I don't think Orwell could ever have imagined Big Brother looking like this

The slogan is rather fearful:  No Exceptions.  No Excuses.  No Escape.  The no exceptions or excuses part is not too bad.  It means the tax is universal, and a universal tax, while odious, at least has some claim to fairness.  No, it's the No Escape bit.  That is a threat.  You cannot escape the whimsical, all-seeing eye of dancing Big Brother!

In Orwell's darkest nightmares, he could not have envisioned that someone may one day portray Big Brother as cute.    Shudder.

My father's Eulogy

as contrived by my sister and read by my nephew.

Nonno ha vissuto una vita lunga e piene di amore, gioia e pure delle volte, il dispiacere. E venuto in Canada come tanti altri per comminciare una nuova vita. Posso solo immaginare quanto corragio ci é voluto per questa avventura. Peró sono sicuro che il suo camino in questa vita e stata sempre con Gesú. Ogni passo é stato guidato da Gesú.

My Grandfather, CAM, taught me three important lessons. The first one was that you should never put your light under a bushel. He knew how important it is to live your life in the light of Christ and to make sure that when you go our in the world, people spotted you. But you had to be spotted for doing what is right and for living a life lead by the rules that Jesus gave us.

This leads me to the second lesson. For my Nonno, there was no grey area when it came to right and wrong. You had to do everything right right from the start. If you followed the rules, and for my Nonno the rules were the Ten Commandments, then you were doing everything right. If, however, you did make a mistake or did something wrong, then Nonno would forgive you with love and compassion and even with humour. He might not do it it right away, but eventually he would come up to you, put a hand on your shoulder and you would know that all is right with the world.

This can only make me think that, somehow, my Nonno was, in his own uncanny way, an instrument of God on Earth. I remember the love he gave us. It was warm and it reminds that perhaps this is what the love of God must be like, and I know that now my Nonno can perfect that love with God and Jesus at his side. I can immagine that he is in heaven with his mother, A, father, C, and little brother, Zio F. spreading joy because of their sense of humour and fun they had here on earth.

The third lesson that Nonno gave to me is that family is the most important thing in life. It makes us who we are. It defines our personality and it outlasts us even when we die. I can see my Nonno living on. I see it in Mom’s sense of humour. Yeah, I know ... you’re thinking... she has a sense of humour? I can see in Zia Puff and her attention to detail and I can see it in my cousins too. But the place that I see it most in my nonna. She is alone now and I know that Nonno would want us to take care of her. I promise that we will Nonno because I know we will be guided by your love which was guided by Jesus and his infinite love and wisdom.
Bye Nonno.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Play This Game

Soon it will be out.

Dante's Inferno: The Video Game!

Click on the above link to find two trailers for the game.

Their tag line: Go To Hell!

This game is one of those things that offends me both as a a Catholic and as a student of Great Literature. Dante's Inferno, a video game? The poem told the story of a trip through Hell in order to teach Dante the pilgrim to find his way again, to shun his errors and embrace the love of Heaven. His trip is arranged by the spirit of his true love Beatrice (whose name is related to holiness as in "Beatific vision" and whom Dante only met a few times in his life and to whom he may not have spoken) who gets him a guide in the Roman Poet Virgil who will lead Dante through Hell and Purgatory (symbolically, Roman virtues which Virgil embodied in his Aeneid are enough to keep you away from hell and to an earthly paradise, but not enough to take you to heaven) at which point she herself will lead him to Heaven, at which point he turns away from her to focus solely on the splendor of God and the Love that "Turns the stars and lesser spheres."

I thought a movie about the Inferno would be a visually interesting spectacle, with visions of the Great Pit opening up before the poet and his guide, and the terrors of Cocytus and Phlegethon and the Malebolgias. There is a little action, sometimes. At one point a gate to the lower levels is barred against them, but an angel of Heaven is sent down to Hell- just one Angel- who forces the door open with the merest touch of a tiny wand, showing that the power of Hell is nothing compared to that of Heaven. however, for the most part is be rather dull for a movie. The poem was devoted to the punishments of sin which allowed Dante to make ironic social commentary. Much of the action, if you can call it that, are the two men walking through Hell and pausing every now and then to say 'Gosh, will you look at that?'

