What’s up with the Mafia, Father Byers? Can you break the Seal of Confession for us?

Here’s a fictional conversation between myself and a certain law enforcement officer:

  • What’s up with the Mafia, Father Byers?
  • I’m a priest, not a rat.
  • You’ve made it point to get to know a guy helping head up GICO of GdiF.
  • That antimafia freakboy? I’m impressed. You’ve done your research. But you’re wasting my time. Am I free to leave?
  • You’re right. It was his initiative. He made it a point to get to know you. We put him on to you.
  • But for years, with bribes that would embarrass Church and State, with extortion that would have left me bereft of lifesaving medicine, even threats to bring my priesthood to an end in any number of ways, all witnessed, so annoying. Typical craft. What of it?
  • But life as a spy, full of adrenaline, the assignments he was giving you… You resisted…
  • I guess you’re having a problem with my answer at the start of this interrogation.
  • You misunderstand. This is just a conversation. We’re all friends.
  • So, I’m free to leave, friend?
  • There is the matter of that liaison between the Ministero della Difesa and the Holy See that we had living at your college in Rome.
  • You mean that idiot wanting to get me assigned to a certain parish with the end of having me break the Seal of Confession should any members of the mafia sing about what they’ve done? That weasel, sorry excuse for a human being, pezzo di merda?
  • Um… the best attorney Italy has to offer, Father Byers. He was getting his doctoral degree in Church Law as well if I remember. But, yes, that’s why we’ve brought you in.
  • I cannot break the Seal of Confession. What’s said there stays there, buried deep in the wounds of Christ. I would die before breaking the Seal of Confession. I don’t want to be excommunicated. I don’t want to go to hell. I want to go to heaven. I cannot betray the blood of Christ Jesus in the Confessional. I have no right to anything said there. If I were to betray sins confessed in Sacramental Confession, I would take the guilt of all those sins on myself. I won’t do that. As for you… you betray your oath to uphold the Constitution, the First Amendment, the free exercise of religion. You should go to Confession. We’re done here.
  • But we thought you might be brave enough to go up against the mafia.
  • I want those in the mafia to go to heaven, repentant, with a firm purpose of amendment, with changed circumstances of life, with absolution.
  • We just want to listen in. We wont act on anything. It’s privileged information. You can do your duty as a priest and help to protect innocent people.
  • After all this time, you, the religious expert — one-time seminarian, is that right? — you still don’t get that I’m not against flesh and blood. I want people to go to heaven, including the mafia. I am against the fallen angels. And you’re siding with them, aren’t you? I believe in God, because I see His wounds.
  • I’ll tell you whose wounds I see, those of the sheep inflicted by those damned mafia wolves.
  • You only lust after promotion. You come to me only because you can’t do your own job. You just want to imprison the mafia. But I can do more to end the multiplication of victims by converting individual members of the mafia, relying only on integrity and honesty and honor and respect.

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DSS redistributing kids: $53,000,000 in settlements. Years and years.

  • “CHEROKEE COUNTY, N.C. (WLOS) — In a letter dated June 29, 2022, Cherokee County Commissioners released terms of a settlement for the pending 21 separate lawsuits filed against the county and former employees in the use of illegal custody and visitation agreements. The total payout for those 21 cases amounts to $42 million dollars. When you add in several other cases which already reached settlements and jury judgements for the total 25 separate lawsuits that were filed against Cherokee County a total payout of over $53 million dollars has been awarded to families. Those agreements were processed through the Cherokee County Department of Social Services to place children outside of their parents’ homes until they were 18 years old without court approval. The suits alleged the violation of the parents’ and children’s Constitutional rights, as well as violations of state law regarding abused, neglected and dependent juveniles.” — by Jennifer Emert

On the money aspect, the County’s insurance will pay about half of the total for the settlements, burdening the tax payers more than $24,000,000 dollars.

Regarding allegedly stealing and allegedly redistributing kids all allegedly illegally by alleged people who allegedly should know better… it makes my blood boil.

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Pope Francis on SCOTUS and Pelosi’s sacrilege

So, Pope Francis gave another long interview, this time to Reuters.

Below I include the bit about the Supreme Courts overturning of Roe v Wade and Nancy Pelosi receiving Holy Communion.

Pope Francis claims ignorance of the law and so can’t comment on that, but does say that abortion is like hiring a sicario, a hit man. But then, establishing that abortion is so very evil, he condemns anyone who would say that pro-abortion politicians like Nancy Pelosi should be denied Holy Communion, with that condemnation carrying the moniker of “non-pastoral”, which, by the way, is enough to have someone removed from ministry. That puts all priests and bishops on notice, and it’s a green light to all sinners to F*** sacramental Confession and just go to Holy Communion in mortal sin, eating and drinking their own condemnation, as Saint Paul warns, thus mocking themselves, mocking the least of the brethren in the womb, and mocking Christ Jesus.

