Over at the borg, we’ve been instructed to explain why the borg is best why we believe as we do. After much deleting to get it nearly inside the 200-word limit, I posted mine at the Happy Catholic Bookshelf.
We’ll do the even more abridged version here: Because it’s true.
And with that, I wish you a lovely Triduum, and I’m going to slowly unplug and start getting ready for a few days of peaceful silence family time observing the holy days.
Portrait Photography at the Fitz Studio
My monthly column at New Evangelizers is up this morning. FTR: I’m absolutely no good at telling whether my daughters’ pants are too tight, and their skirts too short. So if you read my column, and you get this vision of me as one of those people whose daughters are always dressed with perfect modesty, and then you meet my kids and you think, Wow, that’s an amazingly sleazy outfit that child is wearing . . . It’s okay to voice your vote. Because yep. To quote myself:
” . . . we ladies don’t instinctively understand modesty — we’re no more aroused at the sight of a bare shoulder than at the sight of a naked Golden Retriever.”
In the past 48 hours I’ve been guilty, more than once, of uttering crude expressions of impatience concerning select clergy. Not publicly, and not out of ill-will, just a general, “Will this guy get with it for a change!”
Lots of us are guilty. We want all these guys we call “Father” — the one we grew up with, or without, and the ones in our Church — we want them to be wonderful. We want them to be holy, and kind, and wise, and good. And we want them to know what to do. To know how to fix things.
But they’re just these guys. They wear funny clothes. They have strange taste in music. They are too indulgent with that child, and too severe with the other one. They didn’t do Christmas / Thanksgiving / Birthdays / Math Homework / Yard Maintenance / The Easter Triduum just the way we think they should. They work too long, or retire too early, or both.
They stink at interior decorating. And most of them snore.
Also, when you get to be a parent of a certain age, you look back and do the math, and realize just how young your father was, way back when, when you as a child thought he was so old. When you thought he knew everything, because you were six? He was barely into adulthood. When you thought he knew nothing, because you were sixteen? He was still just cutting his teeth on the What Do I Do With This Teenager of Mine problem. And when he’s eighty, he’s being eighty for the first time in his life. He’s just improvising.
He’s guessing. That’s what fathers do.
I’ve lost my patience with the Francisco-Obsessing. He’s just this guy. He dresses funny. Guys dress funny. It’s what they do.
I know the Holy Father, and your bishop, and your parish priest, and your dad, they all do certain symbolic actions that send important messages. But you know how there’s all those NFP instructors who make that smarmy admonition that husbands should do the charting, as if the measure of a man’s worth could all be summed up in one glorious epitaph, “He Recorded Her Mucus Faithfully”?
A man is not a symbol. He’s a person. If he doesn’t chart, but he does do his best to earn a living, and help rear the children, and say nice things to you now and again, and maybe even change your oil, doesn’t that count for something? You can be the dad that tells bedtime stories, or the one who reads the Bible at breakfast, or the one who plays ball on Sunday afternoon, or the one who takes a kid along when he goes to the hardware store . . . and you don’t have to be all of them. Being one guy is enough.
Guys who cheat on their wives, or abandon their children, or refuse to support the family, or commit any number of gross abuses of their responsibility? They deserve the harsh words that come their way. Guys who don’t discipline their children, ever, or can’t be bothered to see they get a decent education, or don’t listen and take action when the kids come to them with problems? They need a serious talking to. They need to put on their Man Pants and step up to the plate.
But the guy who dresses funny and dines at all the wrong restaurants? Whatever. He’s not a better dad because he’s so dapper, or so frugal. He’s not a worse dad because he wants Thanksgiving served on heirloom china, or on paper plates.
And you can’t know what it all means, not really. If he surrounds himself with elegant things, he’ll be accused of being self-indulgent, or pompous, and also of being erudite and cultured. If he wears the same pair of jeans for fifteen years straight, he’ll be accused of being slovenly and lazy, and also a “man of the people” who “doesn’t get caught up in appearances”. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t.
Maybe he’s just this guy.
Francisco’d better appoint good bishops. He’d better elevate good cardinals. He ought to direct the curia deftly, pay attention to necessary reforms, and teach clearly and accurately. He needs to cultivate his own spiritual life lest he fall into greater sins than the one he commits already (whatever they are, I have no idea what they might be), and in the hopes that he might yet grow further in wisdom and holiness.