But this isn't a movie, it's a game now. So they tweaked it a bit, to keep your interest up. Dante is now a beefy crusader who steals death's scythe to hack his way through Hell as he tries to free his beloved Beatrice who is trapped down below. Dante is shown to speak to Beatrice, and she speaks back with lines such as "I gave myself to you because I knew you would not betray our love," thus introducing the idea of sex, almost completely absent from the poem, because we all know what those poor benighted Medievals didn't: there is no love without sex. Later she also tells him that he has betrayed his vow or her love or some such thing.

Gone to Hell, indeed.

Honestly, did anyone involved in making this game ACTUALLY READ THE BOOK?

The sad part is that soon after the game's release, literature teachers will be reading essays on Dante's Inferno written by people who only played the game.

What's next? Hamlet: the video game? "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, and your job is to take out the trash!" Milton's Paradise Lost, the game? Actually that might be cool. Just focus on the War in Heaven. You can choose to be Michael or Satan. Or maybe just Michael. Their slogan could be "KICK SATAN"S A$$!" I should go copyright that idea... start my own software developing company...

Nuts/Not Nuts.

H/T LarryD

Hard to believe the same country produced both of these.

Nuts

I won't comment on this one. Rather, to quote Yul Brynner/Ramses: Let him rant that all men may know he is mad.

From TheDailyMailOnline: Bonkers' Health and Safety Rules See Swimming Goggles Banned for School Pupils

Ban on pupils wearing swimming goggles over health and safety fears they might 'snap' too hard on their face

A school has banned children from wearing goggles during swimming lessons - for fear they could hurt themselves while wearing them.

Youngsters were told they were no longer allowed to wear the swimming aides in case a pair 'snapped' onto their face too hard, or a lens popped out unexpectedly.

Parents described the ruling by teachers and governors at Ysgol Bryn Coch, Mold, as 'bonkers', and said it smacked of 'health and safety regulations gone mad'

Three children have so far been withdrawn from swimming lessons because of the new rule, which has affected 335 junior pupils.

But headteacher Lynne Williams insisted the school was following advice from the British Association of Advisors and Lecturers in Physical Education (BAALPE).

Ms Williams said: 'It has been recognised by BAALPE that goggles can pose a real risk to children, and this has been accepted by the governors.'

The BAALPE advice states: 'Head teachers should inform parents and carers that goggles can be a hazard and cause permanent eye injury.

'Wet plastic is very slippery and frequent, incorrect or unnecessary adjustment or removal of them, by pulling them away from the eyes instead of sliding them over the forehead, can lead to them slipping from the pupil's grasp with the hard plastic causing severe injury.'

One parent said the school had told parents in a letter goggles could only be used if they were necessary on medical grounds.

She said: 'I think the ruling is absolutely bonkers.'

Another asked why councils allow children to wear them in public swimming pools if they were so dangerous.

'In my opinion it's health and safety regulations gone mad,' the mother said.

A spokesman for Flintshire County Council said: 'The school can advise parents on the use of goggles during school swimming lessons.

'There is a legal responsibility for school governors, headteachers and teaching staff to ensure that the LEA's health and safety policy is followed, and that advice and guidance on matters such as swimming and the use of goggles are applied and monitored regularly by schools.

'The BAALPE guidelines are consistent with those of the Amateur Swimming Association.'

The association guidelines say goggles only need to be worn by children who suffer excessively from the effects of water chemicals.

They advise pupils should be taught to remove goggles by: 'slipping them up off the head rather than by stretching away from the eyes on the retaining band'

My only comment on this is to say that I applaud the newspaper for bringing out this story, and they are clearly presenting this as insane. Now onto the next part of our program:

Not Nuts

A refutation of the above nonsense has been given a few years ago by Conn Iggulden, author of The Dangerous Book for Boys, in an interview given about the success of that book. Again, I'll let him speak for himself, except this time it is so that all may know him to be sane.

Conn and Hal Iggulden are two brothers who have not forgotten what it was like to be boys. Conn taught for many years before becoming one of the most admired and popular young historical novelists with his Emperor series, based on the life of Julius Caesar, and his newly embarked series on Genghis Khan, while Hal is a theater director. We asked Conn about their collaboration.

