Abbey-Roads2

Husbands in trouble used to do them…

Kind of.  Remember when married men used to get kicked out of bed by their wives when the Mrs. was mad at them?  Maybe it was just a sitcom thing - but if real - it could have been a good penance.

No one kicked me out of bed.

I sometimes do silly penances.  Last night I decided to sit outside in the rain storm, without protection, to see what it would be like if I were homeless and had no shelter.  I realized only a fool would sit out in the rain without protection, and recalled how more fortunate homeless people sometimes sleep in their cars - while they still have them.  So I locked up the house and took the car out and found a nice place to sleep.

I know!

The nearby street lamp shone in my face, so I moved the car to a darker street.   I folded back the passenger’s seat as far as it would go, and made a pillow out of a winter hat and scarf.  After praying for awhile, I tried to go to sleep - I have a Honda Civic and I’m a big guy - so it was not very comfortable.  The rain intensified accompanied by fabulous lightning all around, but I just couldn’t get comfortable.  Around midnight I went back home and slept in my bed.  I’ll never be a good homeless person.

Summer camp.

I know it is a weird thing to do, but on occasion I’ll  deliberately inconvenience myself in order to understand what it feels like to have nothing left, not even your dignity.  So I did an “urban camp-out” last night, despite the fact the experience was not authentic - because I really do have a place to live - and I also had my identification in my pocket if the police stopped by.

“Oh yes - we love living in our car - it is so convenient.” - Imaginative response from a potential game show contestant.

Although I never persevere through a night - winter nights are the worst - I always understand that homeless people do not choose to be homeless and enjoy sleeping in a cardboard box or their car - or the gutter.  Some crazy ones say they ‘like the independence’, and many of us only remember those who make such hollow claims and repeat with conviction:  “They say they want to live on the street - they would prefer that over a shelter.”  Or, ”Many homeless choose  to live on the street - they like it.”  (Poor people, even those with mental disorders, often say such things in order to salvage their dignity.) 

“It’s the economy stupid!”  - Tagline from an election several terms back. 

So what is more strange?  Sleeping in one’s car for a penance in a lame attempt to understand - perhaps even share a little experience with the homeless, or claiming the homeless like their homeless poverty - and “especially in summer - it isn’t bad at all when it is nice out.”?

Coming to a neighborhood near you.

Please don’t forget the poor and the homeless and the shelters and charities who care for them just because it is nice out…  Especially since many more people are losing their homes now days in this harsh economy.

St. Joseph, who always found lodging for Mary and Jesus, help the poor and the homeless, and those of us who have nowhere to lay our head, and who are alone and afflicted. 

Once there were two sisters…

Martha was the sister of Mary - the Mary people used to say had been a whore - but when morals plummeted in the 20th century and whores became commonplace, Mary became known as a feminist and an evangelist.  Both sisters lived with  their brother Lazarus - who was thought to be quite a stinker until Jesus raised him from the dead.  (Did you know when he was raised from the dead he was naked except for a winding cloth?!)

So anyway, Martha had panic attacks and would get very nervous while doing all the housework, while Mary usually sat calmly, sipping tea, twirling her hair, studying ”A Course In Miracles”.  This may explain why she (Martha) took a lot of valium, only it really wasn’t valium in those days, although she did grow poppies in the garden along with hemp - just to make rope and sandals of course.  (Martha knew the truth about Mary’s past and that is probably why she often became so indignant with her.)

Nevertheless - Martha loved to entertain (sounds like another Martha, doesn’t it?), and that is why she had the apostles over so often.  One day, while very busy on the set of her home-decorating-cooking show for the Bethanites, everyone showed up unexpectedly, hoping to eat and drink.  Mary, always the party girl, joined the guests and just sat on the window sill, with a goofy smile on her lips, listening to all the repartee.  After awhile, Martha complained about Mary being such a lay-about, although, when she was told she (Mary) had chosen the better part, Martha literally “threw in the towel” (which is how we got that saying today BTW), and told everyone to help themselves to the food (which is how buffets originated BTW), and Martha decided to do her own thing (which is what hippies did in the late ’60’s BTW).  Of course the family was always very fashionable, if not countercultural, and the story might have  ended there…

Yet few people knew Martha had been a portrait artist - that is why so many icons of Our Lady are mistakenly attributed to St. Luke instead - St. Luke was a doctor - a podiatrist in fact.  Some say that after rehab, Mary worked for a time as his nurse-receptionist, and she ordinarily washed the patients feet (with her hair!) before they could see the doctor - although that may have been a medieval invention.  (But you see how these stories can get all mixed up when you have an agenda.)  Anyway, that day Martha decided to paint her lay-about sister Mary’s portrait - as she sat on the window sill.  Yes, you guessed it - the painting became known throughout the world as the “Mona Lisa” and has been wrongly attributed to Leonardo Da Vinci ever since the 16th century. 

