houses, if there was any book at all, it was the KJV; if anyone heard any book read aloud anywhere, it was in church. So that's one way to nail down a particular manner of speech, even if the language is changing rapidly outside, by having the language reflected in the most crucial point of culture. 

As modern versions have arisen, using the current idioms such as you and yours, we have found that the thees and thys are so stuck in us culturally that it's hard to change. Even the US Conference of Catholic Bishops uses an updated text, and yet it's almost certain any American Catholic you know will go for the thees and thys. Heck, even people who know nothing of the Bible but have some cultural awareness of the faith will be theeing and thying when they think of the Our Father. 

So: Are we being dumb by using thy for the Our Father? If anything, is it an insult to call God by the singular pronoun, when we wouldn't have done that to Old English kings?

I'm not so sure, actually. We testify that there is "One God, the Father, the Almighty," who although the first of the Holy Trinity, is one God, not a pantheon. In that case, since His Son taught us the prayer to address His Father, it makes sense to not only use but insist on the singular pronoun for the Lord's Prayer. On the other hand, a prayer that addresses the entire Trinity would need to have the plural pronoun. The most prominent one of those is the Glory Be, or Gloria Patri, which names Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but uses no pronouns. 

I've decided not to argue with anyone either way about this. People have gotten awfully weird about pronouns lately. 

Yes, we should use the updated language used in the very authorized Bible upon which our English-speaking church relies. But tradition is more important than ever in this era, an era that wants dearly to take every possible tradition, everything from longer ago than the nineties, burn it, and take a dump on the ashes. 

In England, the country that gave us the great King James Version of the Bible, Christians are a minority for the first time in 1500-odd years. What follows when a nation turns from faith in Christ is never good. At this juncture, we'd better hold on to all the great traditions we have. 

The five tools.

A visiting priest gave an interesting homily in our church a few weeks ago. In addition to a hair-raising story of possession, he told us the five tools the Devil uses against us. I was all ears—with my history, it’s not surprising that I believed in the existence of the Devil before I believed in the existence of God.

The tools are:

Apathy: It doesn't matter, nothing matters, or at least nothing has to be done today.

Temptation: What will one [dangerous thing] hurt? YOLO! Sure, you said [promise] but aren't there extenuating circumstances? Just this once. You're worth it!

Accusation: You're a piece of garbage, just give up, nothing you do is right, might as well go all in. (Satan is known as the accuser, and loves this one.)

Deception: Just flat-out lies to make the bad look good and the good look bad. Betrayal is good, selfishness is the highest virtue, truth is what you make of it, there is no devil, and so on. The father of lies indeed. 

Discouragement: After this, you should just give up all hope.

As you can imagine, the road to perdition involves these five in countless combinations and shadings. Anyone who has read Lewis's The Screwtape Letters has had a good education in how these tools can be used to attack, twist, blind, and mangle a human soul. 

Catholics, among others, are bound to believe that humanity is faced with this enemy who seeks our destruction. We can't outsmart him, we can't overpower him. With all due respect to the late Charlie Daniels, it is exceptionally unlikely one can beat him. And yet, we have no choice but to do battle or lose without a whimper.

Fortunately, we do not go into battle alone. And that, as you know, is a much better story with a much happier ending. 

Undoer of knots.

Today is the Assumption of Mary in the Catholic Church, the day that commemorates Mary being assumed bodily into heaven, and normally a Day of Obligation in the church -- at least in places in the United States that have a lot of Catholics, like New York. However, when it falls on a Saturday or on a Monday, as this year, the obligation is abrogated. It's still recommended that we go to church, as Father pointed out yesterday.

One of Mary's less-known titles is Our Lady, Undoer of Knots. This is one that gets people's attention, maybe fishermen the most. It's an odd title, and of course there's a story to go with it. 

