Safe Haven

We Catholics pray to all three Persons of the Blessed Trinity. Frankly, besides that, we pray to a lot of people. But I never thought I would have to defend the licitness of praying to Jesus, or to the Holy Spirit. The argument went like this: Should we pray to Jesus alone? A: No. Prayers should be directed to God alone. The unstated premise of this argument is that Jesus isn't God. Friends, Christians, if you ever get to, "Jesus is not God," start over. I beg you. And people wonder why I sought full communion with the Catholic Church.

Generations lived and died, waiting for the Cubs to win the championship of baseball. My Cardinals have won it 11 times since 1908. Think about that. And now, all the waiting is over. I live and die with every pitch, so I get it. Then again, I never could. Winning is tradition in St. Louis. A season without a playoff appearance (like this last one) is a total loss, and it'll be going on 6 years since the last championship. The natives are getting restless, if you can believe that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry to all the beleaguered fanbases out there. Winning does nothing, if not breed the desire for more winning. The fans in Chicago will get arrogant. Fans always do. On the other hand, if you're a die-hard, the other teams in the way always seem bigger and badder than they probably are. Your team is unlucky, behind the 8-ball, opposed by the umpires, et cetera. I have never seen a team in my life that didn't talk about "adversity." Even if they won 103 ga

I was eating leftover chicken wings. I don't know if you know this, but I try not to throw any actual food in my trash can. Assume the worst in a scenario of bachelorhood, and you might be able to guess why. So, I put the bones on a plate in order to take them downstairs, with the aim of throwing them in the glorious municipal trash can on the corner. They rolled off my lap. On to the floor. Every. Single. One. I would love to tell you that I handled this moment with trademark grace. I would love to tell you that the world is full of sunshine and rainbows, truly. I'd love to tell you lots of things. I cursed with the ferocity I normally reserve for Robert Urich's acting, and untimely double plays. Even on the best of days, I have a long way to go. Maybe "someone dropped the bones" could be code for, "I completely overreacted to the smallest thing." You wouldn't know anyone like that, would you?

There was a TED talk once by a woman in Australia. She had a significant physical disability, and she talked a lot about how she wanted to be treated normally, and how she hated people being patronizing. "I'm just like you!" she said in many different ways. In the "community," as it were, we call it "inspire-a-porn." I get it. I really do. But. Who am I to decide when people are allowed to be inspired? Who am I to decide that I'm not carrying a cross? If other people see it, what reality am I trying to live in, pretending it's not there? There's a guy in our parish who is mentally ill. I think it's schizophrenia. He shakes my hand after Communion every single day. He used to say I was his inspiration, when there was more time. All I have to say is, "Brother, I'll be your inspiration as long as you want." I'm getting over the idolatry of "normal." The pride of it. If you met me, you might realize I'

I stayed up late this morning to watch it. I laughed the entire half-hour! No wonder this guy had two sitcoms. Are you kidding? I wish I had that kind of timing. This episode guest starred Rene Auberjonois as a sketchy French psychologist who brings his wife on an exchange trip to the United States. His wife is revealed to be his mistress. Yikes. But nor does he understand US currency, leading to two hilarious exchanges with a snarky cab driver. I'm gonna have to watch this show again.