  • “Asked about the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling overturning the landmark Roe v. Wade ruling establishing a woman’s right to have an abortion, Francis said he respected the decision but did not have enough information to speak about it from a juridical point of view. But he strongly condemned abortion, comparing it to “hiring a hit man”. The Catholic Church teaches that life begins at the moment of conception. “I ask: Is it legitimate, is it right, to eliminate a human life to resolve a problem?”
  • Francis was asked about a debate in the United States over whether a Catholic politician who is personally opposed to abortion but supports others’ right to choose should be allowed to receive the sacrament of communion. House of Representatives speaker Nancy Pelosi, for example, has been barred by the conservative archbishop of her home diocese of San Francisco from receiving it there, but is regularly given communion at a parish in Washington, D.C. Last week, she received the sacrament at a papal Mass in the Vatican. “When the Church loses its pastoral nature, when a bishop loses his pastoral nature, it causes a political problem,” the pope said. “That’s all I can say.”

That’s all you can say, is it? I wonder how that’s going to work out before Him who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. We pray for conversion: Hail Mary…

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Pope Francis kneecaps priest who graciously corrected him as a courtesy: Galatians 2:11

https://www.lifesitenews.com/blogs/pope-francis-bans-priest-who-publicly-challenged-him-from-all-public-ministry/

Read that article to the end. It includes the priest’s response to Pope Francis in his own words.

This priest can now only offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass “privately”, but even that will be taken away unless he absolutely refrains from saying anything that the Supreme Pontiff might just possibly not like.

This martyr priest is, of course, being used as an example to all other priests and bishops. Say anything whatsoever to assist the Bishop of Rome to be closer to Jesus and that Bishop of Rome will attack you with all the fury of hell.

My response to such self-righteous abuse of authority Karen drama on the part of the Successor of Peter – how embarrassing – is to cite Galatians 2:11, you remember, when Saint Paul reprimanded [not yet Saint] Peter:

  • “When Cephas [Peter] came to Antioch, however, I [Paul] opposed him to his face, because he stood to be condemned.”

As I’ve said before, had Paul refrained from doing this, both he and Peter would have gone to hell. Had Paul done this but Peter rejected the rebuke, Paul would go to heaven but Peter to hell. As it is, Paul did do this and now both are in heaven, Saint Paul and Saint Peter. Great!

Canon law recognizes the God-given right of the Christ’s faithful to bring their concerns to the pastors of the Church without fear of getting kicked in the face, without fear of having their throats slit by those who would throw infantile tantrums against such charitable souls. This priest isn’t an old meanie. Reprimanding someone who needs it is extremely difficult. The easy way until everyone goes to hell is just to say that abortion is a Holy Sacrament, that good is evil, that Jesus is not divine, that there is no sin, that there is no doctrine, no morality, nothing. But this priest isn’t taking the easy way that leads to hell. He trying to get himself and Pope Francis to heaven, like Paul did with Peter. Is that so bad?

In solidarity with this priest, who says he will continue to speak up, and who’s probably heading for laicization because of that, and in solidarity with the Successor of Peter now ingloriously reigning, who needs to receive such a reprimand from that priest, prayers go up for both. Please join me: Hail Mary

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Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (Cure-all plantago lanceolata, ed.)

This is a wasteland plant, I guess, but a cure-all. The seed-boxes out on the front steps won’t grow anything. People have donated flowers. I’ve planted I think five different things. Pretty much all dead or severely ailing. Meanwhile, this lonely plantago lanceolata volunteered, showing everyone how it’s done. When you need a flower for the Immaculate Conception, this will do the job. “Lanceolata” refers to a spear. Mary knows all about that, standing next to Jesus on the Cross when He was pierced through by soldiers spear on Calvary. A lanceolata for you, Mary.

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My liturgical dancing out of the TLM ;-)

For those terribly offended by this analogy, consider:

  • When John the Baptist leapt for joy in his mother Elizabeth’s womb as he was sanctified by little Jesus in the womb of Immaculate Mary, this leaping was dancing for joy just as David danced for joy before the Ark of the Covenant. But this time, with John, the Ark is not a box, but Mary who carried God Himself. The preface even in the Novus Ordo speaks of John singing about the Lamb who takes away the sins of the world.
  • Commenters on the symbolic meanings of Juan Diego’s Tilma say that the posture, the stance of Mary depicts that she is actually moving, well, dancing, dancing for joy, and she also sings her magnificat, glorifying the Lord.

We recall Guardini’s and Ratzinger’s The Spirit of the Liturgy, at play before the Lord, right?

One is free to enter into the Sacrifice of Praise, following the law by way of the Holy Spirit, which is not freedom to break the commandments, or the rubrics for that matter, but the freedom of the children of God who will joyfully follow the commandments. See Romans 3:31…

  • “Do we, then, nullify the law by faith? Certainly not! Instead, we uphold the law.”