According to the Holy Rosary site, 

To show us the mission granted to the Virgin Mary by Her Son, artist Johann Melchior Georg Schmittdner painted Mary Undoer of Knots with great grace. Since 1700, His painting has been venerated in the Church of St. Peter in Perlack, Augsburg, Germany. It was originally inspired by a meditation of Saint Irenaeus (Bishop of Lyon and martyred in 202) based on the parallel made by Saint Paul between Adam and Christ. Saint Irenaeus, in turn, made a comparison between Eve and Mary, saying: “Eve, by her disobedience, tied the knot of disgrace for the human race; whereas Mary, by her obedience, undid it”.

The devotion to Mary is to untie the knots that hold us down, chain us to sin, threaten our families, make us confused and feel hopeless. I know a couple of women who, while not super-Catholic, are devoted to Mary as Undoer of Knots, and say they have found great peace through her.  

Sometimes you see a dedication to Mary under this title, as in this stained glass, but it's not typical. 

While Mary's concern is to undo spiritual knots (not cut or slash, but remove with care), I can imagine that fishermen, sailors, and Boy Scouts might have recourse to her, sure. I have a rosary that often seems to get knotted up in its little box, but sure enough the knot comes right out with a little tug. 

CONFESS!

Okay, it wasn't like that at all. 

I was very relieved to finally get to Confession after two and a half years, staying away from church entirely (but for one funeral Mass) since the outbreak of Chinese Death Virus. 

I got there early on Saturday, as I hoped to have some time to talk with the priest about something weighing on my mind, but by the time he arrived there was a long line behind me. So I stuck to the sin part of the situation and he ignored my hints at the larger issue. That's how it goes in the Reconciliation Room; you're not there to gossip or be psychoanalyzed or complain about your family, you're there to confess your own sins and leave cleaner and stronger, ready to start the fight again. A priest is always willing to discuss things in more depth, but not in the Confessional.

Frankly, though, I've found that even counselors don't want to listen to me. They seize on what they see as the issue and don't listen any further. Well, it's been a long time since I went to one. Maybe I should try to get my head shrunk again.  

Ten fingers drumming.

I'm always a little surprised and very depressed at people's tolerance for Christmas after the Big Day is over. The guy next door (not the one fated for federal prison; the other one) couldn't wait to rip it all down on January 2. And I mean all of it--the front of the house, the pool area, two trees in the windows, all gone by evening on January 2. It was amazingly efficient. Meanwhile, I'll be waiting through the Real Epiphany. meaning January 6, to even turn off the outdoor lights. 

Which puts me right up on the first snowstorm of the year, by the way, so who's the dumdum now? 

Jack Ziegler's classic New Yorker cover, from back when the magazine was funny.
Available in poster form! (Plugged to avoid angry Take Down notification) 

Before I owned a home I never paid much attention to when people de-decorated. It was back to work after New Year's, and the tree in the office lobby would disappear that week, and my own tree had to get out before the pine needles were thick on the floor, and it just went away like post-Christmas magic. Now I have to think about these things. 

Many Catholics are firm believers that the stuff stays up until Epiphany, but when is that? Technically it is always January 6, but in the American church it is celebrated at Mass on the first Sunday after January 1, which this year was January 2. There was kind of a traffic jam this year, since January 1 is itself the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, a day of obligation, but since it was on a Saturday the obligation was abrogated... so we didn't know what was happening. Anyway, technically Epiphany was January 2, so sticklers for the Epiphany-as-end could take their things down on the third. But, as I've written before, in the church the Christmas season actually begins on Christmas and ends at the Baptism of the Lord, which in 2022 is January 9. Then we go back to Ordinary Time. 

Historically, the Christmas season doesn't actually end until Candelmas, a.k.a. the Presentation of the Lord, on February 2. Yes, that's Groundhog Day, and if you don't take your decorations down by then your neighbors will think you're stuck in Groundhog Day. (Not this blog! No Santa Shaming here! Unless we feel like it.)

So that's the story, and that's why I'll be on the porch in the snow this weekend, taking in my decorations. We have been using a fake tree indoors for years, so God knows when I'll put that away. I'm tired just thinking about it.

New Year's devolutions.

