Cardinal Dolan criticizes Cuomo for 'stinging criticism' of church

New York Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan and New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo are seen in a 2017 and 2016 combination photo. On SiriusXM radio Jan. 29, 2019, Cardinal Dolan took issue with Cuomo on several fronts, including the governor's claim he is more in tune with Pope Francis than the bishops are when it comes to advocating for victims of sex abuse. (CNS photo/Mike Segar, Reuters and Greg Shemitz)

Cardinal Dolan criticizes Cuomo for 'stinging criticism' of church: NEW YORK (CNS) -- New York Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan in a Sirius XM broadcast Jan. 29 criticized Gov. Andrew Cuomo for his inaccurate statements.  What I find really disingenuous is the fact that Cardinal Dolan was kind to Cuomo when many Catholics are screaming to excommunicate him.  And this is how Cuomo repays him?

The Number Eight

What did the zero say to the eight? 'Nice belt.': I told this joke to Cardinal Seán recently, and he was not impressed. Personally, it is one of my favorite jokes of all time but, apparently, Cardinal Seán has heard better material. My kids and wife side with the Cardinal.



It took me a minute, too.



OK.  A couple of minutes.

Blame It On The Jesuits

Another book review: Antonia Fraser's Faith and Treason/ The Story of the Gunpowder Plot.  This is a history book.  The research was interesting.  I was reading the footnotes as if they were narratives.

It took be over a month to read this. My fault, certainly not the author.  I had holidays, sickness...life issues that took precedence over what I wanted.  Anyway, I enjoyed this book.  I knew nothing about the story except for the fact that Catholics wanted to blow up Parliament and didn't succeed.

That is basically what happened but that's not the story.  Firstly, get this straight.  It was religious fanatics that attempted to blow up Parliament and the king.  These fanatics reasoned that it was the King's Parliament that made life miserable for Catholics, so they deserved to die.

Participants	Robert Catesby, John and Christopher Wright, Robert and Thomas Wintour, Thomas Percy, Guy Fawkes, Robert Keyes, Thomas Bates, John Grant, Ambrose Rookwood, Sir Everard Digby and Francis Tresham
Location	London, England
Date	5 November 1605
Result	Failure, plotters executed

Here is the summary from Wikipedia.  Antonia Fraser puts human faces on the participants.  The first to be caught was the man guarding the gunpowder, Guy Fawkes.  He was a mercenary and soldiered for money. He was tortured until he gave a few names.  From then on the search yielded more and more results.

The convicted were hung, drawn and quartered.  They never planned an alternative or an escape route.  They were Catholics so their confessors were apprehended because they never told the authorities of their plans.  Of course not!  The seal of confession cannot be broken.  The Superior General of the Jesuits, Father Henry Garnet, s.j., was hung, drawn and quartered, also.  I could argue he died a martyr.

I recommend this book for anyone who wants to know more about the Gunpowder plot.

Cold Everything

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John Le Carre was a book club recommendation.  Only I can't find which book club.  I think it was an online club.  Why did I read this book? 

I don't know, but it was good enough to hold my interest.  There were twists near the end.  I was surprised, then surprised again, then maybe not.  That was a clever twist in the plot.  It was the characterization that puzzled me.  There wasn't one character that I liked.  They didn't seem human.  But this is a spy novel. Maybe spied can't have emotions or feel the way normal human beings do.  They were cold people. 

BTW, a spy came in from the cold when he was leaving the job.  His service with the organization was ended.  He retired.

'Birdbox' and Spiritual Warfare

'Birdbox' and Spiritual Warfare: The film Birdbox, based on a British novel of the same name, started streaming on Netflix around Christmas time. Starring Sandra Bullock and John Malkovich, it is a taut thriller that manages, perhaps to echo our culture's spiritual malaise.  Click on the link to read the rest of the review by Bishop Robert Barron.

Little John

Little John was the nickname of Nicholas Owen.  He was a genius in his work as an architect, mason, and carpenter of priest holes.  His family was staunchly Catholic.  Two of his brothers were Jesuit priests.  Another brother ran a clandestine press for Catholic literature.  Owen himself was a Jesuit lay brother and was imprisoned for the faith.  He was tortured in a London prison in 1594.  His body was hung up for three hours with his arms pinioned in iron rings.