So, let me offer a contrast. I have witnessed academic know-nothing professors in seminaries who, thinking themselves to be clever, sophisticated, ever so self-congratulatory, would go out of their way to change words in the Eucharistic Prayer (this all being Novus Ordo) and change all sorts of rubrics at Holy Mass, consistently, purposely, just so as to showcase that Mass is be an occasion by which to turn the sanctuary into a staging of narcissism. They turn the Law of Prayer, the Sacrifice of the Last Supper as united with Calvary, into an instruction to the seminarians about how, when they are priests, they too will be able to kick their parishioners in the face, relativizing to themselves that which is by it’s very nature is to be open to those who desire to be united to that Sacrifice of Jesus, and not privatized by narcissists.

Could it be that those bad and evil trads who say the black of the text and do the red of the rubrics at Holy Mass ever so rigidly, so very entrenched – because they’re all, ALL OF THEM, old meanies, right? – could it be that at least some of them are actually saying the black and doing the red because they have light and joyful hearts, truly joyful in the gift of joy from the Holy Spirit, and are absolutely enjoying the freedom of the children of God, freed because of not being forced to be narcissistic, freed because of being immobilized, nailed down, crucified with the Son of the Living God, dead to themselves so as to live for Jesus, to lead others not to themselves but to Jesus, because He’s the One, the only One?

Yes, that could be. It’s true in some small way with me. I’m so unworthy. But our Lord’s graciousness in having wretched me be His priest makes me all the more joyful. He’s so good and kind, and His Truth is overwhelmingly glorious, awesome, stunning… I don’t have the brain-power-band-width to distract myself about how cleverly I can enculturate my idiocy into what is by rights His Holy Mass so as to relativize the Holy Mass to myself, cheating myself and everyone else in The Lord’s Little Flock. They have a right to His Holy Mass. They don’t need my stupidity. I would feel terribly self-conscience in “creating my own Mass.” I want to be preoccupied not with myself, but with Jesus. He’s the One. He’s the only One.

And there’s this from Taylor. Great! He nails this perfectly. Lol. Well done, Taylor. Well done:

I’M SORRY! I APOLOGIZE! THERE’S LACE IN THAT PICTURE AT THE TOP OF THIS POST! OH NO!

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Reagan’s 4th of July speech – 1986

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You know you’re exercising 2a rights when…

You know you’re exercising 2a rights when…

  • … all the shirts you own are tattered in a certain place.

You know you’re exercising 2a rights when…

  • … the Glock factory in Smyrna, Georgia, is sprucing up your tool of choice and the guys there tell you that they’ve never seen such wear on the coating on their slides, and then ask if you’ve put out more than eight thousand rounds, and are undercutting the count by more than two thirds. (And that was years ago.)
Note to infringers: You’re right, that’s a threaded barrel. But I don’t own a suppressor. This is just to get a slightly longer barrel for target practice which in these years has been extremely rare because of the lack of inexpensive plinking rounds.

You know you’re exercising 2a rights when…

  • lively conversations about the faith at supermarkets and gas stations – with all sorts of questions about the priesthood, about pro-life, about Christ Jesus precisely as the Divine Son of Mary, about Church history and the reformation, about priests being chaplains for the military and law enforcement, about where our Catholic church is located in town, about God-given rights enumerated in our Constitution, about these non-Catholics feeling totally welcomed to come by the church for a fish fry and for Holy Mass to see what’s really going on at Catholic parishes, all this because of carrying open and people loving to see that.

You know you’re exercising 2a rights when…

  • [[ … do you have a story on this 4th of July? …]]

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Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (purpled majesty, edition)

Today’s another First Saturday. We have on-going First Saturdays up in the parish church. Mass at 9:00 AM, which has an opportunity for going to Holy Communion, of course. There’s preaching for a good 15 minutes by which to accompany Mary, meditating on the mysteries of the Rosary. Today will be all about the Visitation, which is the liturgical feast day in the TLM calendar. We also have a recitation of the Rosary and Confessions.

The flowers in this post were picked the other week at the friend’s house, you know, the one of altar rail and church sign, and bacon fame. I put up these all-purple flowers for Mary because of the royal significance. Purple dye back in the day was so very rare and so very expensive that it was reserved for kings. But Mary carried the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Prince of the Most Profound Peace in her womb, just a few cells in size, as she visited her cousin Elizabeth, both she and John in her womb being sanctified by the Holy Spirit upon Mary’s greeting, Jesus with her.