Lord willing, he’ll do all this, and do it well.
And if he does, I pretty much don’t care where he lives. I don’t care what he eats. I don’t care about the car he drives, the shoes he wears, or the kind of music he listens to at night. Not so long as none of it’s immoral, and none of it prevents him from doing his real Dad Jobs.
And if he screws it up? He’s accountable for that, too. It’s a false piety to think that “Honor Your Father” means “Pretend Sin Is Not Sin”. Francisco has serious responsibilities. Heresy and dissent are rife within the Church. Corruption, crime, and immorality among the clergy and laity have got to be addressed. What is true and good — whether it comes in more formal or more humble trappings — needs to be encouraged and promoted. No amount of visiting prisoners or chatting with the help gets a pope excused from doing his (other) fatherly duties.
But any man who’s doing his Dad Jobs gets a free pass to dress as goofy as he wants, sit in his favorite comfy chair, and stock his beverage cooler with whatever the heck he wants. He’s a father. Call him to task on his Manly Responsibilities, if indeed he neglects them. You don’t have drink his Pabst Blue Ribbon, or his Glenfiddich, if turns your stomach. More for him. So be it.
Holy Thursday’s tomorrow. Pray for priests.
(There’s a book review coming at the bottom of this, but I need to lay out some preliminary matter first. And this is a post concerning sex. Not for children.)
To be Catholic is to be aware of a long list of my own faults. Let’s review a few of them: I goof off too much (not just on the internet, everywhere). I lack patience for the most trivial of inconveniences. When I’m irritated, I use my verbal powers for evil and not good. I spend way too much money on myself, and far too little on the poor. I procrastinate. On any given day, there’s a decent chance I spent the time I meant to spend praying (not an exorbitant quantity) doing some other more entertaining and entirely optional thing. For those who are familiar with the Little Flower, we could safely describe me as the Little Weed. The anti-Therese.
And that’s just my public sins. For every one you see on the kitchen floor, there’s a hundred more in the walls. If Therese is one of our few Doctors of Church, I’m guaranteed a spot among the vast number of Patients of the Church.
So be it. Some people talk about so-called “Catholic Guilt”, and those people are invariably the ones who missed out — in whole or in part — on the real deal: Catholic Mercy. If I don’t crumble in despair at the state of my soul (and yes, actually despair is one of my sins as well), it’s because there’s hope for me. Not hope that I’m going to wake up one morning suddenly meriting Heaven. But because Someone Else has gone ahead and opened Heaven for me. He loves me with His whole being, and will do anything — anything — to give me an shot at eternal happiness, mine only for the asking. And not just me — He loves everybody that way.
My experience with evangelization is that few of us are converted because we suddenly discover how wretched we are, and thus desire to jump into the cosmic shower. Quite the opposite: We long to know God, and having been drawn to Him, we begin to see, bit by bit, what life in Heaven looks like. And what kind of baggage we’ll be leaving at the door when we get there. Some things we drop like an old stinky garbage bag, in a flash of horrified understanding. Other things we keep stuffed in our pockets, sure they are part of us, or sure that these are little treasures we can sneak through eternal security . . . and it is only late in this life, or at the beginning of the next, that we catch on to the fact that, oops, we’ve been running around with the spiritual equivalent of a moldy rotten banana shoved in that coat pocket.
I’ve got rotten bananas in my pocket. (Usually only spiritually, though there was that one time I waited a month to clean out my tote bag . . . ick.) But if your argument consists of, “Jen, you stink!” my response is, “Um, why yes, I do.”
Hate it. Let me count the ways:
1) Because I know that the people who favor gay marriage do so for entirely understandable reasons.
2) Because I’m not an idiot. I’ve known plenty of folks who favor same-sex unions, and who are, put simply, better people than me. And they’re far and away better people than some of our rotten-to-the-core unrepentant clergy who’ve spent decades hiding despicable offenses.
3) The division concerning gay marriage doesn’t have its roots in questions about homosexuality. For the last fifty years, the going cultural norm has been that whatever I desire, sexually, should be acted upon. That marriage vows are no vow at all. That children and marriage have nothing to do with one another. That children have no particular need to be raised in a home with their mother and father. That any parent-type figure will do just fine.