I was inspired yesterday by this meme on the Great Lileks's comments, posted by our friend Mongo:

I find this is pretty true for me as well. In that spirit, I've decided that my best course of action is to resolve to do exactly the opposite of what I ought to do this year, in the hope that it will result in me doing what I ought to do as I break the resolutions as normal.

In that spirit, I hereby resolve:

📅To gain at least thirty pounds, if not more, by letting my diet go to hell and exercising as little as humanly possible. 

🙌To do as little work as I can while seeking lower pay all the time. 

🥳To stay away from church and avoid all forms of spiritual growth, stuffing myself instead with pop culture and stupid timewasters. 

🔔To allow my dogs to run wild and undisciplined, and do whatever they please with no training from me. 

📅To neglect family, friends, and all other personal relationships to the point where they wonder if I died.

🙌To let my finances fall into complete disarray and spend, spend, spend. 

🥳To let the house go to hell and stuff every room with garbage like I'm auditioning for a hard case episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive.

🔔To be as rude to my fellow man as I can without getting beaten up or killed.

📅To achieve nothing more intellectually challenging than sitting through an episode of a Real Housewives show. 

That should do it. Check in next December to see how it's going, if I live that long. 

George & Dragon.

Today is the feast day of St. George. You know -- dragon killing dude. That's pretty much the only thing anyone (including me) thinks of. And yet he's the patron saint of England, Catalonia, and Moscow; there are 26 towns named for St. George, including the seat of Richmond County in New York; and the cross of St. George -- red cross on white banner -- can be found all around England. The Coptic Church calls him the Prince of Martyrs, and he is even revered by Muslims. There is a statue of him on the grounds of the United Nations building in Manhattan, slaying a "dragon" made of actual pieces of US and Soviet missiles, a Russian gift in 1990. But who was he? 

Like several early saints in the church, such as Christopher, his legend had a tendency to crowd out the facts. He was the real deal, whom Pope Gelasius I canonized in 494. Here's what the Saints & Angels page says:

George was born to a Gerontios and Polychronia, a Roman officer and a Greek native of Lydda. Both were Christians from noble families of the Anici and George, Georgios in the original Greek, was raised to follow their faith.

When George was old enough, he was welcomed into Diocletian's army. by his late 20's, George became a Tribunus and served as an imperial guard for the Emperor at Nicomedia.

On February 24, 303 A.D., Diocletian, who hated Christians, announced that every Christian the army passed would be arrested and every other soldier should offer a sacrifice to the Roman gods.

George refused to abide by the order and told Diocletian, who was angry but greatly valued his friendship with George's father.

When George announced his beliefs before his peers, Diocletian was unable to keep the news to himself. In an effort to save George, Diocletian attempted to convert him to believe in the Roman gods, offered him land, money and slaves in exchange for offering a sacrifice to the Roman gods, and made several other offers that George refused.

Finally, after exhausting all other options, Diocletian ordered George's execution. In preparation for his death, George gave his money to the poor and was sent for several torture sessions. He was lacerated on a wheel of swords and required resuscitation three times, but still George did not turn from God.

On April 23, 303 A.D., George was decapitated before Nicomedia's outer wall. His body was sent to Lydda for burial, and other Christians went to honor George as a martyr.

That sounds like a brave but very typical saint of the early church, willing to go to a horrible death rather than renounce Jesus Christ. 

So... what about the dragon? 

Here's the story:

There are several stories about George fighting dragons, but in the Western version, a dragon or crocodile made its nest at a spring that provided water to Silene, believed to be modern-day Lcyrene in Libya.

The people were unable to collect water and so attempted to remove the dragon from its nest on several occasions. It would temporarily leave its nest when they offered it a sheep each day, until the sheep disappeared and the people were distraught.

This was when they decided that a maiden would be just as effective as sending a sheep. The townspeople chose the victim by drawing straws. This continued until one day the princess' straw was drawn.

The monarch begged for her to be spared but the people would not have it. She was offered to the dragon, but before she could be devoured, George appeared. He faced the dragon, protected himself with the sign of the Cross, and slayed the dragon.

After saving the town, the citizens abandoned their paganism and were all converted to Christianity.