Amazon.com: It's difficult to describe what a phenomenon The Dangerous Book for Boys was in the UK last year. When I would check the bestseller list on our sister site, Amazon.co.uk, there would be, along with your book, which spent much of the year at the top of the list, a half-dozen apparent knockoff books of similar boy knowledge. Clearly, you tapped into something big. What do you think it was?

Iggulden: In a word, fathers. I am one myself and I think we've become aware that the whole "health and safety" overprotective culture isn't doing our sons any favors. Boys need to learn about risk. They need to fall off things occasionally, or—and this is the important bit—they'll take worse risks on their own. If we do away with challenging playgrounds and cancel school trips for fear of being sued, we don't end up with safer boys—we end up with them walking on train tracks. In the long run, it's not safe at all to keep our boys in the house with a Playstation. It's not good for their health or their safety. You only have to push a boy on a swing to see how much enjoys the thrill of danger. It's hard-wired. Remove any opportunity to test his courage and they'll find ways to test themselves that will be seriously dangerous for everyone around them. I think of it like playing the lottery—someone has to say "Look, you won't win—and your children won't be hurt. Relax. It won't be you." I think that's the core of the book's success. It isn't just a collection of things to do. The heroic stories alone are something we haven't had for too long. It isn't about climbing Everest, but it is an attitude, a philosophy for fathers and sons. Our institutions are too wrapped up in terror over being sued—so we have to do things with them ourselves. This book isn't a bad place to start. As for knockoff books—great. They'll give my son something to read that doesn't involve him learning a dull moral lesson of some kind—just enjoying an adventure or learning skills and crafts so that he has a feeling of competence and confidence—just as we have.

Amazon.com: You made some changes for the U.S. edition, and I for one am sorry that you have removed the section on conkers, if only because it's such a lovely and mysterious word. What are (or what is) conkers?

Iggulden: Horse chestnuts strung on a shoelace and knocked against one another until they shatter. In the entire history of the world, no one has ever been hurt by a conker, but it's still been banned by some British schools, just in case. Another school banned paper airplanes. Honestly, it's enough to make you weep, if I did that sort of thing, which I try not to. Reading Jane Austen is still allowed, however.

Amazon.com: What knowledge did you decide was important to add for American boys? I notice in both editions you have an excellent and useful section on table football, as played with coins. Is paper football strictly an American pastime? I'm not sure I could have gotten through the fourth grade without it.

Iggulden: I like knowing the details of battles, so Gettysburg and the Alamo had to go in, along with the Gettysburg address, stickball, state capitals, U.S. mountains, American trees, insects, U.S. historical timelines, and a lot of others. Navajo code talkers of WWII is a great chapter. It probably helps that I am a huge fan of America. It was only while rewriting for the U.S. that I realized how many positive references there already are. You have NASA and NASA trumps almost anything. As for paper football, ever since I thought of putting the book together, people keep saying things like "You have rockets in there, yes? Everyone loves rockets!" Paper football is the first American one, but there will be many others. No book in the world is long enough to put them all in—unless we do a sequel, of course.

Amazon.com: Do you think The Dangerous Book for Boys is being read by actual boys, or only by nostalgic adults? Have you seen boys getting up from their Xboxes to go outside and perform first aid or tan animal skins or build go-carts?

Iggulden: I've had a lot of emails and letters from boys who loved the book—as well as fathers. I've had responses from kids as young as ten and an old man of 87, who pointed out a problem with the shadow stick that we've since changed. The thing to remember is that we may be older and more cynical every year, but boys simply aren't. If they are given the chance to make a go-cart with their dad, they jump at it. Mine did. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to know the book is being used with fathers and sons together, trying things out. Nothing is more valuable to a boy than time with his dad, learning something fun—or something difficult. That's part of the attitude too. If it's hard, you don't make it easy, you grab it by the throat and hang on for as long as it takes. The book is often bought by fathers, of course. Their sons don't know Scott of the Antarctic is a great adventure story. How could they if it isn't taught any more? Good, heroic stories don't appear much in modern school curriculums—and then we wonder why boys don't seem interested.