An aside: People have a hard time accepting that adopted children feel a genuine grief concerning their biological parents. That very illusion — that your parents were unable to care for you, but hey, you have nothing to cry about — feeds into the destruction of marriage. Something my dad said to me very plainly when he remarried after my mother’s death — I knew it, but he was absolutely right to lay it on the table — was, “Your stepmother is not a replacement for your mother.”
It is a beautiful and wonderful thing when some loving person can step in and fill some portion of the blank left by the loss of loved one. But it doesn’t erase the loss. Acknowledging the loss makes it possible to delight in the sheer gift of this new and full and lively relationship, because we can accept it on its own terms, not pretend it is the other gift now gone.
4) A significant portion of the so-called Christian world doesn’t even acknowledge the horror of abortion. An even larger chunk, including many people whose genuine faith in Christ I don’t doubt for a moment, think sterilization and contraception are AOK — desirable even. And I don’t want to contemplate the numbers in the Church who approve or encourage the sin against purity we used to discreetly but emphatically call “self-abuse”. Before you start citing the ancient Jewish law concerning homosexual acts, review the details concerning Onan, eh? Struck dead on the spot? Actions speak louder than words. Disapproved.
5) I know that condemnation is the way of the world. To ask for so-called “mercy” in the wider world is to heap condemnation upon yourself. So I know that for many people dear to me, if I ever say, “Well, actually this one thing you’re doing is wrong,” those people I love will hear my words as code for, “Actually I hate you and I was just faking nice.” Which isn’t true. See my sins above — faking nice is not one of my virtues.
So to discuss gay marriage, at all, is to be accused of hatred. I can discuss contraception, and people just think I’m a little daft. I don’t mind that. But I dislike the fact that to open this topic is to have a number of people I respect, admire, and count as friends, be tempted to assume the worst about me. Well, the worst about me lies elsewhere.
[For the record: People hate you just as much if you talk about modesty in any specific terms. Which I will be doing at NewEvangelizers.com in a couple weeks. I’m racking up the voodoo rays this month.]
On to the Book Review
Getting the Marriage Conversation Right: A Guide for Effective Dialogue by William B. May is a short, readable booklet, written for a Catholic audience who wants to defend the sacrament of marriage, but suffer from poor rhetoric. The assumption is that you the reader agree with the Catholic teaching, but perhaps you articulate it poorly. You may even be currently basing your arguments on any number of details that simply aren’t Catholic.
Or you may be a Catholic who wants to follow Church teaching, but doesn’t understand why the bishops are so adamant about not allowing civil unions as a peaceful live-and-let-live alternative.
There is a single refrain that explains the disconnect between reality and popular culture. The going definition of marriage in our society is this:
“Marriage is the public recognition of a committed relationship between two adults for their fulfillment”.
And let me observe right now: If this is your definition, it is logical to accept gay marriage. Trouble being, that’s not what marriage is. It is what civil marriage has become. But it’s not what it is supposed to be. Here’s the Real Ale definition of marriage, the one the Church is trying to defend, too little too late:
“Marriage unites a man and a woman with each other and any children born from their union.”
This is the radical reality that animates the entirety of Christian thought on marriage and sexuality. Each child has a need to be raised by his mother and father.
Sometimes bad things happen — death, or serious sins such as an abusive parent, or a rapist father — that make this need impossible to fulfill. When that happens, we have no choice but to go with the next best thing, whether it be single parenting, or remarriage, or adoption. The next best thing, in the context of a response to tragedy, becomes the very picture of self-giving love. Anyone who steps into fill the void for a child who is unable to be reared by both his mother and his father? A true hero.
We live in a fallen world, and marriage faces countless obstacles. Getting the Marriage Conversation Right addresses each of these difficulties in turn, and explains how we are to understand a proper response to _______ problem. The book repeatedly admonishes us to avoid the temptation to condemnation, and maintains a thoroughly Catholic — that is, merciful — response to the many problems that individuals may face.
No hate-spewing. No tsk-tsking. No “they deserve what they get”. None of that.
The audience is those who accept, or wish to more fully accept, Catholic teaching on the sanctity of marriage. If you aren’t interested in being convinced, you won’t find this book convincing. It’s a book of explanations for why the Church teaches as she does, and how to effectively communicate that teaching to others.
The reading level is all-adults. The tone is conversational and the word count is short and to-the-point. This is an excellent resource for a parish study group.