In 1599, Little John, who was a small man, fell off his horse in such a way that the horse fell on top of him.  It broke his leg and from then on he limped.  Being small and crippled, his demeanor was humble and simple.  Since his body was twisted, many people thought he himself was twisted (crazy).

 Far from it!  The priest holes Owen constructed were so innumerable that it is believed to be some still undiscovered. It turned out, that Owen's size helped him construct the small hiding places and people's perception of his person, helped keep himself from being discovered.

His biographer, Margaret Waugh called his work, "wordless prayers."  He worked alone.  That way no one could give away the hiding place.  Besides, his hiding places were small and there was room for only one man.  He prayed as he worked and worked at night, to avoid notice.  And no two hiding places were the same.  Not only was his work secret, but it was also protection for others.  If no one knew anything, they couldn't be blamed.

And, Owen never took payment for his work.  If money was forced upon him, he gave it to his brothers.

After the Gunpowder Plot in 1605, Nicholas Owen, "Little John," was captured and tortured to death. He was canonized a martyr by Pope Paul VI in 1970.

Naked Trees

Often when walking through the woods in winter, it's hard to identify the trees since they don't have their leaves.  I think of it as looking at people with no skin and hair.  Could you identify me by just my bones?

But there are clues and I'm trying to learn them.  Twigs are the easiest.  The arrangement of the twigs on branches is one sign.  The pith (the core of the twig) and leaf scars set species apart.  Finally, the bark identifies the tree.  But you have to know the differences between a young, middle-aged or old tree.  

Moral Superiority Feels Wonderful

A storm apocalypse was predicted. The severity depended on where you live.  The snow would be followed by rain and depending on how cold the atmosphere was, the rain could be sleet.  This makes for heavy wet snow conditions.  So it was going to be a miserable day.  With all this in mind, at 7:00 AM, I was enjoying warming my hands around a steaming mug of coffee while I prayed my Office.  I wasn't dressed. I was nice and cozy in my pajamas and fleecy warm bathrobe.

Enter hubby.  "We've got to get out there, before everything freezes."

You've got to be kidding me.  Why?  No one else is.  Does only our driveway ice up?  Why do we own the only cars whose doors freeze shut, whose windows won't defrost, whose ignitions won't start, why, why, why?  No one else is up this early?  Can't we wait like normal people and shovel later?

None of these thoughts were expressed, however.  To keep peace I did what hubby wanted. I dressed warmly and proceeded outside to confront the elements.  It is an understood rule that my job is to shovel the steps and sidewalk to the driveway. Hubby snowblows the driveway.  I also clear the snow off the cars and drive them out of the driveway and into the street so the driveway can be cleared completely.  Afterward, I drive the cars back.

I hated to admit it, but once outside the cold air cleared my head, or something.  It felt good. The frozen rain on the tree branches were sparkling like diamond jewels.  It was quiet, (except for the snow blower noise and the sounds of distant sanders and trucks snowplowing).

What's the matter with people?  Why are they sleeping in?  Don't they know they have to shovel the snow before the freezing rain sets in?  They will face a mess and have the devil of a time chopping their cars out of their driveways.

I was happy that hubby made me get out and get going.  Now that we were done and looked over our work, we could relax.  Our sidewalk was clear and salted. Our driveway looked good.  The cars had no snow on them and should be ready to go with just a five minute warm up, in the morning.  

One last detail was needed.  Tomorrow was trash and recycling pickup day.  We put our bins out.  

How's that neighbors!  You are all a bunch of lazy sluggards!

Now we were free to go inside, take a hot shower, eat breakfast, and enjoy a comfortable day without the chore of shoveling hanging over us.  Moral superiority feels wonderful.

St. Winifred

I'm reading about priest holes and came across the story of St. Winifred.  She is a new one for me although she has been referred to in the medieval poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.  Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a drama entitled St. Winifred's Well.  Ellis Peter's Brother Cadfael books mention her frequently.  How come I haven't come across her before?

Winifred was a beautiful maiden and her holiness made her even more beautiful.  Legend has it that a rebuffed suitor chopped her head off.  (See the mark on her neck, in the picture.)  A spring of water sprung up where her head fell on the ground.  Winifred's uncle, Saint

Depiction of Gwenfrewy.

Beuno, managed to put the head back on her shoulders.  Winifred entered a convent and eventually became Abess.  She is the patroness of virgins and female infertility.