Amazon.com: And finally, on to the important questions: Should Pluto still be a planet? And what was the best dinosaur?

Iggulden: Pluto is a planet. I know there are scientists who say it isn't, but it's big enough to be round and it has a moon, for crying out loud. Of course it's a planet. Give it ten years and they'll be agreeing with me again. As for the best dinosaur, it depends what you mean by best. For sheer perfection, it probably has to be the shark and the crocodile. Modern ones are smaller but their record for sheer survival is pretty impressive. I only hope humanity can do as well. The only thing that will stop us is worrying too much.

There have it: Nuts and Not Nuts. Can you see the difference?

Meanwhile, Back at My Alma Mater

h/t curt jester

The Student Union at my old Alma Mater, York U, shut down a scheduled debate on the subject of abortion just hours before it was to have taken place. Both the hosting parties had agreed to the debate, chose some speakers, were ready to have an academic debate in the old tradition- neither side seemed to have any problem with holding a debate, so why step in?

Because the topic itself is forbidden. The sides were told "there is freedom of speech to a limit, and that abortion is not an issue to debate." The student union "demanded that the event not take place." Debating abortion, said the student union, is like "debating whether a man should be allowed to beat his wife."

I wish I could say I was surprised at this. I had hoped that the students might rally against this encroachment on their free speech. If there is one way to get a topic discussed around here, it's to ban it. Usually.

And in a stunning coincidence, I just got a letter from the university asking me to donate some money. I am preparing a reply. I was thinking of borrowing a response from a Russian writer to a critic. (salty humour alert): "I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. Your letter is in front of me. Soon it will be behind me."

Ah, education. As one of the cartoons said recently, it's the wonderful process of taking an empty mind and replacing it with a closed one.

The Dumbification of the World Proceeds Apace

23 per cent of British people believe Churchill was a myth.

The same poll reveals that 58 per cent of British people believe Sherlock Holmes was real.

h/t to combox over at Dyspeptic Mutterings.

today at mass

We were unable to get to our regular church today, so we went to one nearby instead. The less said of what followed, the better. But there was one thing I felt was particularly bad, and I believe it is totally prohibited: There was no crucifix anywhere in the church. None, not even in the stations of the cross. The procession came in following a cross (made of two intersecting rainbows) with no corpus. That was the main thing I noticed.

Puff wants to add that the priest had all the children standing behind the altar while he consecrated the hosts. She was perturbed by that.

There was a host of oddities about the church. I won't go into full detail. But here's the oddest thing of all: it was packed, standing room only. The orthodox churches I know around here are mostly empty, yet this place was absolutely full.

More on Halloween Costumes

WaPo has an article on sexualized Halloween costumes for young girls. I may be misreading the article, but I think it said some of these costumes bear the Playboy brand. I hope not. Think of it: Clothes for girls brought to you by the people who want them naked! (eventually, that is.)

Costumes made by people who want their daughters to go to college!

Anyone who wants to trick or treat at some of these corporations' headquarters dressed as an angry pitchfork and torch bearing mob can count me in.

Soulless Corporations Make War On Our Daughters

Dale Price over at Dyspeptic Mutterings has continued his annual tradition of launching a Jeremiad over the state of Hallowe'en costumes for young girls. As always, his attack is worthy of a read, and on the money.

In the comments box one person comments that the Bratz (or should that be Slutz?) line is toned down this year from past years. Even so, whose bright idea was this, and what parents would really want their daughters to look like painted tarts? These are children, for cryin' out loud! Sexing up your daughters is wrong, wrong WRONG!

What can we do against such things? Should we lock our children up? Head for the hills and start a farmstead, where papa spends all his free time sitting on the front porch polishing his good ol' shotgun? Perhaps we should start a line of Catholic costumes- see if we can at least try and keep some kind of alternative- dress your children up as their favourite saints. There are even a few scary ones. Personally, a kid dressed up as a post-flaying Bartholomew would scare the bejeebies out of me.

Every time I think we have sunk as low as we possibly can, someone goes and lowers the bar. Corporations think nothing of dressing up children as sex objects if it makes them a buck, and they will do so as long as there are still bucks out there. Let none of those dollars be your own. The search for an ever lower rung on the ladder of taste goes on unabated. Seek a higher ground. Our culture hit rock bottom, and proceeded to dig.