If you are in favor of same-sex unions, will this book help you understand the other side? A lot depends on your mentality. This is an unabashed defense of the Catholic teaching, written by and for those who want to agree with it. There is no effort to create, within the book, an apologetic geared towards the worthy opponent. Yes, if you read the booklet with a desire to understand, in the spirit of true dialogue, why people oppose same-sex unions, you will in fact learn why people oppose same-sex unions.
But if it’s going to make your blood boil to see anyone lay out a defense of a position you abhor, then yeah, it’s going to make your blood boil. No way around it.
Summary: Good book. Short, readable, gets straight to the heart of the matter. This is the first title I’ve read on this topic, and it does a good job at what it does. For those who oppose same-sex unions, but don’t really know why, or how to explain their position, this book makes a good start.
Boilerplate:This review was written as part of the Catholic book reviewer program from The Catholic Company. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Getting the Marriage Conversation Right. The Catholic Company is the best resource for all your seasonal needs such as First Communion gifts as well as ideas and gifts for the special papal Year of Faith.
1. My CatholicMom.com article for March is up. It’s on homeschooling when you struggle with self-discipline. It’s one of those topics where I wish I could be showing off my tremendous compassion for those poor people who just can’t seem to get it together.
I drew the line at posting a snapshot of my kitchen for the photo. Instead, you get a picture of men hitting each other with sticks. Same concept, seemlier illustration.
2. Have I mentioned how much it irritates me to have to follow the entirety of the Catholic faith, and not just bits and pieces? I assume others hate it just as much as I do, because so far no one has commented on my post this month at New Evangelizers. In which I take up the topic of whether Cardinal Mahoney ought to attend the conclave, and how that question fits in to a wider question of mercy and evangelization*. And good administration. You knew that was going to be fit in somehow.
3. I set the kitchen timer to tell me when to pull SuperHusband’s dress shirt out of the dryer. (Yes. Dryer. I know.) It worked. I just went and pulled it out and hung it up right away. I can be very diligent about laundry, IF I’m supposed to be doing the taxes.
4. Taxes, episode 2. That’s today. Backside of the 1040, and yeah, it’s the Schedule A I don’t feel like dealing with. Tired of being responsible. I get tired of that very quickly. But I’ll do it, of course. There’s nothing like, “We will seize your house if you don’t mail in this worksheet” to really motivate a lady. UPDATE: DONE. WOOHOO!
5. About that NE post. Whenever I think “conclave”, the plot for a murder mystery pops into my head. It’s a good thing other people volunteered to answer questions at Dorian Speed’s ElectingthePope.net.
6. Please pray for the repose of the soul of Mr. W, our elderly farming neighbor who passed away peacefully in his sleep. Funeral was packed, SuperHusband tells me, not a surprise. Then pray for this family, who would be very grateful for any number of miracles.
7. You can discourage the Friday meat demon by quick throwing all your meaty leftovers into the freezer Thursday night. (Or give to dog if close to spoiling, but not quite inedible yet.) Pull them out and return to fridge Saturday, when the coast is clear.
And something I’m happy think about:
Señora M., my catechist friend from down the road, reports a big milestone: She led her first English-language religious ed class the other night. We first met in the Our Lady of Guadalupe room at the big Advent event in December, and since then she’s been helping out as a classroom assistant at her parish. She phoned me this morning, and I made it through the greetings in Spanish, and then I had to plead, “No entiendo.” She gave me the big news in English. But she isn’t giving up on me that easy, she’s determined to get my Spanish into working order. I’m honored.
*Some people equate “mercy” with “giving them a pass.” Those who have been privy to my ire know that the moment you start bungling on sexual abuse prevention and prosecution, is the moment I become a lady you do not like. Do not confuse mercy with tolerance. It’s not about overlooking the trivial flubs. It’s not about saying, “Really it wasn’t so bad.” Mercy only has meaning there where we want to give it least.
No, I’m not back to regular blogging. But I had approximately seven things to say, and it’s a Friday, so that makes this Seven Quick Takes, right?
1. Why yes, that was us you saw at the National Vocations Meet-Up March for Life.
Low point: Children in tears due to experience of being a southern-person whose mother does not know how to dress them for cold weather.
High point: Making a brief retreat into the National Gallery to go potty, rest, and warm-up, then re-emerging to a gentle made-for-TV snow flurry, taking up our signs, and falling into line with these guys. Who sing beautifully.