Pius XII in his encyclical Mystici Corporis Christi exclaimed with great enthusiasm:

  • “Now the only-begotten Son of God embraced us in His infinite knowledge and undying love even before the world began. And that He might give a visible and exceedingly beautiful expression to this love, He assumed our nature in hypostatic union: hence – as Maximus of Turin with a certain unaffected simplicity remarks – “in Christ our own flesh loves us.” But the knowledge and love of our Divine Redeemer, of which we were the object from the first moment of His Incarnation, exceed all that the human intellect can hope to grasp. For hardly was He conceived in the womb of the Mother of God, when He began to enjoy the Beatific Vision, and in that vision all the members of His Mystical Body were continually and unceasingly present to Him, and He embraced them with His redeeming love. O marvelous condescension of divine love for us! O inestimable dispensation of boundless charity! In the crib, on the Cross, in the unending glory of the Father, Christ has all the members of the Church present before Him and united to Him in a much clearer and more loving manner than that of a mother who clasps her child to her breast, or than that with which a man knows and loves himself.

That’s true majesty. It’s good for us to take that in as we continue to celebrate the reversal of Roe v Wade by the Supreme Court. After all, Jesus said, what you’ve done to the least of these you’ve done to me.

You knew the whole drama of this visitation of God-with-us to get us out of this hell and off to heaven, Mary. Majestic flowers for you.

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Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (Blood spattered, Yikes! edition)

I’ll give all the credit for that flower for the Immaculate Conception to a good friend. That flower witnessed the event some feet away from his workshop and was likely spattered with blood as he sped by, racing back to his house, blood spurting from his hand.

He had been doing up some super-tricky table saw work for a new system for hanging up the church signs up at Prince of Peace Catholic Church in Robbinsville. Yikes!

He had also been sprucing up those signs with some new paint, metallic gold for the cross, chrome paint for “Prince of Peace”, bright white for “Catholic Church,” a brighter Mary-blue for the main field, with the addition of some unexpected drops of red here and there.

He said to wait until Friday, yesterday, to pick them up. That’s not my usual epic Day Off to accomplish such trips, as there is Noon Mass, with yesterday also being the 1st Class Feast of the Most Precious Blood of Jesus, which is extra appropriate in this case, and then 7:00 PM Adoration.

The hundreds of miles round trip began at 6:00 AM, with a successful return just 15 minutes before Holy Mass began. Thanks, guardian angels.

July 4th weekend traffic was crazy fast!!!!!!!!!! even early morning Friday on the Smoky Mountain Expressway, like I’ve never seen before, and then on 26 south of Asheville, and then 280 below that continuation of the New Madrid fault mountain chain. There were plenty of police pulling people over, blue lights everywhere. No one cared. Be careful out there this weekend.

July 4th weekend traffic was crazy sloooooooooooow going through the Nantahala gorge, as the kayakers were out in force, as expected. That’s the occasional price to pay for one’s parish including some of the most beautiful and most visited National Park in the country (at least checking stats many years ago). They all have a mantra: “Let’s travel waaaaaaaaaaaaaay under the speed limit to take in the beauty!” I get that. It’s all good. But the locals ride the bumpers of the gawkers. Be careful out there this weekend.

After Holy Mass in Andrews, I ran the (church) signs up across the mountain to Robbinsville. I was just able to get them out of Tessie the Toyota and under the overhang before thunderous downpours. There they sit, waiting to be put up, which is a little bit tricky, due to the new attachment system that our newly bandaged friend worked on.

It was the side of one finger. He’s not complaining. He’s pretty tough. Meanwhile, much of our conversation is about SCOTUS decisions, the reversal of Roe v Wade, the EPA decision, the 2nd Amendment decisions, both the one about the constitutional right to carry and the one kicking the ATF in the face about their chevron idiocy. Meanwhile, the flower for the Immaculate Conception is holding up. It’s a new twist on the saying of the Fathers of the Church waaaay back in the day, that the blood of martyrs waters the garden of faith, or words to that effect. :-)

By the way, this is the same friend who planned out, created (lathing and everything) and installed our beautiful altar rails the other year. How about a Hail Mary for his efforts? Hail Mary…

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Son of my military-alcoholic dad: striving to follow his good example

This is part 2 of a series, with part 1 being here, published immediately before this post:

That post was about him. This one is about my own usage of the dynamic of alcohol.

As I said in that last post, dad is totally my hero for how he went from being the active alcoholic to getting really close to Jesus with daily Mass and spiritual direction from priests. He became sober in the early-mid 1970s, successfully going cold-turkey on a certain Ash Wednesday, and sticking with it. That really impressed me. Great example.

Do I drink? Not much. Nothing against it. Catholics know how to party, as we know from the Wedding of Cana. But to say that any drinking on my part is a rare event doesn’t quite tell the story.

In younger days, when offered a slice of salty pizza, I might be given a beer. Whatever.

More recently, I’m sure I’ve had a craft beer here or there. We didn’t have those when I was a kid. Back when I was in Europe I do remember having a panaché or two. Some will say that doesn’t count. Even more recently, I remember having a sip of apple cider. But hard liquor? I would try a Bailey’s Irish Cream on a spectacular occasion, every other ten or twenty years. The rector of the seminary at which I was a new faculty member ordered a Manhattan for me at a meal for all the new priest-professors at Ruth’s Chris. I didn’t know what a a Manhattan was. Now I know it’s not for me.