Pilgrimages to her well were popular.  People walked barefoot for the last mile.  Many miracles happened at her well.  One legend says that many pilgrims on their way to well fell through the ice into the stream.  They were immersed for a while until they were rescued.  Yet,  they were not cold afterward, in spite of wearing dripping wet clothes.

Charisms

Lectio                                                                                                      
1 COR 12:4-11

Brothers and sisters:
There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; 
there are different forms of service but the same Lord;
there are different workings but the same God
who produces all of them in everyone.
To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit
is given for some benefit.
To one is given through the Spirit the expression of wisdom;
to another, the expression of knowledge according to the
same Spirit;
to another, faith by the same Spirit;
to another, gifts of healing by the one Spirit;
to another, mighty deeds;
to another, prophecy;
to another, discernment of spirits;
to another, varieties of tongues;
to another, interpretation of tongues.
But one and the same Spirit produces all of these,
distributing them individually to each person as he wishes.

Studio:

Ecstatic and charismatic activity were common in early Christian experience.  But the Corinthians seemed to hold "speaking in tongues," as higher than the other gifts.  I find that true today, too.  Paul's response is that the "speaking in tongues" is not any good if it is not interpreted.  All the gifts are useless, alone.  They are to be used for the good of the community and not for oneself.  They are compared to the human body.  What good is a hand without a foot, etc.?

Meditatio:

I have been given many gifts.  Do I use them for the good of others?  I remember the transforming presence of the Holy Spirit when I was baptised in the Holy Spirit.  It is the Holy Spirit who gives these blessings to everyone to be used to unite us all in the Body of Christ.

Oratio:

Holy Spirit, help not to forget Your Presence in my life.  I wish to thank You by honoring the use of your gifts with blessings for others.  Help me.  Guide me.

Contemplatio:

Come Holy Spirit.

Archdiocese launches website to inform, educate on clergy abuse response

Archdiocese launches website to inform, educate on clergy abuse response: The Archdiocese of Boston is launching a website this week entitled Protection, Prevention, Healing.  Actually, I think it should be called Healing, Protection and Prevention.

H. D.

We have a blizzard coming and I was googling "storm" and "blizzard" poetry.  From a list of poetry themes, "prison" caught my eye.  I read: 

Prisoners                                            

H..    D.

H. D., 1886 - 1961

It is strange that I should want
this sight of your face—
we have had so much:
at any moment now I may pass,
stand near the gate,
do not speak—
only reach if you can, your face
half-fronting the passage
toward the light.

Fate—God sends this as a mark,
a last token that we are not forgot,
lost in this turmoil,
about to be crushed out,
burned or stamped out
at best with sudden death.

The spearsman who brings this
will ask for the gold clasp
you wear under your coat.
I gave all I had left.

Press close to the portal,
my gate will soon clang
and your fellow wretches
will crowd to the entrance—
be first at the gate.

Ah beloved, do not speak.
I write this in great haste—
do not speak,
you may yet be released.
I am glad enough to depart
though I have never tasted life
as in these last weeks.

It is a strange life,
patterned in fire and letters
on the prison pavement.
If I glance up
it is written on the walls,
it is cut on the floor,
it is patterned across
the slope of the roof.

I am weak—weak—
last night if the guard
had left the gate unlocked
I could not have ventured to escape,
but one thought serves me now
with strength.

As I pass down the corridor
past desperate faces at each cell,
your eyes and my eyes may meet.

You will be dark, unkempt,
but I pray for one glimpse of your face—
why do I want this?
I who have seen you at the banquet
each flower of your hyacinth-circlet
white against your hair.

Why do I want this,
when even last night
you startled me from sleep?
You stood against the dark rock,
you grasped an elder staff.

So many nights
you have distracted me from terror.
Once you lifted a spear-flower.
I remember how you stooped
to gather it—
and it flamed, the leaf and shoot
and the threads, yellow, yellow—
sheer till they burnt
to red-purple in the cup.

As I pass your cell-door
do not speak.
I was first on the list—
They may forget you tried to shield me
as the horsemen passed.

Curious, isn't it?  The author is H.D. I googled H.D. and found Hilda Doolittle.  I read about her crazy, mixed up life but I couldn't find any reference that would tie her to prison, or any person close to her, that would be in prison.  