Weird Point: The Metronome, as my 3rd-grader calls it, is determined not to take my money. I kept trying to pay full fare, but the machines refused me at every turn. Fortunately the kind metro-ladies are apparently used to clueless tourists with five children in tow, and sorted me out with a combination of generosity and exasperation that I think must be the hallmark of the metro system.
2. Petersburg National Battlefield is a good place to run the kids and get your history fix all at once. The ranger does come around checking to see if you’ve paid.
–> Touring tip: Always ask if you’re supposed to pay. Because they expect you to pay, even if they never ever tell you that. And the ranger lady has a gun. Luckily I had asked.
Discussion Question: Any Particular Reason the Union had to engage in war? Why not just let the Confederacy secede, and work on patching things up diplomatically? Put another way: Did the US Civil War meet just war criteria for the Union?
My boy says yes. I’m playing neutral professor-person.
In other US history topics: The essay “Smuggler Nation” in this month’s Harpers is really quite good. One more shovel of fodder for that pirates-vs.-privateers topic that’s always coming up around this household.
Our other airline-miles magazine subscription, Western Horseman ran a great piece a month or so ago on the troubles ranchers along the US-Mexican border are having with Mexican smugglers, and the lack of cooperation from some of the US border patrol in keeping their lands safe. I can’t seem to find an article link. But let me just say right now, that if you purchase approximately one plane ticket every five years, and want a family-friendly periodical to purchase with your miles before they expire, WH is the one.
3. My son objects to the strong language in Dorothy Sayer’s Lord Peter Views the Body. It pleases me greatly to discover I’ve reared a middle-schooler who complains about words like “damn” and “hell” improperly used.
4. My January New Evangelizers column was 10 Ways to Support Evangelization Even When Your Parish is Falling Apart.
I picked this photo.
Apparently it grabbed someone’s attention, because the Catholic Vitamins people invited me to do an interview for their podcast. Which is exciting, in an I-hope-my-phone-battery-doesn’t-die-while-we’re-talking kind of way. I think I can bribe my kids into being quiet with the promise of Krispy Kreme donuts. Also, presumably this is just one step on the long road towards true fame? By which I mean, of course, being on Rhett & Link’s Good Mythical Morning? My son doesn’t think I’ll ever be quite that good, but he puts on an encouraging face all the same.
5. Helen Alvare nails it on the head in her analysis of the new HSS regulations.
Let me observe once again that there would be no moral objection at all if the government merely required employers to pay workers a sum sufficient to pay for the desired contraceptive services — for example, by putting the necessary funds into a healthcare savings account that employees could then use to purchase supplemental insurance if they so chose.
And how exactly is it “freedom of religion” if insurance companies and self-insurance administrators must sell (or give away, per the new iteration of regulations) products they may themselves object to? Is there no legal right to sell insurance for some but not all health care services? Will insurers eventually be required to pay for euthanasia as well? Apparently there is a religious test required in order to enter the insurance industry.
6. Speakin’ of that constitution thing . . . my boy observes that 2/3rds of gun deaths are suicides. (Wikipedia’s citing 60%.) Which puts a certain corner of the culture in the odd position of wanting to outlaw something they’re trying to legalize. Apparently depressed and disabled people should die, but only at the hands of licensed death-care providers?
If you aren’t from Gunlandia, you probably should not visit gunmemes.com. It takes a special red-state redness to enjoy.
7. You know you live in a warped culture when you feel the need to clarify something like this: “For the record, I’m 100% opposed to all forms of murder and suicide.”
Ooh, oooh, want me to exasperate everybody in one single catechism quote? How about this one? Enough to make everyone you know get all squirmy-wormy:
2269 The fifth commandment forbids doing anything with the intention of indirectly bringing about a person’s death. The moral law prohibits exposing someone to mortal danger without grave reason, as well as refusing assistance to a person in danger.
The acceptance by human society of murderous famines, without efforts to remedy them, is a scandalous injustice and a grave offense. Those whose usurious and avaricious dealings lead to the hunger and death of their brethren in the human family indirectly commit homicide, which is imputable to them.70
Unintentional killing is not morally imputable. But one is not exonerated from grave offense if, without proportionate reasons, he has acted in a way that brings about someone’s death, even without the intention to do so.
Happy February.