Here’s the deal: as I grow older, I find out that my larynx swells up because of the trauma of a drink with too high of a percentage of alcohol. I have a super rare hereditary disease and I gotta be careful. My mom, from whom I got this hereditary malady, suffocated to death with her throat swelling up (not because of alcohol), as do about 1/3 of those affected. Not pleasant. I’ve been at that point of my esophagus just barely not being entirely tightly swelled shut more than a couple of dozen times throughout my life. I’m just waiting my turn for the 100% event at anytime. So, it’s just not worth having a hard drink. That’s all been good for my spiritual life, but – Hey! – there are other ways, like a Rosary.

Besides, now, for some six years, I carry G-19 Gen-4. That doesn’t mix with any drinking, ever. Period.

Whatever about having a panaché or a craft beer or even the rare Bailey’s in days of yore, my attitude toward alcohol my entire life was simply benign neglect. You like it? Go for it! I enjoy having a sharp intellect as much as that’s even possible through my fog.

Reflecting on this now, I cannot for the life of me even once think of any occasion ever when dad offered any alcohol of any kind to me, ever. He totally respected me on this point. That respect of his for me was very formative. He wanted better for me. I took that in stride. Thanks, dad.

I’ve lost good friends in just saying “no” to their offer of hard liquor. But it’s not a friend of any kind who, even in knowing my medical condition, still doesn’t care one bit about that. I know how to be polite, but then entrench. When I was a kid there was never a problem with any forcing dramatics. The first time I had to learn how to say “no” to alcohol was when I was a new deacon just assigned to a parish Stateside for a month or so during the Summer break in between school years over in Rome. Learning how to say “no” was an event, that is to say, it happened all in the space of a couple of days which brought all the premises of a lifetime together, so to speak, in the argument that would play out to a conclusion of how to deal with… trouble. Just say “no.”

It was a huge rectory with three priests assigned there. The pastor was an alcoholic in total denial. The parochial vicar befriended me but stayed out of the way of the other two priests, one of them being “in residence.” This would be a perfect experience for me for me to be trained up in saying “no” to alcohol just to test the psychological dynamics. Was I welcome as a human being bringing with me an entire life history, or, as a deacon wanting to be a priest, did I have to conform to some behavioral standard just to impress the powers that be so as to get a good word put in for me to the bishop? In other words, would I have to drink hard liquor just to fit in, or else?

For the first week at this new assignment I stayed in my room in the evening, reading, studying, praying, whatever, anything but making myself available in the “common room” of the rectory, trying to avoid the drama of the alcoholism. But then it struck me that this was no way to live.

I made my way to the “common room” one evening with something to read, a large tome of moral theology, something about Humanae vitae by Italian author Father Ermenigildo Lio, something that would take me days to plow through. The “common room” was very spacious, with all sorts of couches and chairs and coffee tables, a large television, always stocked with chips and drinks and a beer-keg fridge with a tap through the door. The door of the “common room” was always open. I sat down, turned on the reading lamp next to me, and opened my book.

In no time at all, so predictable, the pastor appeared, taken aback at my presence, but he said hello, and then went to get a beer stein and fill it up at the tap of the keg fridge, but only, say 1/3 full. He would then waddle back to his room. Five minutes later, a repeat. This went on for hours. Finally, I had him spooked. He spoke up:

  • So, you’re just reading, right?
  • Yes.
  • So, what’r you reading?
  • Oh just something by Ermenigildo Lio. Good stuff. On Human vitae.
  • So, is your room O.K.?
  • Perfect. I just thought this would be a change of scenery. This is a nice chair.
  • We can get a chair like it for your room.
  • This is O.K.
  • So, just so you know, I only fill up the stein just a bit. I’m cutting back. Doctor’s orders.
  • [[… back to reading … head down … I wasn’t thrown out … yet … but it wouldn’t be long now …]]

I’m so bad and evil. But I got the message across. He knew better than to get plastered every night like this. He was upset with me for calling him out just by reading quietly in chair in a “common room.”

The next day I was told by the in-residence priest to make sure to show up for the evening meal. It was a setup, of course. The in-residence priest brought some very expensive hard liquor and made up some special occasion which didn’t sound special at all. The parochial vicar didn’t show up, smart as he was. No food was on the table yet, but the bottle was de-foiled and un-corked, and I was given one of the special glasses he also brought. I politely refused, setting the glass upside down on the table, now guessing the connection with the night before. I wasn’t going to be manipulated. He insisted. I even more politely refused, ever so soft-spoken, going out of my way to be very nice indeed. He insisted again, picking up the glass and filling it up, shoving it in my hands. I put it back on the table. We played this game a few more times as the pastor watched intently. It was all quite aggressive by this point as the in-residence guy told me that he was involved with seminarian formation and then instructed me:

  • “If you’re going to be ordained a priest you’re going to have to learn to drink sociably.”
  • “No.”
  • “This is an issue we’re going to have to raise with the bishop.”
  • “Fine with me.”