Obviously there is at least one thing in the story that's deeply weird -- the idea that the men of Silene said to themselves, "We're clean outta sheep; what do we do? Go fight the dragon? Nah, that's crazy talk. Let's just feed him the girls." Although to be fair, that was probably one hell of a dragon (or crocodile).

No disrespect meant to St. George or the other martyrs of the church, but I kind of think that without the tale of bold St. George killing the dragon he would not have nearly the same popularity. Sober men of the church revere the saints who gave their lives for Christ, but all guys like the story of a dude willing to kill a dragon and save the princess.

Fast acting.

I don't have much to say today, Good Friday, that I didn't say yesterday in cartoon form, except to add: I'm HUNGRY!

Well, all right, I'm not hungry, yet. But as an American who has never had to go a day without food because there was no food available, I'm not used to the fast that falls on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. I'm totally spoiled that way, and I wish everyone on earth that privilege. 

The rules are, as outlined by the bishops: 

For members of the Latin Catholic Church, the norms on fasting are obligatory from age 18 until age 59. When fasting, a person is permitted to eat one full meal, as well as two smaller meals that together are not equal to a full meal. The norms concerning abstinence from meat are binding upon members of the Latin Catholic Church from age 14 onwards.

If possible, the fast on Good Friday is continued until the Easter Vigil (on Holy Saturday night) as the "paschal fast" to honor the suffering and death of the Lord Jesus and to prepare ourselves to share more fully and to celebrate more readily his Resurrection.

I didn't know this latter part about the fast continuing to the Saturday Vigil, which usually begins around eight in the evening here. Dude, that's like, four meals I'm missing, with just one meal in between! And no snacks! And no meat! Do I look like John the Baptist to you? Camel hair is not my color!

Of course, fasting has been a crucial part of Christian teaching, and that of every major religion. Self-denial is paramount in learning obedience to God, and to putting our egos in their proper and healthy place. What the Catholic church urges us to do is nothing compared to the Ramadan fast observed by Muslims, where not even a drop of water may be consumed from sunup to sundown. Because it is keyed to lunar cycles, it is celebrated (if that's the word I want) at different times of the year each year. When it falls in June or July, it must be murder. And it goes on for a month. 

Some people these days fast for bodily rather than spiritual health. Harvard Health has some good things to say about this practice, and it has shown great promise, especially in fat rats. And I say: It's about time those rats got off their tails. 

Along those lines, today, April 2, happens to be the feast day (so to speak) of St. Francis of Paola, founder of a strict order in the 15th century. 

Humility was to be the hallmark of the brothers as it had been in Francis' personal life. Abstinence from meat and other animal products became a "fourth vow" of his religious order, along with the traditional vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Francis instituted the continual, year-round observance of this diet in an effort to revive the tradition of fasting during Lent, which many Roman Catholics had ceased to practice by the 15th century. The rule of life adopted by Francis and his religious was one of extraordinary severity. He felt that heroic mortification was necessary as a means for spiritual growth.

He lived to the age of 91. Some might suggest that he felt like he lived to the age of 391 with a diet like that, but that wasn't what he was about. 

Meanwhile, back home, our parish has had some outstanding pastors, but they seem to have had different takes on food. The one we had when we moved here looked like he'd never missed a meal in his life; one after him looked like he'd never eaten a real meal. The current one is somewhere in the middle. 

Well, I am sure I can endure this hunger situation, and could even if it went until Saturday night. There is a world of difference between hunger when you don't know where your next meal is coming from and hunger when you see Snickers eggs and braised lamb shanks at the end of the tunnel. 

I feel like a guy playing at being needy, but maybe that's better than never giving the state and consequences of true need any thought at all. 

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. 

Soul Fred.

I don't know if you've heard of Jen Fulwiler -- but she's heard of you. Nah, just kidding. She's a writer and comedienne in Texas, mother of six children, a convert from atheism to the Catholic church, and host of a podcast called This Is Jen. She does have a terrific sense of humor, as I think every mom ought to have, especially if they've got a brood like hers to chase around. Early in the lockdowns she put out a schedule for her family:

She had me at Feral Time.