Forming Intentional Disciples: The Path to Knowing and Following Disciples by Sherry A. Weddell – Our Sunday Visitor, 2012
There’s been a recurring conversation in my combox discussions over the past year, and I goes like this:
Jennifer: blah blah blah something about catechesis, evangelization, salvation of human souls, etc.
Smart Person: You need to read Forming Intentional Disciples.
So I stalked the review-book list at The Catholic Company, and quick pounced as soon as the title appeared. Grabbed it!
It’s easy to shrug off the call for evangelization and discipleship by saying, “Oh, we already do that.” We have a men’s club. We have religious ed. Everybody’s happy, all are welcome, Jesus shows up for every Mass – but sure, I’ve heard other parishes are in trouble. Mine’s fine.
Maybe so. But Weddell opens the book with extensive and detailed evidence that no, things are not fine. She defines the scope of the problem both statistically – how many Catholics in the pews don’t even believe in a personal God? – and qualitatively. Here are the few of the seven “It is NORMAL” statements her parish’s Nameless Lay Group, a group of laymen gathered together to help each other grow in the faith, had to write out for themselves by way of reassurance:
. . .
#2. It is NORMAL for lay Catholics to be excited Christian activists.
#3. It is NORMAL for lay Catholics to be knowledgeable about their faith, the Scriptures, the doctrinal and moral teachings of the Church, and the history of the Church.
. . .
#6. It is NORMAL for lay Catholics to have the fellowship of other committed lay Catholics available to them, to encourage, nurture, and discern as they attempt to follow Jesus.
#7. It is NORMAL for the local parish to function consciously as a house of formation for lay Catholics, which enables and empowers lay Catholics to do #1-6 above.
[Emphasis in the original]
Is this true around your parish? It should be. Many Catholics don’t even believe in this as an ideal, and Weddell gives some poignant stories of how that pervasive mentality — of viewing holiness as a sort of sideline hobby for the ultra-pious — results in ridiculous contradictions.
She also works through all the objections to intentional discipleship, and demonstrates that yes, it is essential that we practice, at the parish level, the conscientious spiritual mentoring of all parishioners. This can’t be something we relegate to lay associations and solo study. This can’t be something we assume we don’t need to implement. We can’t tell ourselves that because no one has asked for this, all must be well.
The second half of the book opens by explaining the five steps towards conversion — recognizing that no one can be a disciple of Jesus without first coming to faith in Him. The five steps Weddell outlines, and these should make sense to anyone who’s been involved in evangelization, are:
Weddell points out that seeking and conversion can be considered together as one continuous process. How do these stages fit into discipleship? In the detailed exploration of each of these stages, the book explores pitfalls and opportunities for the parish, and how these experiences can and should be lived out in the life of the Church.
In a final section, the book explores the “What next?” What do we do with new disciples? What structures does the parish need to have in place in order to disciple its members? A significant emphasis is placed on helping new believers — who may be longtime Catholics, or not — to discern their spiritual gifts, and then to find a place in the parish to use those gifts.
Here, as throughout the text, Weddell reminds us we aren’t dealing merely with good management practices or effective processes, but with the active participation of the Holy Spirit in the life of each person. It is easy to get distracted by methods, and forget that the supernatural — a personal God choosing to act in our lives — is at the heart of Christian discipleship.
Who should read the book?
Gosh, everyone, I guess. It’s written for parish leadership, and is suitable for anyone who wants to take an active part in Christian life. It would be foolish to think that somehow the nuts and bolts of evangelization and discipleship are only for church staff, or heads of ministries. Certainly I don’t think you can claim to have an adult faith if you neither know nor care about these matters — though if you doubt Catholics need concern themselves with this “evangelical” stuff, the book is particularly for you. For some few who’ve been raised to spiritual maturity in the right time and place, you may already have a mastery of the topic; but for most of us Catholics, we’re weak at this and can use all the help we can get.
The reading level is educated-adult — if you can read this blog, and make sense of the usual topics here, you’re good to go. The tone is conversational, and the writing is enjoyable and full of interesting anecdotes that impart useful information. If I have a single complaint, it’s that I wish the book were bigger and longer, and treated the how-to’s of discipleship with more exhaustive detail.
Summary: Excellent book, long-needed. I recommend it widely, but my copy is staying in my hands.