And in anger, he stomped out, not staying for the meal. The pastor said nothing, but that evening repeated his beer stein waddlings.

If they were going to deny me ordination to the priesthood over politely refusing a drink (they weren’t interested in reasons), that means I was already dead. I was transferred to another parish, just like that.

Look, I’m no paragon of virtue. I’m not putting these guys down to say I’m great. No. It’s just that I did learn something from my dad and I thank him for that and I want more people to gain from the lessons he taught me. It’s about Jesus. He’s the One. He’s the only One. He knew that. Jesus’ Little Flock can know Jesus. He’s our pastor. It’d be great if priests would get to know Jesus like this as well. We’re nothing without Jesus.

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Dad’s alcoholism as USMC bomber & fighter attack pilot. Be nostalgic! Do it now!

WWII Corsair footage coming up in my YouTube “suggested” feed went unwatched until a priest friend texted the same video to me. “Be nostalgic! Do it now!” That made me nostalgic, of course. I like to brag about dad and his medals from the USMC and Dept of the Navy, the Army, various nations. This is my way of supporting the military. But something has been lacking in this support. I should be more fulsome in reporting about my dad. In this way, I can brag about him even more.

To lead into that account on dad’s military alcoholism, let’s try to understand how he got there. Context is everything, as is the solution. So back to his medals, particularly a few of the citations, which recount a hell of a lot of violence:

Just weeks later, days and days after Japan was not surrendering, calling the bluff of Little Boy and Fat Man, dad would be working with Minoru Wada to take out the communications and command post of Japan in the Philippines, instantly forcing Japan to surrender, just as Douglas MacArthur had predicted.

That’s the stick of bombs that did the trick in the background, the stick of bombs that dad would point out to me with such enthusiasm throughout my childhood. I knew it was him flying that bomber with that stick of bombs. Minoru Wada, POW but an American citizen (long story) was the navigator in the foreground. We had pictures of Minoru Wada up throughout the house, also together with my dad. They’re hanging up in the rectory in front of me right now.

I’ve bragged a lot about dad in the past, putting up pictures of his multiple Distinguished Navy Service Medals, his multiple Distinguished Flying Crosses, his Purple Heart, his fistful of Air Medals, and truckloads of other medals, but that doesn’t quite capture what he was going through personally.

Here are two more citations for his three DFCs. Lots and lots of death. That makes an impact.

img_20190618_053854~21093248197061323451..jpg
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I was once able to peruse dad’s log books not only detailing logistics of hundreds and hundreds of sorties, but also including his super idealistic and super patriotic dreams for future political service back Stateside. I was very taken also to read vivid, poetic descriptions of the faces of Korean rice-farmers during low-level approaches he was flying so as to take out communist munitions trains and the bridges they were using.

That’s dad at the fold of the wing of a fighter attack corsair of the Checkerboard Squadron 312 that he commanded after graduating from VLMB 611 to move on from Guam and the Philippines to Japan, China, Korea and mapping out the future air campaign for Vietnam.

Drinking!

In those log books he also briefly detailed some of his drinking sessions, with whom and where, with names having a significance for these wars that I cannot now decipher. These are not now in my possession.

Meanwhile, here’s part of a conversation I had with a Vet of 28 years yesterday after daily Mass:

  • Me: Guys often learn to drink during their time in the military.
  • Him: Yes. They do.
  • Me: Amounts of liquor are often proportional to how many of your own guys were killed and then, in response, how many enemy combatants you’ve done in, and then, also in proportion to the comradery you have in plotting out further solutions, drinks in hand.
  • Him: Correct.

Anyway, as you can see from the citations above, describing just a few sorties amongst hundreds and hundreds, there was likely more adrenaline flowing than any liquor later on, the liquor diluting the adrenaline only slightly. You’re out of bed and in the plane flying a nanosecond after you hear this, gallons of adrenaline flowing again:

Dad became a military alcoholic. And he continued to be that in my youngest years.

But here’s why this is actually the source of my greatest bragging about him.

There was one particular Ash Wednesday that he gave up his smoking and drinking cold turkey, taking up sugarless hard candies and going to daily Mass. And he stuck to it. Did he struggle? Yes. Did he seek help in spiritual direction from priests? Yes. He wasn’t just overcoming drinking, he was facing, again, all the violence that he was entirely personally involved in, more violence than many towns will collectively see in a lifetime.

Meanwhile, he would bring me to daily Mass as a little kid, when I was a teenager, when I was a seminarian back home for the Summer.

