Showing posts with label confessions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confessions. Show all posts

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Here's how it's done

Speaking of not lying, Archbishop Fulton Sheen did not lie in this story, but neither did he give in to the temptation of "non-violence". Excerpt:

She said "I will only come back if you promise you will not ask me to go to confession."

"OK, I promise I will not ask you to go to confession."

"Say it again, you will not ask me to go to confession".

"OK, I promise again, I will not ask you to go to confession".

She came back that afternoon and he met her at the church door. He told her that there were paintings by Rembrandt and Van Dyke in that chapel and would she like to see them? She said yes.

"And as we walked up the side aisle to see the paintings, I pushed her into a confession box. (I did not ask her if she wanted to go to confession.) I was present three months later when she took her veil as a member of the perpetual adoration sisters where she is to this day."

Yeah, he knocked the devil out of her. Reminds me of Christ's assertion the the Kingdom of Heaven being taken by force by "men of violence." OK, it wasn't too rough I'm sure; it wasn't violence for violence sake. He was a man who wasn't afraid to push and who understood that a little goes a long way.

Abp. Sheen: "I pushed her into a confession box."

Also reminds me of St. Jude's remark about "snatching" people from the fire.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Mugged by Reality

Many readers know that I'm "one of those computer guys", but I hope they don't think I'm a good enough hacker to break into Rod Dreher's Beliefnet blog and write this. Of course I might have written some parts of it around six years ago when our oldest son was two and I moved to a safer part of the greater Cleveland area. But no, I think Rod wrote this piece himself; it's basically a common sense apologia for the suburbs as a place to raise your family. He admits near the end that it is "rambling", so I won't hesitate to excerpt bits of it and comment upon them.

I have surprised myself by how much I've fallen out of love with idea of living in the city, over the suburbs. With kids, it's just too exhausting. I'd have to make a lot more money than I do now to make it worthwhile. Whenever we get ready to buy our next house, it's not going to be in the city―here in Philly, there's a four percent tax added to your wages―but in one of the suburbs. I'd be lying if I said schools weren't a big part of it. We can't afford private schools where we live now, and the urban public school in our neighborhood leaves much to be desired, for the usual reasons.

Really. This is like stating, for the record, that as much as you find smoking sort of cool you have discovered that, for you, it negatively affects your health.

The older I get, and the older my kids get, the less tolerance I have for the kinds of things that I didn't much mind when I was younger and in love with city life.... I do think it's important to re-examine one's beliefs and assumptions in light of the evidence of one's experience, and that's what I'm trying to do here.

Kudos to Rod for admitting this. Seriously. One of the big problems that I had with the whole New Urbanist slant in Crunchy Conservatism is that the people in love with the urban are almost all childless academic anti-capitalists of the liberal persuasion who never mention kids and look down at people who have too many of them. They think that's too suburban, no doubt.

Erin brings up the old house thing in the combox thread, wondering if I'd changed my mind about the desirability of old houses since writing my book, which I completed in the first months of living in our old house in Dallas. Yes, I have....

A little vague, after all, there are old houses and there are old houses, i.e., junk. But it seems like the man can finally see why someone who claims to be a Christian might decide it's not immoral to purchase a split level built in 1970.

It's not at all that I've decided, or am moving toward deciding, that suburbia is utopia. I firmly believe the way we Americans built our suburbs was foolish and not amenable to human flourishing in community....

An obligatory knee-jerk disclaimer which he goes on to contradict...

[S]everal colleagues who live in the Philly suburbs, and who read my bit about the incivility, potential danger and resulting anxiety from the Fourth of July fireworks celebration downtown pointed out that they had gone to their local suburban town's Fourth of July celebration, and it was very communal and peaceful and pleasant. It sounded great. You can bet that if we're still in this neighborhood next Fourth of July, that we'll take our picnic blanket and go out to one of the burbs my colleagues mentioned. Why would I have to go out to a suburb to have the kind of communal festival experience I want, rather than in the city, where, according to my theory, this sort of thing should be more possible? I think about that ... and will think more about that when my wife and I start thinking once again about investing in a house.

The truth is that Rod's theory is just that―a theory. Reality for most people I know is quite a bit different. Most of the time I've found festivities in a suburb to be much more communal and friendly than those in a city, and more akin to that small town feel that everybody idealizes. Rod puts his finger right on the thing I've always rejected when he says "rather than in the city, where, according to my theory, this sort of thing should be more possible". My question is this: what makes it more possible to experience a communal festival in a city? Then he mentions another living room elephant.

No place is an Athenian republic, but considering the dysfunction of the Dallas city council, and the prospect that city taxpayers were going to be paying more taxes for fewer services, and the guarantee of dysfunctional government, I developed a Strange New Respect for the boring dependability and competence of suburban government.

Boring is good when it comes to government. All adults know this. I don't know what really makes suburban officials boring other than the fact that they are white people. I suppose I'm not allowed to speculate whether that makes them more competent.

[F]ar from being a franchise-eatery wasteland, the 'burbs often have the best ethnic restaurants).

Talk to some of the restaurateurs around Cleveland, especially in the Asian immigrant community, about why they moved away from downtown. You'll get an earful, and since none of their ancestors were plantation owners, they will not hesitate to be specific about which population subsection is the problem.

