Bad Catholics don’t pray the rosary, but have at least five stashed around their house (and one in their car). Bad Catholics have no idea when the Holy Days of Observation are. Bad Catholics will receive the Eucharist at your wedding or funeral, even if they already broke their fast by toasting you in the parking lot
“Look C!,” I exclaimed, in that desperately upbeat tone we parents use when stuck somewhere boring with our children, “It’s um…the Incredible Hulk, and…uh..Iron Man, right? The red one? And that’s….well, that’s Scarlett Johansson…?”
As archbishop, Weakland condemned and threatened teachers who reported priests were sexually abusing children.
Last week my therapist hinted that I might be having problems with my root chakra. Like, it might be blocked. Or, if not blocked, congested. In need of a spiritual neti pot or some such.
Last week, I noted that our plans for the week were abruptly changed. Well, they just kept on changing. Every day this past week, one curve ball or another got tossed our way, until, on Friday, things simply became ridiculous. We had planned to spend three days in one of our favorite places–the Berkshires inContinue reading “Things Keeping Us Going: From the Sublime to the Ridiculous Edition”
“Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.”
Crossing the finish line to the condescending cheers of the lingerers who had already eaten all the bagels, I took my complimentary medal, tore off my running shoes, and walked into the sea sobbing like a little bitch.
The Transfiguration of the Lord. “Lord, it is good that we are here.”
I can live landlocked for a while, but after a year or two away from the sea I end up feeling muffled, like I’m wearing extra layers around my psyche. I will never be as awake and alert and present as I am when I return to the source. My ancestors were born, lived, and died near the sea. I will always belong there.
A man blaming women for his sin is a game as old as sin, Adam’s sin.