My dad, the military alcoholic, totally my hero. Because, in being pointed to Jesus, he pointed me to Jesus.

So, what’s it been like being the son of a military alcoholic? I love being the son of my father.

I’ve never hidden that my dad was a military alcoholic. I’ve never denied this, suppressed this. No. It’s the other way around. I’ve striven to follow his good example. How accepting people were of that is another story for another post. But for now, thanks, dad. The world thanks you. Rest in peace.

Here’s Part 2 of this series, with Part 2 about how yours truly has striven to follow my dad’s good example:

Son of my military-alcoholic dad: striving to follow his good example

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Papal Mass today: Pelosi scores Holy Communion: sacrilege. How very disgusting.

Big day today for Nance the fanatic abortionist. She got Holy Communion at the Papal Mass. That’s after she countenanced the violent protests of the overturning of Roe v Wade, which included an assassination attempt on one of the Justices of the Supreme Court. Rewarded, honored, publicly. Where’s Canon 915?

By the way and just to say, politicians have always been put in a special section for diplomats and politicians right up front close to the altar at Papal Masses, but that section is special in the sense that no one in that section is ever to be administered Holy Communion. Maybe that rule’s been tossed. Did they go way of their way to make sure that she received Holy Communion? Was that a mistake?

Whatever the case, if I knew before who’s who, and there was a Nancy Pelosi or Joey Biden or John Kerry, I would not administer Holy Communion to any public sinner, “notorious,” as Canon Law says. To do that would only be confirming them on their trip to hell, eating and drinking their own condemnation, as Saint Paul says.

So, this is Pope Francis’ version of the New Mass is it? This is the lens through which I will be reading his new encyclical Desiderio desideravi. Some people like how nice they perceive it to be. I’m only half way through, and my perception is that everything is wrong, including every “and” and “the.” How very disgusting. More on that later, but it’s all-a-piece with Nancy the super-abortionist getting Holy Communion.

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Filed under Pope Francis, Pro-Life

Bishop’s church security program: shaking with a fear that’ll get people killed

All the following is to be heavily documented for CYA:

  • “When necessary, communicate your suspicions to the safety team as quickly as possible.
  • “Never hesitate to contact law enforcement if you have suspicions.
  • “Part of your training should focus on individuals capable of identifying the signs of any potential threat and suspicious behavior such as:
    • Nervousness
    • Anti-social tendencies
    • Strange attire
    • Body language
    • Confused look
  • “During Mass or large gatherings at your parish, conduct a minimum of one walk-around of the parking areas and exterior of building(s). Look for people inside vehicles as you may need to approach them to inquire their purpose on the property. If uncomfortable in doing so, never place yourself in harm’s way and never hesitate to contact law enforcement to be on the safe side of your decision making.”

MY COMMENT: It is this kind of fear, an unreasonable paranoia really, which risks getting you killed, for two reasons:

  • You’ll be pegged as the boy who cried wolf and no one will help when there’s a real emergency:
    • If you communicate suspicions to a security team such as “there’s a guy who’s got a confused look” they’re going to get tired of you right quick and will quit being on on the security team.
    • If you communicate suspicions to law enforcement, you know, calling 911, stating the location of the emergency, at a church, it is already at that point that all law available law enforcement in the region are going to risk their lives in speeding crazily to the church even before they hear the rest of the story, that it’s just a guy with a confused look, but even when they hear that, someone is still going to be dispatched, but everyone else will show up because of that. Really. But do that a couple more times and you’ll be fined and/or put in jail for wasting resources. And then no one’s going to come after that.
  • If you bother someone in a car in a parking lot around in WNC, you might be asking for trouble that you don’t want, someone who didn’t want someone accosting them in their car when they were just checking their phone, whatever. This is extremely imprudent, dangerous. Don’t do this.

This is PART 3 of a series.

Here’s Part 1: Church-security gun-policies that want us to throw Molotov cocktails at active shooters

Here’s Part 2: Bishops’ CRT church “security” creates mass shooters: good for risk-retention business!

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If this isn’t sex and human trafficking…

  • “The Biden administration has quietly signed a five-year contract to start leasing an abandoned school in Greensboro, North Carolina, to house unaccompanied migrant children away from the southern border.” […] Potentially thousands of migrant children will be detained at the American Hebrew Academy campus in Greensboro until they can be housed with either family members already living here in the U.S. or other sponsors.” — FoxNews

This hits close to home, because this is in the territory of my diocese (a five hour trip one way from my parish, though). I bet there will be some priest who is brought out of retirement to be the Catholic Chaplain, as about 100% of those kids are Catholic, right? I gotta wonder how much Catholic Charities has been, is now, or will soon be involved with all of this:

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Taylor Marshall ups the stakes for women on sex-strike. I laughed throughout. GREAT job, Taylor.

Perfect.