From my E-mail

I got an e-mail:

Oh yes, Puff. Harry Potter is just great for Catholics to read.
But then again, it is no surprise for someone who attends the Novus Ordo.
It is not your fault. It is just the nonsense you get from there.

I hope you come to Tradition and leave the Harry Potters behind.
God bless.

Br. Anthony

Anyone want to take a stab at it?

The Downhill Slide

One of my younger co workers called me over to his computer early this week. He wanted to show me a video he found funny, which turned out to be Alanis Morissette's parody of the Black Eyed Peas' song "My Humps." I really didn't know much about the original, so he ended up downloading that for me too. It was a sexed up, tarted up, sleazed up little thing, which offended him greatly. "Look at this!" he said "Can you imagine young girls watching this and being influenced by this?" He was horrified because the song was about girls putting out for "bling." He also couldn't understand why I wasn't more shocked than I was.

Now, the man is young, in his early twenties, and quite intelligent. He has a high tolerance for progressiveness and permissiveness- but this was too far. He had a line, and this video crossed it. He didn't understand my seeming indifference.

I explained to him as best I could: I too had a line, and it had been crossed a long time ago. When dealing with any human activity there are two places where a line can most easily, and legitimately, be drawn: all, or nothing. Trying to debate a line anywhere in between is all but impossible. You claim one, but not two, or two, but not three. Monday, but not Tuesday. He was trying to draw a line in the middle. Basically: Sex? Yeah, but not if you get paid for it.

I actually applaud my young friend. Though he is more lax than I would like, he does have some morals. He has some sense of right and wrong. In a word, he has lines that he thinks should not be crossed. We can work with that. I have seen too many who don't have lines, but a price. Offer them what they want, and they will do anything. Anything at all.

But we have crossed the line, and moved away from nothing. We are at a point of "some". The answer to my young friend's surprise at my lack of surprise was simple: I already knew the principle of "sex sells." This was merely an expression of degree. We are carried from one, to two, to three, and all of those points get passed over because none of those can stand. Once you begin on the road, the question is simply how far, and the answer always seems to be: a little bit farther. Another case in point: it is Friday night, and I won't go anywhere near my tv. It's a catholic blog, I won't say why, save that it has crossed way beyond my line.

It has been a long slide downhill. I can say, with a pun, it has been a Hell of a ride. I stop it by turning off my tv. Alone there is little more I can do. But how can I protect my two beautiful girls from a world of people who didn't?

Dodge a Bullet to Step Into a Cannon

In my last post I mentioned how the choir really managed to dodge a bullet. That bullet was me, so to speak, although I was also taking one for the team. Here's how:

The MD plays for two churches on Sunday: ours, and the United down the road. He plays for the United first, then makes a beeline for us. The Sunday before last he calls me over and asks me a favour. "I may not be on time to play the processional next week," he said. "Could you do it?"

I am not a good organist- I told him such, and asked if he could have the other organist for our church just stay a few minutes longer. It turns out he couldn't, because that organist also plays for two churches, and he took off immediately after his Masses here. I was "it".

"I'll try," I said.

I spent the week practicing "All Glory Praise and Honour". I got okay with it, but I kept making random mistakes. To you who play, you know the problem- if I am consistent in my errors, I can target the problem- but random errors are a lack of general proficiency. Worse, I have a tendency to try and correct the error before moving on, which is nothing short of disaster for accompaniment playing. Worst of all, I had no chance to familiarize myself with the church organ, so I would be playing an unfamiliar instrument, without a warm up.

The day came, and as I looked out from the choir loft I felt my apprehension turn into a fair panic. Sweat rolled. I will confess, when I play my organ at home, in my heart I am often miles away, at the console of some great pipe organ, my notes echoing through some vast, beautiful cathedral. I have been curious about trying to play for a Mass, one day. I thought the time to start would be on a summer's Sunday, when half the church is on vacation. But I never had any intention of making my debut on Palm Sunday, before a standing room only Church. My pulse was getting out of hand. If I used my heartbeat to help pace my playing, I would go beyond Allegro, straight past Presto, and into Come un Pipistrello del inferno. I fumbled over the keys, trying to warm up, while silently praying to Sts. Gregory, Cecelia, the Choirs of Angels, and ultimately, St Jude, "Get him here! please. Pretty please. with sugar."

