It was a good day yesterday; Paulie called me at 1, and asked if I wanted to go to the evening Mass in Eureka. I said, "Sure, see you then." I texted another friend to see if she wanted to come along, but in the end, it didn't work out. So there I was, minding my own business, bleeding away the afternoon, when the doorbell rang. "It's 3 o'clock. What's going on here?" As it happened, it was not Paul, but Jeff Ryan and Adam Eubanks. Jeff you might recall as the "Farkle martyr" from my birthday party. Adam's story is complicated, but suffice it to say that the love of a woman draws him ever closer to the loving arms of Mother Church. Anyway, until the moment I opened the door I thought Paul was early--he likes to say he believes in "German hours" as his defense for showing up obscenely early--but faced with these others, in faux-outrage, I demanded an explanation. None was forthcoming from Jeff, who was busy murdering his cell phone with a philosophical conversation that might better have taken place in person, though he was consoling the friend who couldn't make it.
Adam and I began talking about his problems, since he wouldn't know why Jeff came early; his Dad just happens to live in my neighborhood, so he tagged along. As we left nearly an hour later, Jeff was negotiating whether we should go to the Mass in Eureka or to the Cathedral Basilica downtown. I prevailed upon Jeff that we should choose the former. So the 3 friends and a dead cell phone set out to celebrate the Lord's Passion and Resurrection in the prescribed manner. Being the filthy wretch that I am, I had need of Reconciliation before worthy celebration of the other mysteries. You really ought to try it some time.
As it unfolded though, I recalled that I'd rolled into the Slowest Confession Line Ever. Going to Confession with this priest is like an Oprah episode that's all about you. And no, he doesn't care how long the line is, or that we will soon celebrate Mass. You might think that would make him impertinent, but this is not the case. I asked Jeff to assure me again that this Saturday Vigil Mass meets our Sunday obligation. He asked, (in true rigorist fashion) "In my book, or the Church's?" As politely as I could, I answered his question and reminded him that I didn't care in this instance what his opinion was.
After the saving work of Christ was applied to me once more, we had a few moments before Mass to pray. My works of penance I completed, and I could not fail to notice the stained-glass window of Jesus holding out His Most Sacred Heart above the altar. It is fitting of course; Most Sacred Heart is the name of this parish. I looked at the altar, and I recalled the great sadness I now carry with me, the rupture that time has not even begun to heal. I have been angry, but this day, I only longed for that reconciliation that may never come. We recall the words of Jesus about reconciliation and the altar. The best I could do is say that if that one were here, I would offer the kindest words and tears that I was able. And you were there, rest assured.
I knew that all of it would be offered there, in a short time. Christ would make His love plain as he has done so many times in so many places. Not again, as though it never occurred, nor as if He had not fully satisfied the debt we owe, but so that work on a distant hill would be so much more than a hazy memory.
I was hungry afterward, and having kept the customs common for this time--and that for us, this was our Sunday--I indicated in my direct manner that I meant to acquire some "dead cow." My fellows were suitably amused. I must say that although the axiom that funny people don't try to be funny is patently false--everyone tries--I was genuinely surprised by the depth of their amusement. But I did envelop myself in my own laughter when I pictured the horror of living cows everywhere upon learning of my desire. "MOOOO!" indeed.
We stopped in a Denny's, and the server was kind and helpful. She was also pretty. I thought we were going to get thrown out when Adam turned to her and asked, "How far along are you?" I promise you, I could not tell. I was even more stunned when she said she was six and a half months along. She will apparently be the pregnant lady women hate.
As is Jeff's custom, we found ourselves in an epistemology discussion for two hours. Two out of three (Jeff and I) said that Bonaventure's account of knowledge (and whether we have senses spiritually apart from the body) was better than the Angelic Doctor's. I had my own more narrow concerns about the ethical implications of Aquinas' view, and Adam abstained.
We returned to my house to find--to my cautious delight--that Rick Santorum had crushed Mitt Romney in the Louisiana GOP primary, 49-26%. Gingrich continued to help Romney by taking 16% of the vote. And that was the day, though still it ended with tears.
Adam and I began talking about his problems, since he wouldn't know why Jeff came early; his Dad just happens to live in my neighborhood, so he tagged along. As we left nearly an hour later, Jeff was negotiating whether we should go to the Mass in Eureka or to the Cathedral Basilica downtown. I prevailed upon Jeff that we should choose the former. So the 3 friends and a dead cell phone set out to celebrate the Lord's Passion and Resurrection in the prescribed manner. Being the filthy wretch that I am, I had need of Reconciliation before worthy celebration of the other mysteries. You really ought to try it some time.
As it unfolded though, I recalled that I'd rolled into the Slowest Confession Line Ever. Going to Confession with this priest is like an Oprah episode that's all about you. And no, he doesn't care how long the line is, or that we will soon celebrate Mass. You might think that would make him impertinent, but this is not the case. I asked Jeff to assure me again that this Saturday Vigil Mass meets our Sunday obligation. He asked, (in true rigorist fashion) "In my book, or the Church's?" As politely as I could, I answered his question and reminded him that I didn't care in this instance what his opinion was.
After the saving work of Christ was applied to me once more, we had a few moments before Mass to pray. My works of penance I completed, and I could not fail to notice the stained-glass window of Jesus holding out His Most Sacred Heart above the altar. It is fitting of course; Most Sacred Heart is the name of this parish. I looked at the altar, and I recalled the great sadness I now carry with me, the rupture that time has not even begun to heal. I have been angry, but this day, I only longed for that reconciliation that may never come. We recall the words of Jesus about reconciliation and the altar. The best I could do is say that if that one were here, I would offer the kindest words and tears that I was able. And you were there, rest assured.
I knew that all of it would be offered there, in a short time. Christ would make His love plain as he has done so many times in so many places. Not again, as though it never occurred, nor as if He had not fully satisfied the debt we owe, but so that work on a distant hill would be so much more than a hazy memory.
I was hungry afterward, and having kept the customs common for this time--and that for us, this was our Sunday--I indicated in my direct manner that I meant to acquire some "dead cow." My fellows were suitably amused. I must say that although the axiom that funny people don't try to be funny is patently false--everyone tries--I was genuinely surprised by the depth of their amusement. But I did envelop myself in my own laughter when I pictured the horror of living cows everywhere upon learning of my desire. "MOOOO!" indeed.
We stopped in a Denny's, and the server was kind and helpful. She was also pretty. I thought we were going to get thrown out when Adam turned to her and asked, "How far along are you?" I promise you, I could not tell. I was even more stunned when she said she was six and a half months along. She will apparently be the pregnant lady women hate.
As is Jeff's custom, we found ourselves in an epistemology discussion for two hours. Two out of three (Jeff and I) said that Bonaventure's account of knowledge (and whether we have senses spiritually apart from the body) was better than the Angelic Doctor's. I had my own more narrow concerns about the ethical implications of Aquinas' view, and Adam abstained.
We returned to my house to find--to my cautious delight--that Rick Santorum had crushed Mitt Romney in the Louisiana GOP primary, 49-26%. Gingrich continued to help Romney by taking 16% of the vote. And that was the day, though still it ended with tears.
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