I know, I know - but the family name of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus was Winschki (’W’ pronounced like ‘V’), which Italianated became Vinci - the name of the town Leonardo was from in Italy.  (Leo’s mother’s maiden name was Winschki - his dad’s name was Nardino - so Leo took Leonardo as his nome de plume, if you will - and someone else attached Da Vinci - the “Da” meaning “of” or “from” Vinci in Italian - I forget which.)  Anyway, how the painting came into his possession is still a mystery, and another story entirely, although it could possibly make an interesting book and movie.

The End

(This story is totally fabricated, just like the Da Vinci Code and dissident interpretations of scripture.  You know - like the one about the centurion and his gay-slave-lover he asked Jesus to heal.  As if!) 

Secular press calls the Holy Father the biggest homophobe on the planet…

And yet uber-Catholics post photos like this inviting irreverent and sophomoric comments and captions.  How very, very sad.  Sad, sad, sad - to see unemployed people wasting their vocation and academic achievements on such nonsensical theatrics. 

A story about nothing.
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When I was little, my siblings made fun of me because of my devotion. I would dress up as a priest and pretended to say Mass, I prayed the rosary and had processions with my statues. I even carried a jar of water around when we went places in our car - I knew lay-people could baptize anyone in danger of death - so in case I came upon an accident and no priest was available - I was ready.   You see, when I was little I didn’t want anyone to go to hell.  In fact, after I learned about Fatima and devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I prayed the rosary every day and made posters to put up around the neighborhood promoting devotion to Our Lady of Fatima.
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My dad used to tell me that I would never make it as a priest, and my mother said I was a little hypocrite, after that, my brother and sister teased me even more. Sometimes, my dad was nice to me about being a priest and would take me to see one, and after I explained my desire to the priest, my dad would ask the priest for money. I’d be embarrassed. My dad would curse the priest as we left the rectory if he did not give him money. At home my dad would say bad things about the Church and tell me I would never make it as a priest.
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When I was old enough to enter minor seminary, my dad brought me to another priest who told me that I prayed too much, spent too much time in church, and used religion as an escape. He said my desire to be a monk was bad - monks had no freedom, and to be a priest in a religious order would be throwing my life away. He agreed with my dad and said I should finish high school and then think about diocesan seminary. I was sent to public high school - where I quickly fell away from the Church.
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When I returned a few years later, I encountered similar opposition as far as my spiritual life was concerned. This time from priests and seminarians and church people - “things had changed” they explained to me.  I knew how to be secretive about my piety from my childhood, lest it was discovered that I was on the traditional side. So I went to prayer meetings and hid my scapular, secretly prayed my rosary bunched up in my hand, attended the earliest Mass every day, and spent long hours in adoration - often at the back of the Church. A few seminarians and priests and monks told me I was much too pious and that I should be more active in the Church and working with the poor. I was warned to stay away from churches like St. Agnes in St. Paul, organizations like CUFF, and never to read The Wanderer.
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In confession priests often told me I did not have to confess this or that mortal sin, or that I went to confession too often, and that my piety was pre-Vatican II. Sometimes I would have to ask for absolution after a priest omitted it - he would tell me I didn’t need it.  Although he usually gave in after I begged and pleaded with him, explaining I must have psychological problems with guilt - he understood that. Once a priest told me anything a priest changed in the Mass was okay, and all one needed for a valid Mass were the words of institution at the Consecration.  (Most priests told me that.)  Other priests told me I did not have to go to confession before Holy Communion, even if in mortal sin. Another priest told me devotion to the Sacred Heart was effeminate, while another told me Fatima was over.
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Of course I met many good priests on my pilgrimage, in fact, many of those I mentioned were considered very good priests. Really, they were. Somehow, I stayed my course, knowing I was odd and would never make it as a priest or a religious, nor ever be able to meet the expectations of others who wanted me to be more “modern”. Of course, once in awhile I was blown into this harbor or that port, only to be caught in an endless whirlpool of dialog, argument or confusion, but Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament pulled me through.
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Now that the Church is recovering Her traditional piety, I’m no longer quite such a misfit, nor do I have to hide my piety. Nevertheless, I still pretty much find myself alone on issues related to morality and sexuality. This priest or that person tells me one thing, and yet I believe what the Roman Catholic Church teaches. It has been such a long and lonely road  however.  “To always lose and let everyone else win…”  - John of the Cross mentions that somewhere - it’s a good thing.
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And my dad was correct, I never did make it to the priesthood.  It is better this way.
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The End.