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Filed under Pro-Life, SCOTUS

Flowers for the Immaculate Conception (Veggies, bees and beasts, edition)

This is the very first bumble honey bee I’ve seen this entire year. And it’s weighed down with pollen, finally taking care of the tomato flowers. There’s been a zillion flowers, but with no bees, there are very few tomatoes that develop, mostly because of the work of one or two of what I call tomato wasps. Here’s the result of their work, the third harvested so far this year:

I couldn’t get a picture of a bee actively busy with the October Bean flowers below. With these, the bees and hummingbirds can entrench in mortal combat. Quite the entertainment.

Right now, the October Beans have run out of fence, itself starting about 1 or 2 feet off the ground, and are reaching high up into the sky, a good six feet higher than the string beans, which themselves are a bushy two feet high.

I’m thinking that that’s no bumble bee, but rather an Italian version of the honey bee. They must have heard my complaint about there being no bees around, as they were here in great numbers this morning all over the string beans and squarrrsh:

Meanwhile: sqarrrsh:

Here’s one with a bee:

So far, here’s one of many of the results so far:

Another bee:

Oops! That’s a cicada. I was wondering what that hole in the ground, very deep, was all about.

Anyone else with a prepper garden? Or just a garden?

Either way, it’s good for the soul, and delicious.

And it’s a chance to say Hail Marys for the souls in purgatory.

A flower for you, Mary: Hail Mary…

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Adoration and the Rosary

One day the Rosary will fully be a liturgical prayer. We pray it during Adoration.

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Adoration in thanksgiving

The parish is fearless, showing up whilst the world rages. And so many Confessions. Jesus loves us. He’s happy to be with His Little Flock.

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Father Blount’s prophesy: BLACKOUT x3. Holy Mass maliciously taken away from the faithful.

Father James Blount, a pastor of a parish down in Georgia just to the South of my WNC parish, was frequently the topic of conversations I had with one of my own parishioners, a good friend, an airline pilot, JQ, who recently passed away, who was also a friend of Father Blount.

JQ recounted to me a number of times the story Father Blount had mentioned to him about the thrice declared “BLACKOUT”. I remember that Father Blount had put up a video of this a while back. As he says in this present video, he had taken that down because it had scared some people and, truth be told, he couldn’t make much sense of it himself. But now there’s more, as he explains in this video above.

First of all, as he explains, we have to understand Padre Pio’s statement about Holy Mass:

  • “It would be easier for the world to survive without the sun than to do without the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

With that, Father Blount eventually learns something about the threefold BLACKOUT vision that he saw:

  • The first BLACKOUT of the Holy Sacrifice is the churches being locked down during Covid more by the supposed pastors of the Church than by any politicians.
  • The second BLACKOUT of the Holy Sacrifice will come about also in an analogously nefarious manner. I say that this could this come about because of destruction of churches for the sake of the “great reset.”
  • The third BLACKOUT of the Holy Sacrifice will come about, Father Blount surmises, when even electronic transmission of the Mass will be blocked, leaving people quite bereft. However, I think this will also be accompanied by quite a bit of violence toward priests who continue to offer Holy Mass.

I have to say that in my opinion this is precisely the trajectory of the Satanists of the great reset.

He speaks of this as at least an analogy with the three days of darkness.

My own take on this:

Look, I never met dear Father Blount. I’m sure I don’t agree with everything he says on every topic. Even canonized saints were wrong on various things. They weren’t canonized for their academics but rather for their holiness. I like what he says here. Is he right? I dunno. I think it’s consonant with lots of things that are happening, with a lot of things that the saints have said about our times in the last hundreds of years.

I recall the prophesy of Daniel 12, cited by Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew 23, and reiterated many times in the Apocalypse chapters, say, 12 to 18. There is to be 3½ years of the greatest persecution such as has never been seen since the foundation of the world and shall never be so again, that is, when we see the Daily Sacrifice come to an end and when we see the Abomination of Desolation being caused to be set up in the Holy of Holies where it must not be. The worst persecution is when there is a general apostasy and so many pastors of the Church lead the Lord’s Little Flock straight to hell, no doctrine, no morals, no instruction of the spiritual life, no reverent liturgy. That, of course, will usher in a bloody persecution, as people will push to see some witness about our Lord that is not being given in these days.

As I see it, the clock started on October 27, 2019, when Pope Francis established the most horrific demon idol on the altar of Jesus’ Sacrifice in Saint Peter’s Basilica and thus signaled to the world his hatred for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. It’s the same day that the China virus was let out in Wuhan at the end of the Military Games. The 3½ years will come to a close Easter Sunday, 2023, exactly 3½ years, or a time, times and half a time, that is, 42 months, that is, 1,260 days (after Jesus shortens the time for the sake of the elect from 1,290 days) (now less than a year away). Daniel proclaims the blessedness of those who survive and endure an additional 45 days, which would bring us, then, to the feast of Saint John the Baptist, 2023, a year from now.

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