Although she despises the term "momedy" for mom comics, her main natural audience is mothers -- not just Catholic or Christian moms but moms who are obsessed with social media as she is. Thus, her husband, as a manly man from Texas, was unable to understand why she would bother to create a Web site that would give you a word of the year. 

The Word of the Year generator was intended to give you a random word that would be a mantra for the near future -- maybe spark something inside the user to meditate on. Like: 

Back in December I was listening to her podcast when I heard her and her husband talking about it. I figured, Okay, I'll try it, see what pops up. The word I got was Soul.

I must confess that did make me think. I felt like I'd been running on fumes throughout 2020; in fact, could not remember the last time I had felt a sense of purpose beyond "Don't let the house cave in" and "Don't let the dogs have feral hour." I hated to admit it, but Jen's Jen-erator (ha!) made me realize that I needed to think of ways to care for my soul. This is not the kind of thing most guys I know think about, but it's a real issue. We spend all our time being responsible, but if we're getting empty inside, something is going to give.

So thanks, Jen, for getting me to think about something worth thinking about. I hope I can make some progress on this for 2021. Not looking good so far, but it's only February.

And I take back all the mean things I was thinking about your self-help book, Your Blue Flame. This seemed to me to be the kind of pep-talky "Believe in yourself and your dreams" that made me lash out at poor ol' Jeff Lynne a few years ago. I feared it might be an ace away from that diabolical Prosperity Christianity. Now I suspect it may be useful, not shallow, and I congratulate you on your own success. 

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.

The just man.

As every Catholic knows, or ought to, Advent is a period of hope, not penitence like Lent. But Advent and Lent are both periods of preparation. Today we mark the third Sunday in Advent, Gaudete Sunday, Rejoice Sunday, as a reminder that our expectation is coming near, that our hope may become stronger as we wait for the child in the manger who is God among us. 

Which brings me to St. Joseph, which you may recall is my Confirmation saint and a model for the worker and the head of the Holy Family. Look at it this way -- his wife is perfect and his foster son is God, yet he's the head of the household. Must be a pretty special guy.

And that is why I am cheered beyond measure that Pope Francis has proclaimed this to be the Year of St. Joseph:

Vatican City, Dec 8, 2020 / 04:08 am MT (CNA).- Pope Francis announced a Year of St. Joseph Tuesday in honor of the 150th anniversary of the saint’s proclamation as patron of the Universal Church. 

The year begins Dec. 8, 2020, and concludes on Dec. 8, 2021, according to a decree authorized by the pope. 

The decree said that Francis had established a Year of St. Joseph so that “every member of the faithful, following his example, may strengthen their life of faith daily in the complete fulfillment of God’s will.” 

I can't think of a better saint to look to at this miserable juncture in history than St. Joseph. He was a stalwart man, a provider, a protector, a hard worker, obedient to God and God's law, a just man, faithful to the end. He is the antithesis of everything we've endured in 2020 -- the constant lies, the destruction of businesses by our political class, the violent assaults on innocents, the attacks on families and faith from our cultural elites. The pope went on to write, “Our world today needs fathers." (A recent analysis in First Things would agree with that.) "It has no use for tyrants who would domineer others as a means of compensating for their own needs. It rejects those who confuse authority with authoritarianism, service with servility, discussion with oppression, charity with a welfare mentality, power with destruction.” 

This may be the first time I've been thrilled by anything coming from the Holy Father. 

I sure wasn't thrilled by the 2020 Vatican Playskool Nativity.

Pope Francis's silence over the horrors of China's oppression of religious groups, even Catholics, has frustrated me; his attacks on our president and our country have annoyed me; his endless taunts about "opening" the church to modernism -- that send the cardinals flocking to explain that what the pope said wasn't what he meant -- has worn me out. But this time I think he knocked it out of the park. 

Have hope, and if you're of a bent to do so, ask St. Joseph to pray for us. We need his example and his prayers to try to right the mess we're in now. Let us not be afraid, but rejoice and be brave.