Well, I don't really want to skewer Rod much for this post. Even though a lot of stuff here is standard Rod fare (what's with pulling David Brooks in with his newly discovered anti-Walmart shtick? Is Brooks the poster child for male menopause or what?) I think it at least represents progress in the development of proper tolerance for the tastes of other Americans. My contention all along is that talking about remaining in a metropolitan area like it is some moral high-road is problematic if not simply un-Christian. Your first duty is to your family, not to the entire population of your region, and when you find needles in the driveway, who needs Gideon's fleece? This post also might be the man's attempt to allay his guilt before he settles into a less crunchy home with newer construction. So in addition to a clean conscience he might get insulation and windows that work as an added bonus. So I raise a glass of Bud to the man, get it while it's on sale at Marc's.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

An' da winna is....


"Americans love a winner...." Didn't some "big guy general" state this once? Well, I'm an American, even though I had some Hun bastards for ancestors, and every time I read a blog comment box, I look for a winning comment. It could be one that is particularly funny or insightful, but in any event it seems to scatter the other comments like pigeons in the park. So I declare who, me? the "winna" of the combox for this post. Here's his/her post:

Please forgive me for not being able to read the whole disagreeable comment thread.

Speaking as someone who considered professional involvement in this field of environmental psychology, and in whose bay-windowed parlor a tattered volume of "The Timeless Way of Building" holds pride of place:

Horse-puckery.

This stuff strikes a nostalgic blind spot in so many educated, relatively-well-off, feeling-types whose longing for "something" translates as high-toned Disney country, that some of you want to baptize it, and thus require it (at least morally) of your fellow man.

Bad idea. It's a narrow line to walk, but putting aesthetics over simplicity and practicality is like Gaia worship with a little more historical intelligence.

IMO "the mingling of children and adults throughout the city, including in places of work" reflects one of the covert dissolvers of civility, the loss of boundary between public and private, between the adult world and an infantilized playground for children (who, I might add, with their parents in European cafes are not the conversational center, as they are in the US). Yet another solution to make the problem worse. Yeah, I'll settle down next to Rob's desk with my loud brood...

Beauty has always served holiness. But keep the priorities straight. One's confessor is a good starting point.

I agree heartily with this post, except I think the person meant "horse puckey" rather than puckery.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

A Real Mother of a Blowout

Somehow to my strange brain this pertains to the whole arguing-about-the-liturgy-thingy. I was playing this in my head on the way to work and I thought, "Dude, that has got to be on youtube by now." And of course, it is.



Amen to NO KANGAROOS. If there is anything that bothers me about Vatican II it's the refusal of the council fathers to explicitly condemn the illicit use of kangaroos in the liturgy. Sure, it's fine for those down-under Catholics, if they must. I'm ambivalent regarding the Mariachi bands as long as they only perform Gregorian chant.

More trivia(lity): I remember in college humanities class I laughed during the showing of The Agony and the Ecstasy when Chuck Heston fell off the scaffolding. A bunch of people turned and stared at me... well, it was funny, wasn't it? Come on, nobody got hurt for real, gee whiz....

But regardless, "mother of a blowout" does kind of describe the Mass in street lingo, kind of Hip Hop for O Sacrum Convivium. What it is, yo.

Sunday, March 4, 2007

Imperfect Contrition Accepted

For admittance into the Eternal Bliss of the Beatific Vision, Almighty God doesn't accept AMEX or Diner's Club. He doesn't even accept Visa or Mastercard.

But he does accept Imperfect Contrition, at least according to the Roman Catholic Church, when accompanied by sacramental confession.

I'm kind of glad he does, too, or I would probably have to say quite literally, "See you in Hell, everybody." Everybody, that is, except a few saints.

Of course He also will take the perfect stuff. If you've got it. Anyone have perfect contrition here? Bueller? Bueller? Padre Pio? St. Mary Magdalene? Bueller?

Feel free to stick the following passage in your "better safe than sorry" file.

Then his lord called him: and said to him: Thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all the debt, because thou besoughtest me: Shouldst not thou then have had compassion also on thy fellow servant, even as I had compassion on thee? And his lord being angry, delivered him to the torturers until he paid all the debt. So also shall my heavenly Father do to you, if you forgive not every one his brother from your hearts. (Matt 18:32-35)


"Toturers" reminds me: 24's on tomorrow night, dudes!

Thursday, January 25, 2007

We're off to a rousing start!

Thanks to everyone who attacked me yesterday. Andy Nowicki wins a prize for exposing my poor memory of the Rocky films. What can I say? the guys who nicknamed me were bigga fans....

Diane was a bit more sheepish in the comments, but she sent me an email stating I was "mad as a hatter" which I believe is some kind of veiled reference to sniffing glue. Am I right? Fortunately for my brain cells I haven't done that in a while.

Kathleen derided me as being derivative. She's probably right; my wife says I derive her crazy. Yuk, yuk. (Hey, Kathleen, how's that Business Transaction blog coming? Is that going to be derivative?)

I'll have more dirt up on myself later. I have to do some work now, OK!?