And he showed up. I let out an explosive breath and whacked my head on the ledge over the organ in my haste to get up and way for the Master.

I went down into the Church proper and took part in the Mass (I was sick and my voice was shot, so no choir work for me) and I already spoke of the music. I went up afterwards to find out the music for the rest of Holy Week, when the MD called me over. "Bear," he said to me. "Most likely I will be late next week..." I protested, but again, me or nothing.

Palm Sunday was bad... I dodged a bullet, but this is EASTER! I'm staring at the muzzle of a cannon! I'm playing "That Easter Day With Joy Was Bright". Right now, I'm asking for prayers. Either that the United Minister cuts the service short, or that I become a better organist in a hurry, and that my performance anxiety comes under control. Or some better solution appear.

Well, that's it. Gotta go practice. And finish off that bottle of TUMS.

Res ipse loquitor

The Boston Liturgical Dance Ensemble is performing this lenten season at St. Ignasius Church.

Year around Christmas and Lent

They will be performing today, Palm Sunday; Good Friday, (Stations of the Cross at 1:oo and 3:00) and Easter Vigil.

Something happy, or amusing, because Laetare Sunday is Coming.

Warning: the following may be considered gross.

Let me tell you a story. This is how Bear met Puff. It is true, though few believe it.

I was sitting at a table in a pub at my university with some friends and acquaintances one day, drinking tea and coffee and talking. The topic of conversation had turned to tales of what our parents had done during the war. Everyone was chipping in stories.

I was going to tell a story about my father (who had served in Italy and the Netherlands) and his time in the Spaghetti League. One time he was on patrol, and likely somewhat drunk. (He often spoke of being "bombed" in Italy and I don't believe he was always referring to airplanes dropping ordnance.) While wandering around he found himself standing in a chicken coop and wondering how exactly he had got there. As he watched the chickens squawking around him, the idea struck him that chicken would make a tasty switch from the usual Army fare. The only problem was how to kill the chickens, when the only weapon he had was his Tommy gun. But, being somewhat tipsy, he figured he was a marksman. He planned to simply aim at their heads, knock a few off, and carry the carcasses back to base. (At this point you have to understand that the preferred weapon of the British/Canadian forces and Al Capone was really not designed for fowl. It was also, contrary to what you see in movies, very inaccurate. Dad once said it really excelled at killing cows. You just aimed at the front half and cut what you wanted off the back half.) So he opened fire. Predictably, things did not go as planned. He kept hitting chickens square on and they would disintegrate in a puff of feathers. Well, determined to have something other than meat in a tin, he just switched his gun over to full automatic and just began sweeping the coop, back and forth, back and forth, chickens squawking, exploding, feathers flying- until he finally had a few that were more or less intact, which he carried off.

This, as I said, was the story I was about to tell. But before I could the woman sitting next to me (who was the friend of a mutual friend also at the table and not someone I knew very well) chirped up with a story of her own. It was about the time her mother, who was born and raised in Italy, was going out back to feed the chickens. Before she got there she noticed a drunken Canadian standing in her coop, and while she watched him, wondering what he was doing, he raised his weapon and began machine gunning the entire coop, before he carried off her two best laying hens. She rushed off to tell her father what had happened. "Curse him!" growled her father. "May that man's sins be visited upon his son!"

My immediate reaction was: I'd better find another story.

And that's how Bear met Puff.

Because this is a Catholic blog I'll try to give this story a moral.

Here goes: The Lord works in mysterious ways.

He also has a very odd sense of humour.

The Tomb of Someone named Yesua

Ok, so dem bones, dem bones are being trotted out again.

Someone, 2000 years ago was named Yesua, and had a wife named Mariamene, and a mother named Mary and a son, name I forget, and a brother. Where's Papa? I mean if you are going to cancel Easter, cancel Christmas too. Really, what's the point of one without the other?

Reminds me of a joke in the early 70's, my sister told me when I was 5 years old

"Puff, Puff they cancelled Easter, they found the body."