Disclosure boilerplate: This review was written as part of the Catholic book reviewer program from The Catholic Company. The Catholic Company is the best resource for gifts for every Sacrament celebration, such as First Communion gifts and Baptism gifts, as well as a great selection of limited-time Year of Faith gifts and resources. Not boilerplate: As everyone knows, my reviews are honest. And yes, I do make a point of picking good books for my review selections, because I have no patience for bad ones.
We made it to Naples and back with exactly the same number and kind of children with which we set out. Thank you St. John Bosco, whom I did ask for assistance from time to time. St. Augustine, by the way, is completely awesome.
UPDATED to clarify: Both the saint and the city in Florida are awesome. Where they each rank within the category of People, Places, and Things Called “St. Augustine” I leave to the reader’s discretion.
Bookstore Management Tip: Consider not charging admission to your retail venue.
At Castillo de San Marcos, you have to buy admission before you get into the fort, where the bookstore is located. (This did not stop me from buying books, but not everyone feels the same way about books as I do. Also, we were going to see the fort anyway.)
In contrast, the Pirate Museum has its gift shop built into its entryway. Which is handy for parents who do not want to pay admission to the museum, but feel pretty lucky to get off with just looking at the Pirate Merchandise and buying one small pirate book for the trip home.
On the other hand, if early-modern marauders attempt a raid on the seashell-identification books at San Marcos, there are three lines of defense to keep them at bay.
What with recorded books, DVD’s, and iPods, twenty hours in the car was really quite peaceful. Causing me to come up with the ridiculous, husband-exasperating plan of going to the national March for Life next week. Friends with ulterior motives are aiding and abetting. So I think we’ll go.
And look at this: Pro-Life Feminist Hot Chocolate. It’s a super-bonus . . . and I get a glimpse of the reportedly lovely and delightful Helen Alvaré, and the kids get hot chocolate? See, if that doesn’t convince you of the worthiness of the pro-life cause, I don’t know what does.
I’m beside myself with excitement, because MTF slipped a shiny new super-gorgeous Daily Roman Missal in with the other review book I was expecting (Introduction to Catholicism). You’ll recall I had to glue the old one’s cover back together. But I’ve been virtuously resisting shelling out for a new edition, even though every time I hear the elegant, poetic lines of the new Mass translation, I’m dying to get my own copy.
The new book is about twenty-time awesomer than I had guessed, because the new edition is beefed up with a pile of handy tables and indexes and bits of mini-catechism. So soon very soon I’ll have a post up at AC reviewing the new Missal, and explaining why exactly my old one needed to be glued back together, because I always, always, shove it into my bag on the way to religious ed, because if you have that one book, you can teach the Catholic faith to anybody at all, ever, no matter what weird scheduling surprises come your way when you arrive at class.
I did not make a single pun on the word Missal in those previous paragraphs. We’ll just mark that down on in the big white space where my virtues are tallied. I am the picture of self-restraint. The St. Therese of resisting bad puns. Or something.
The irony is not lost on me. I wrote this great column on winter snow-n-ice appropriate science activities for CatholicMom.com, then promptly spent a week lounging on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. And swimming. Outdoors.
This photo taken a different, icier year. And yes, the power was out. For a week. I did not like it. I prefer the beach.
So here’s my experiment: I’m going to write a column for NE (due this week, runs next week), and I think the topic is “Things You Can Do To Evangelize When You Think You Can’t Evangelize”. Will this cause me to suddenly have many opportunities to evangelize?
You’re goofing off browsing the Mid-Atlantic Congress catechetical conference page (which you are not planning to attend), and you notice all these financial management sessions:
Are you not dying to attend? I am. Seriously. Has anyone sat in on any presentations from these speakers (John Eriksen, Peter Denio, or Dennis Corcoran), and have an opinion on how good the workshops will be? For all Darwin doubts the use of an MBA, I begin to think that pastoral associates are the one class of people who might could benefit from such a course of study. Some reputable seminary ought to make a joint MA/MBA program.
I printed out the whole giant nasty sprawling draft, stuck it in a binder, and it’s waiting for me attack it with my tin of magic markers. So I’m making progress. Slowly.
What I’ve been up to so far this Advent:
1. Acquired a cold just strong enough to plant me in front of the PC and get some writing done for a change. I’d complain, except it’s really not that bad. For me. My family wishes I’d start making dinner again. I think.
2. Posted my book review of the Didache series of textbooks up at AmazingCatechists.com. These are awesome books, and the new parish editions bring serious theology to high school and adult faith formation. Long-needed. Don’t cry to me you don’t have priests, but refuse to teach theology. How exactly is a boy supposed to fall in love with a something he’s never met?