She lived through two wars which affected her terribly.  Her husband, the poet Richard Addington, came home from the war with PTSD.  Just before the war, H.D. miscarried and she blamed the hype preceding the war. She was bisexual and had many lovers.  She was engaged to Ezra Pound, twice, and it may be he whom she imagined in Prisoners because he supported Hitler and Mussolini and was in prison as a traitor, after the war.  Who knows?  H. D. even underwent psychoanalysis with Freud.  Spiritualism became an overriding interest near the end of her life, communicating with the dead.    She died from the effects of a stroke in 1961.

I have so many questions.  H.D. had another daughter by the artist, Cecil Grey.  Her name was Frances Perdita Addington while she was still married to Addington.  I googled Frances Perdita Addington and found out that she was adopted by the Macphersons who befriended H.D. In fact, the three of them raised Perdita.  They all lived together, more or less, since they were "jet setters", so to speak. It was quite a childhood.  Everyone was a writer and all their friends were writers.  Perdita was homeschooled and learned to speak German, French, Italian, and English. She worked as a translator during WWII.  In fact, she worked as a code breaker on the Enigma.  

Once visiting the United States she had such a good time, she stayed.  Eventually, she married John Valentine Schaffner and had four children. Unlike her mother, she stayed married and led a stable life.  

Fate—God sends this as a mark,

a last token that we are not forgot,

lost in this turmoil,

about to be crushed out,

burned or stamped out

at best with sudden death.

Delicious Blessings

The temperature outside was 18 degrees and we had ten brave crazy hikers come to walk in the woods around Noon Hill, Medfield.  I was amazed at the beauty of winter.  My favorite image is the ice around branches dipping into the water.  I should say dipping into the ice.

We walked for about an hour and a half, stopping for hot tea and Mary Connor's apple bread:




1/2 cup melted butter                                                     1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup of sugar                                                                1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 eggs                                                                             1 teaspoon baking powder 
2 cups of flour                                                                2 tablespoons buttermilk
1/4 teaspoon salt                                                             1 cup chopped unpeeled apples
1 teaspoon vanilla

Melt the butter in a large bowl and add the sugar gradually. Add beaten eggs and mix.

In a smaller bowl mix the flour, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.

Add half of the flour mixture to the big bowl. Mix.  Add one tablespoon of buttermilk.  Mix. Add the rest of the flour mixture.  Mix.  Add the other tablespoon of buttermilk.  Add vanilla.  Mix.  Add the chopped apple.  Mix. 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter a bread pan.  Pour the mixture into the pan.  When the oven is the right temperature, put the bread pan into the oven and bake for 55 minutes.

Parchment paper lines the bread pan.

You have no idea how delicious hot tea and apple bread can be on a freezing winter hike.  Thank God for such blessings.

Mary talking to Nick

Pro-lifers: N.Y. abortion bill could one day make being pro-life 'a crime'

Gag.      This bill actually calls abortion a human right.  Really?  What right does the baby have?   Click to read.  The Reproductive Health Act, or RHA, is known as S. 240 in the state Senate and A. 21 in the state Assembly.

Pro-lifers: N.Y. abortion bill could one day make being pro-life 'a crime':

What's right with the Church?

One, holy, apostolic, and catholic, for one.



What's right with the Church?: Read the article from the Pilot, the newspaper for the Archdiocese of Boston.







Father Jack performing a baptism.

Reading to Children

It's a wonder that my children grew up to be happy, productive, and good people.  I don't remember censoring reading and screen time when my children were growing up.  I paid attention to crude language and inappropriate sex, but that's it.  But with my grandchildren, I am aware of the behavior of the main characters.

When my oldest grandchild was in first grade, she got into trouble doing some mischief.  She got the idea from Junie B. Jones.  When I heard what she had done, I remembered that that was what we had listened to on the audiobook.  We listened as I drove her to school.  We laughed and thought it was funny.  There really wasn't time to discuss the book.  We just listened.

Ever since, I've been careful about what we listen to,
or read, together.  I was just about to start the Harry Potter series when I heard someone say that the children in the series aren't good role models.  They don't obey authority.  They are constantly circumventing the rules.

I know.  I drive myself crazy.  The thing is: critique takes time, critical reading necessitates time, love and reading take forever.  So I guess my choice of reading material depends on how much time I have.

