|A Jacobite flag.|
Frequent Flyer Miles to Heaven
My parish is blessed with a priest - and he probably knows all about this ephemeris yet it does him no good - who is an Ecumenical Catholic. Whenever he jets off to some ecumenical conference, which seems to be nearly every week, he comes back bubbling with enthusiasm which, for some reason, he expects us to share.
God knows why, not Bear.
Fortunately, God, in His wisdom, pushed Bear down the stairs the night before last and Bear was too injured to attend Mass. (Bear was on a late-night honey run.)
Red Death had to face the horror of what was to come alone.
The Bear is now inspired to lift his basso profundo voice in one of those great melancholy Irish songs about defeat. Here is the best one: After Aughrim's Great Disaster (1691).
The Jacobites Lost, but Had All the Best Songs
The Catholic Jacobites fought a coalition from England, Scotland, and the Netherlands, along with various mercenaries. (You can actually test for any Celt DNA in you by listening to this song. If you remain dry-eyed you're free of the maddest and most wonderful genius of them all.)
Thank God for the Irish and bless my own blue-eyed red-haired daughter of Eire who just might show up at Mass next Sunday wearing nothing but a coating of woad and brandishing her war spear. It's taken until the last couple of weeks for the Church to finally break her cradle Catholic heart, but she's finally tired of playing the abused sheep.
We converts came into the Church mostly because we concluded it was the only place to be. No doubt we were attracted by the beauty (unless we are recent converts) but the Bear knows it was the truth that brought him in. It is the truth and only the truth that will keep him here.
Cradle Catholics famously don't often know as much as many converts, who have voraciously sucked up as much of Catholicism as they could. And yet cradle Catholics have deep roots which makes their place in the Church nearly beyond worry. When you've got a fourth generation immigrant Irish Catholic coming home in tears because she just can't take all the crap anymore that is a major indicator of disaster.
Part of the song goes like this:
Our prayer is 'God save Ireland and pour blessings on her name.'
May her sons be true when needed,
May they never fail as we did,
For Sean O'Duibhir an Ghleanna, we were worsted in the game.
The Catholic Jacobites fought bravely but were outnumbered by the Dutchman's troops and defeated. As was customary in those days, Catholics were tortured until they converted to what is now Catholicism if they could only have held out a few centuries longer.
|Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses,|
yearning to breathe free... Welcome to America!
At this conference, according to Father, some non-Catholic or another repeated a suggestion this man had attributed to New York mayor Bloomberg.
The Liberty Pole
The Statue of Liberty should be replaced as our national symbol of welcome by the subway pole.
Bears aren't much for subways, probably because they live in the woodlands and even the Raccoons and Moles combined cannot build a decent subway system. The Bear confesses he does not know what a subway pole is. He thinks it might be that long, long pole that runs down the middle of the tracks. "Yes, here, welcome to America! Just touch that pole to make it official!"
But, like Bear said, he doesn't know anything about subway poles, so he would be a very poor greeter even in Donald Trump's America. "No, not that pole, the other - oh bother."
For example, the Bear did not know this:
When Father repeated this business about replacing the Statue of Liberty, a German lady sitting next to Bride of Bear exclaimed, in a loud voice, "Vas?" She was doubtless herself an immigrant, and may have harbored some sentimental attachment to the Lady with the Torch.
So the homily was about various crackpot ecumenical ideas floated by the usual suspects. It could have been worse, Bear supposes, like adding Mohammed as the 13th Apostle, but most parishioners just don't care by the time the homily rolls around. They turn off their hearing aids, discover a need to visit the bathroom, or discretely stick their fingers in their ears. Some go to the cry room for a snack. (That's where the doughnuts are kept! What were you thinking? There haven't been any kids in the cry room for fifteen years.)
Sometimes they display Homiletic Tourette Syndrome then leave.
Oh, by the way, Jesus may have done something, but it was an afterthought and the mic was already off, so Bear cannot report.
May future generations of Catholics - and it will be at once the biggest in history and the smallest since Pentecost - never fail as we did. For Sean O'Duibhir an Ghleanna, we were worsted in the game.