3. Guessed at my login information for the Happy Catholic Bookshelf enough times that I finally broke in. And put up my review of Walking Dickens London. Verdict: I still don’t like Dickens all that much, but the guide book is awesome. Of course I had to put a reference to Rerum Novarum in the review. Only logical.
4. I cleaned out my inbox. If I still owe you an e-mail about something, you’d better tell me. Because I’m under the mistaken impression I’m all caught up.
5. Planted the potatoes that were sprouting in the cardboard box in the living room. Ditto for some garlic in the bottom of the fridge.
6. I’ve written about 5,000 words on the homeschooling manuscript. Also pre-wrote my January CatholicMom.com homeschooling column, because once you get school on the brain, and a cup of coffee, these things just pop out.
7. I got all vice-presidential over at the Catholic Writers Guild. Being VP is almost exactly like being the blog manager, except that instead of plaguing the officers all month long with bad ideas and unhelpful suggestions, you also get to do it during the monthly officer’s conference call. I think someone nominated me because the existing officers were already practiced at telling me, “No! Quiet! Sit! No Biscuit!” so it makes their job easier. So mostly as VP I amuse people with my ridiculous ideas, and about 1 time in 10, I think one up that someone makes me go do. And then I regret it, and don’t think up any more ideas for at least 10 minutes.
Also, I goofed off on the internet more than I had planned. It happens. I was sick.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is himself Mr. Thankful today, good guy that he is.
Click and be amazed.
1.
Yesterday the kids and I turned out at the parish gym to help get the St. Vincent de Paul boxes of Thanksgiving food put together. It was our first time. It’s a two-step operation, well-run, which is what happens when you have a ministry put into the hands of a large group of retired professionals. We arrived during opening prayers; long tables were already set up with different food-category stations on each table, clearly labeled. Green beans, corn, other vegetables, canned fruit, snacks, pasta, breakfast, cranberry sauce . . . etc.
In one corner was the haul of imperishables donated by the parish the previous day. Our first job was to grab bags of unsorted food and walk the tables, getting all our food to the proper piles. Three big kids worked independently, with the occasional, “Mom, what is this?” question about mysterious food items. My only rule was Please Do Not Pick a Bag With Glass Jars In It.
6-year-old and I worked as a team. She was quite insistent about putting all the food from her bag up on the tables herself. If I impulsively reached in to help her quickly get all her creamed soup cans shelved, she’d complain, and I’d have to let her put up one of my food items as compensation for her missed opportunity.
The second job was to get the freshly-organized foods into the baskets. Our leader walked the aisles and estimated how many of each item we had, and thus how many could be put into each box. Then each person or team was given a food product to distribute. We were the Stuffing People. Two boxes of stuffing in each of the hundred boxes. Half-dozen Hispanic families had their boxes pulled aside, and our venerable Spanish Lady (a real live 80-something lady originally from Spain, with a brilliantly German last name) saw that all the salsa and tortillas went into those boxes. Hint: If you are more of a salsa person than a weird-packets-of-instant-gravy person, if you ever need food relief, give the SVDP ladies a Spanish-sounding pseudonym.
2.
Tigering is the new verb around our house.
Tigering is what The Tiny Tiger does. All the time.
3.
What with the Groaning Ladies Show having come to season’s end, Sunday and last night we watched The Dust Bowl. Good way to get your head on straight for Thanksgiving.
3.5
Fifi the resident cat does not care for the Tiny Tiger. But she seems to be getting along with the young interloper better now that the Tiger has been taken on as the Chief Pot-Licker’s protege. Last night during The Dust Bowl, all pots having been duly cleaned, they spent a full two hours rough-housing in the living room.
So the dog knows that the bunnies and chickens and the cat belong to us, and that the kitten is an orphaned puppy in need of a good upbringing. She also knows that squirrels and voles are for hunting, but that SuperHusband will step in and take over when it comes to possums. There was confusion the other week though, about what to do with the big fuzzy
***
Well, that’s all for this week. Tuesday’s Link Day, which is when instead of e-mailing fun things I ought to post but forget to, you just tell the world all by yourself. Entirely optional. I’m pretty swamped with real life but I’ll try to post updates here as I work through my to-do list elsewhere on the internet. Have a great week.