Actual Grace

Strange how yesterday I posted about Cardinal Francois-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan's political beatitudes and this morning I was reading Magnificat and today's meditation was by Cardinal Francis-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan.  BTW, he is now Venerable.

What impressed me in his meditation was what he said about misery.  Remember he was 13 years a prisoner in Vietnam, 9 in solitary.

Jesus comes to meet human misery.  Saving us, he made his Gospel and his grace the renewing principle of the world and, above all, of humanity in all areas of existence: private and public, cultural and social, political and economic...

I think of my "cloistered brothers."  The world may scoff that they found God in prison, but they were too busy to give Him a thought before their incarceration.  

Beatitudes of the Politician

The pope's New Year's message on peace recalls Cardinal Francois-Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan's proposal called the "Beatitudes of the Politician."

Blessed be the politician with a lofty sense and deep understanding of his role.

Blessed be the politician who personally exemplifies credibility.

Blessed be the politician who works for the common good and not his/her own interest.

Blessed be the politician who remains consistent.

Blessed be the politician who works for unity.

Blessed be the politician who works to accomplish radical change.

Blessed be the politician who is capable of listening.

Blessed be the politician who is without fear.

One thing is certain: good politics is at the service of peace.  Cardinal Nguyen Van Thuan should know.  He spent 14 years in prison, 9 of them in solitary confinement and he committed no crime.  Politics, pure and simple.

Truce of God

Truce of God was a term invented in the eleventh century due to the violence of the times.  Churches and monasteries were often in the path of marauding armies but were considered places of refuge for the people.  The peasants and travelers were often the victims simply because they were there.  So the pope declared peace on Sundays.  No fighting allowed on the Lord's Day.  This was known as the Truce of God.

I learned this in my freshman history class from Sister Isabella.  I have remembered it all my long life because God has mercy on such sinners as me.  He granted me His Truce of God.

Here's the scene.  It's a test.  Being the insecure, ambitious student that I was, I wanted to do well on the test.  I had finished the test and was reviewing my answers.  It was a "fill in the blank" test.  I wasn't sure of the answer to "_____ is the day the nobles put down their arms to honor the Lord."  I had answered "Peace of God."  I knew it wasn't correct but I couldn't think of the term.  So I looked around at my surrounding classmates' answers.  Mary-gael, sitting sideways in front of me in such a manner that I could easily read her answers, had "Truce of Jesus."  That's it!

I did have a conscience, however.  I didn't put exactly what Mary-gael answered.  I figured if I got half the answer, Sister would call it correct or at the least give me half credit.  Better than no credit, right?  So I wrote, "Truce of Christ."

Exactly at that moment Sister Isabella sternly said, "Faith, bring your paper up here."

Red face from being caught at cheating, I sheepishly gave her my paper.

I was humiliated.

Fast forward a few days later and Sister Isabella tells the class that she has finished correcting our tests but she caught someone cheating...she proceeded to lecture the class on intellectual honesty, etc., none of which I heard because my heart was pounding too loudly in my ears.  And!  She named me!!!  Faith and Mary-gael have the same wrong answer, "Truce of  Jesus," and she caught Faith looking at Mary-gael's paper.

But our good God is merciful.  He knew my fragile personality, emotions and motives.  I was inspired to speak up.  I raised my hand and defended myself: "But we don't Sister.  I didn't put 'Truce of Jesus.' "
Pay attention: Sister looked at my paper; then she looked at Mary-gael's.  AND THEN SHE APOLOGIZED TO ME IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS.

And at that moment, I knew there was a God and that He knew me, loved me, and had saved me.



Sister Isabella of Jesus is on Father's left.

Moveable Feasts

A Moveable Feast.  Wasn't that a novel by Ernest Hemmingway?  Somebody? 

Anyway, on the Epiphany of the Lord, there is an ancient practice of the Church announcing from the ambo the moveable feast of the current year according to this formula:

Know, Dear Brethren, that, as we have rejoiced at the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, so by leave of God's mercy we announce to you also the joy of his Resurrection, who is our Savior.

On the 6th day of March will fall Ash Wednesday, and the beginning of the fast of the most sacred Lenten season.

On the 21st day of April you will celebrate with joy Easter Day, the Paschal feast of our Lord Jesus Christ.