"No," I begin to cry

"That's not all, they cancelled Christmas, they found his father too."

Then I cried, even more.


So they can prove it is The Lord's remains, through DNA testing.

Oscar-winning Titanic director said statistical tests and DNA analysis backed
this view. .....

"Mariamene is Mary Magdalene - that's the
Ringo, that's what sets this whole film in motion," he
said. ....

Israeli archaeologist Amos Kloner, who was among the first to
examine the tomb when it was first discovered, said the names marked on the
coffins were very common at the time. "I don't accept the news that it was used
by Jesus or his family," he told the BBC News website.

Read the rest here

Ok DNA specialists out there, correct me if I am wrong: In order for a body to be confirmed as belonging to a specific person, isn't a comparison to be run, using the DNA from the corpse and a reference sample of DNA of the person one wishes to prove it is or isn't. My question is where did they get the reference sample of Our Lord's DNA in order to run a comparison. Or were they just able to prove that everyone in the tomb are related to each other. We already knew that. I fully believe that that the tombs are labelled correctly, I just don't think that the Yeshua buried there is "My Lord, and My God"

So I can't be bothered to get angry at Cameron. He is barely a Director, and now people are going to trust his theories in archeology and theology. Come on, everyone take a deep breath and let it go. Cameron isn't worth the energy to get outraged.

If you stick with me long enough, you will find a I love quoting Thomas More (Man for All Seasons)

And as he said to Roper, I would like to say to Cameron, " I only hope that when your head stops spinning it is to the front again."

Thomas More pray for him.

Good news, bad news

The good news is father did not decant the blood of Christ today. But that is because I got my ashes at a school Mass and he did not offer communion in both species to the children.

The bad news is, it was a school Mass. Opening hymn was Be not Afraid. I heard the choir practicing a Kyrie before Mass, which was odd. Perhaps no one informed them that the penitenial rite is omitted on Ash Wednesday. Fortunately, Father didn't give them a chance to sing it. They had no gospel acclamation, but Father E. did a good job of singing Praise to You Lord King of Eternal Glory while Father B recited the versicle. The psalm was recited by four students, and apparently was the wrong translation.

For the distribution of the Ashes they had a hymn I never heard before, possibly called "Ashes." It stank. When it came to the Eucharistic Prayer, the Sanctus used could better be entitled "Sing Hosanna." The moronic teacher actually had the children sing "Sing Hosanna! Sing Hosanna! Sing Alleluia!" Father E. tried his best to sing over them and make it three "Sing Hosannas". I find it absolutely insulting that the guy in charge of picking the music for the school Mass doesn't know that you don't sing Alleluia during Lent. But hey, I'm just picky.

Offertory was "On Eagle's Wings." If I comment any more on this one I will suffer apoplexy.

Communion Hymn I can't remember, thank God. I don't know what the recessional was, because I beat a hasty retreat.

Oh, and they ignored the pipe organ in the loft and strummed a guitar. But that's not anybody's fault. The leader plays the guitar, not the organ, but still. The church had a perfectly good organist sitting at home.

They should create a position at the TCDSB for someone to plan Masses for the schoolboard across Toronto so we don't have monstrosities like this any more. I'd apply. Any one at the Board who can help me out?

The Devout Life: A House Dismantled

The Devout Life: A House Dismantled,

Since Maria used my blog for her comment on Devout Life, I thought I should comment on this story.

First.

You don't own the house. The owner allowed you to live there, it seems, rent free. The house aint yours.

Second.
The owner of the house retains ownership and maintains the right to move the house if he so wishes.

Third.
The owner may appoint a steward (not you the boarder) to command the house, to act for the Owner until the owner returns and, if the Steward commands the house moved, the house moves.

So to answer your question: Did you leave the house?

No you didn't leave the house, but you did abandon the house. It was never your house, and this confusion, is caused by the use of the possessive pronoun "(y)our." We have use of it, not ownership. The house moved and you did not move with it.

The House is God's House, (He owns it) and no temporal person may, by any means, presume to take it upon himself to assume its ownership.

The command of the Church was granted to St.Peter and the Bishops of Rome, from the mouth of our Blessed Saviour, Christ Himself, whilst He lived and was personally present here on earth.