On the 30th day of May (or the 2nd day of June [variable]) will be the Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ.

On the 9th day of June, the feast of Pentecost.

On the 23rd day of June, the feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ.

On the 1st day of December, the First Sunday of the Advent of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom is honor and glory forever and ever.               

Amen.

Water, Water, Everywhere

Many people think Wally Lamb’s novel, We Are Water, “eh”. But I liked it.  But of course I like Wally Lamb because he also has a prison and God discussion.  Two of my favorite subjects.

We are Water we see a dysfunctional family even though the father is a psychologist.  The mother keeps a big dark secret.  She’s an artist and divorces her husband of 27 years for another woman.  At first, the family is shocked but by the end, they’re OK with it.  I guess the purpose of the story is to portray that lesbian couples are good people, like straight ones.

I was thinking of giving this book to a friend to read but thought again.  There’s too much sex in it.  But it’s not gratuitous, though.  It’s necessary for the plot.  It begins with child molestation to sadistic machoism, masturbation, to lesbianism.  It’s not as crude as my sentence.  The molestation is shown to lead to the other perversions. 

The characters are wounded people but good people, even when they sin.  And I think the novel is a good attempt to portray a lesbian marriage, and how child molestation leads to adult sexual dysfunction.  But there is always hope.  

T.S. Reads Journey of the Magi

Notice how T.S. Eliot focuses on the journey.

So You Think Children at Mass are a Distraction

Some grouchers complain about children in church.  They're distracting, that's for sure.  One answer is that children need to learn how to behave in Mass and how will they learn how to do that if not by going?

You may think this odd, but when my children were little I didn't push bringing them to church.  My oldest was very well behaved.  Well, if staying quiet is the criteria, she excelled; she always fell asleep.  The second one always had to be carried out of Mass because she was so disruptive.  Finally, hubby said that getting all dressed up to go to church was a waste of time because he never made it to the Eucharistic Liturgy.  He refused to go.

Of course, once they reached the age to go to religious education, they had to go.  But it still was a distraction.  At this age, you don't need toys and food to keep the kids busy, they should understand what's happening.  It's still a struggle.

Why do they always have to go to the bathroom at the consecration? 

I thought of this as I was trying to watch a hockey game.  We were watching the Candy Cane Classic.  The team players were around 8 years old. The audience was full of the players' parents, grandparents, and other relatives, plus little brothers and sisters.

Worse than little children at Mass! The parents had brought backpacks full of toys, books, crayons, coloring books, food, and digital gadgets to keep the little ones busy. The kids dumped the contents of these backpacks all over the floor, and under the seats.  And then the kids were left to their own devices to entertain themselves.  Yes, the parents are right next to their little ones but hockey is intense and fast, and you need to stay focused on the game (not on the little ones).  At least at Mass, the parents pay attention to their children.

And these kids go to the bathroom, too.  And just like at Mass--at the most important part!  They'll be a power play and with a couple of seconds left, little junior will start jumping up and down holding himself.  Afterward, they want something out of the vending machines (Funny how vending machines are near the restrooms.) 

Why do parents bring children very young to sports?  One answer is that having the family all go to the game together is an activity everyone can enjoy as a family or will enjoy when the little ones are old enough to understand what's happening.

Oh?  Like going to Mass?

Artum Examen?

Since I've been teaching Lectio Divina, I've been noticing things I've never noticed before.  Lection Divina has slowed me down to look at things deeper. I find this happening in poetry.  I see the words form an idea in a certain way to form a theme.

Pictures work the same, too.  I look at painting more deeply to see details and what idea these details were trying to convey.

What is the Latin word for Examining?  Examen?  Artum Examen?  Lectio Examen?

My Additions to Ransom's Poem

Survey of Literature
by John Crowe Ransom

In all the Greek of Plato
I lack my roast beef and potato.

A better man was Aristotle,
Pulling steady on the bottle.

I dip my hat to Chaucer,
Swilling soup from his saucer,

And to Master Shakespeare
Who wrote big on small beer.

The abstemious Wordsworth
Subsisted on a curd's-worth,

But a slick one was Tennyson,
Putting gravy on his venison.

What these men had to eat and drink
Is what we say and what we think.

The influence of Milton
Came wry out of Stilton.

Sing a song for Percy Shelley,
Drowned in pale lemon jelly,

And for precious John Keats,
Dripping blood of pickled beets.

Then there was poor Willie Blake,
He foundered on sweet cake.

God have mercy on the sinner
Who must write with no dinner,

No gravy and no grub,
No pewter and no pub,

No belly and no bowels,
Only consonants and vowels.

ADD

Rhyming to Billie Wyllie
Is singing with an oldie.

Deep in  lore is Sue Wade,
Ravishing a Scottish maid.

All the good words of Clarice
Lead everyone to reminisce.

Kathy S. is going to the dogs,
She's tired of the ideologues.

A good man is Joe Ewald,
K of C and St. Vincent de Paul.

No one tries harder than Alice Judge,
Who deserves a piece of fudge.

The influence of Carol Beecher
Inspires the rapporteur.

Pat Winiarski works too hard,
But still held in high regard.

And for missing Sue Bliven,
Our poet equestrienne.

Then there's smooth voice Pete,
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Language artists assiduously aspiring.

A New Beginning

One stressed filled day at work, I had had it with Christmas gift giving.  It had been decided that we would have a Secret Santa gift exchange. We couldn’t spend more than $ 20.

All this is fine and dandy but I’m a joiner and a pretty social person and all my clubs, organizations and groups were all doing the same thing.

My Secret Santa gift was bubble bath.  Just what I don’t need.  Bah humbug!  I shower, not take baths.   But I couldn’t complain; that the exact gift I gave, too.   

Isn’t it silly?

I give you some junk under $ 20 and you give me junk under $ 20.  Not that I’m proposing to spend more.  I don’t want to spend anything; I don’t want a gift exchange at all.  Every year I have too many little under $ 20 gifts:

Two books clubs Yankee swaps under $ 20
work gift exchange under $ 20
my work cubby-mate, whatever I can spend
walking group gift exchange, around $ 10
hairdresser, around $ 20
women’s club ornament swap $ 15-20
Bible study gift, under $ 20
paperboy, $ 10
monthly dinner group, under $ 20

I was exasperated and let my harangue spill out on my poor friend who happened to have the misfortune to be listening to my tirade. 

Then something happened that is scorched into my memory.  My friend stood up nice and straight with a pained look on her face, as she opened her bag and took out a Christmas gift, and threw it at me.  “Well here’s one more piece of junk for you.”

I-I-I-I-I didn’t know what to say.  I remembered feeling my neck get red.  I don’t remember if we talked.  I don’t remember if she was angry.  I don’t remember how she left.  I don’t remember anything.  (I probably repressed the memory.)

But I learned a lesson.  At first, I was embarrassed, that was a given—more than embarrassed—I was humiliated.  My soul had been bared before me; I learned that I was selfish, overbearing, thoughtless and a..a.a..monster.  Bah Humbug!  I was worse than a Grinch.

This Christmas season was a period of soul searching self-reflection.  I contemplated the purpose of giving gifts. 

Gift giving should express love—even gifts under $ 20.  Gifts of love have thought put into what and why you buy them.  You tailor the gift for the receiver. 

Why would I buy bubble bath when I didn’t know whether or not the receiver took baths?  I wasn’t thinking of others at all.  I just wanted to be rid of the obligation and purchased whatever was on sale and I had a coupon for. 

My New Year’s resolution is to be more aware of others.  I will think of the needs, wants, and likes of others, especially when it comes to gift giving.

Catholic as an Adjective

A discussion arose on Facebook regarding the use of the Nicene Creed or the Apostle's Creed.  I've often wondered myself why sometimes we pray one and sometimes the other.  The dilemma wasn't solved but the commentary was interesting, I thought.

A question for my Catholic Facebook friends. Why do some priests insist on saying the Apostles Creed at Mass, never the Nicene Creed? Do they have an objection to the latter?

One poster commentated that the Apostle's Creed was something every Christian could pray since the word Catholic was used with a small "c", meaning the universal church, meaning universal Christian faith. Every tenet in the Apostle's Creed was acceptable to all Christians so the prayer is ecumenical.  

I always knew that the word catholic meant universal but I never noticed before today's Mass (Feast of Mary, the Holy Mother of God, January 1) that in the church missal, the word catholic had a small "c".  I thought we prayed the Apostle's Creed because it was shorter than the Nicene Creed.  Of course, that may very well be true, too.