The story is told of Pio Nono entertaining a visiting grandee at the Vatican.
While on their knees in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in the pope’s private chapel, they could not help but notice a person who, emerging from the shadows and strolling casually from one side of the chapel to the other, gave only the briefest and most perfunctory nod in the direction of the exposed Sacrament. Whereat the holy pope said to his guest, “That’s either a saracen, or a sacristan!”
This story was related orally to Melancholicus several years ago, so he has no idea of its source, but it was brought rather forcefully to mind after Mass on Trinity Sunday. Immediately after the celebrant had left the sanctuary, and as the singing of Salve Regina was still in progress, the sacristan suddenly appeared and began dashing about the sanctuary like a thing possessed, whipping the missal and altar cards off the altar, snatching the cruets with graceless haste, and with heavy footfalls stomping back into the sacristy without even a nod to the tabernacle. This behaviour was unseemly, unedifying and—especially for the members of the schola—most distracting.
The sacristan in this particular parish is a woman somewhere, Melancholicus guesses, between sixty and seventy years of age. Once she had started her squawking and flapping, she made no effort to be quiet so as not to disturb the still-singing schola or the members of the congregation praying privately in their pews. It is no secret that she strongly disapproves of the Traditional Latin Mass being offered on what she evidently regards as her territory, and her outrageous behaviour was no less than a wilful display of hostility for the benefit of those of us attached to the ancient liturgy. Her irritation was palpable. Melancholicus and his companion in the choir loft looked at one another in disbelief.
After the recessional had ended Melancholicus knelt to make his thanksgiving for the Mass, but prayer was impossible, for now the termagant was darting about the nave like a blue-arsed fly, collecting all the red Mass books in a frenzied rush. When she had finally finished driving forth the few remaining faithful, she vanished back into the sacristy and within a few moments the church was full of piped music. She had put a CD on the sacristy stereo—some cleansing new age tune to wash away the taint of all that Tridentine gobbledygook.
Melancholicus does not know the name of the piece that was played, but under the circumstances we can title it A Sacristan’s Revenge.
Or should that instead be A Saracen’s Revenge, perhaps?
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Friday, June 05, 2009
The bishops on the European elections
Ah, the bishops! Where would we be without their magisterial guidance?
Last Sunday the Irish bishops’ conference put out a press release on voting in the European elections. The local elections get only a passing mention, but the bishops are keen that we all get us out today to elect the next batch of MEPs. Melancholicus shall not reproduce the text in full, since much of it is written in the lorem ipsum of management-style boilerplate—although, unlike last year’s pastoral on the Lisbon Referendum, the bishops don’t actually go as far as instructing us how we must vote. Helpfully, however, the bishops have summarized the whole in two basic points:
With all due respect to our fathers in God, both of these are problematic. First of all, the notion that we “fulfil the Gospel challenge to serve our neighbour” (what lovely newchurch newspeak!) by casting a ballot. Does such necessarily follow? In 1932, 37% of the German electorate cast a ballot for the NSDAP. Look how that turned out. I humbly suggest we can “fulfil the Gospel challenge” perfectly legitimately by, when the occasion merits it, abstaining from casting a vote. Abstention is certainly preferable in cases where the only choice is between two equally impious alternatives. In such instances, a non-vote is itself a sort of vote. Not voting should not be seen as a ‘failure’ to vote, and certainly not as a “failure to serve ourselves, our neighbour and our children”, as the bishops have the temerity to describe it.
To be fair, the bishops are probably influenced in their attitude by the existence of non-democratic forms of government in certain countries where the struggle for the establishment of democracy is literally a matter of life and death. In such places courageous souls risk life and limb in order to win for their people the privilege of voting. If one chooses not to exercise the privilege one enjoys, the fact that the same privilege may be denied to others does not make one’s choice worthy of blame. No-one should be forced to vote; the beauty of democracy is that one can vote for any particular candidate—or indeed for none of them, if one prefers. The choice is up to the enfranchised individual, and it will not do for the bishops to imply that there is always a moral obligation to vote in every election or plebiscite or whatever.
Then the bishops address the subject of freedom of religion. This is what they say:
There is nothing worthy of condemnation here, but the loose language employed robs the text of any power it might otherwise have had. What, precisely, does it mean to give “full recognition to the contribution of Christianity to the construction and values of the European Union”? We might be talking about history here, and nothing more. There is not even the slightest suggestion that the EU bind itself in its workings to the moral principles of Christianity. Furthermore, what of “the importance of religious faith”? What “religious faith” would that be, then? The Catholic faith? If so, why not say so clearly? Or perhaps their Lordships mean the whole babel of religions taken as a totality? It is hard to see how in practice such could be even remotely workable, unless their Lordships have in mind not particular religions with particular beliefs and a particular praxis, but a vague, secular religiosity of the kind practiced by His Eminence Tony Blair.
And as for freedom of religion—a noble idea in itself—let us see, by the addition of just a few words, how the current trend of the EU will implement the bishops’ call in practice:
Can it be denied that they’re doing this already?
H/T to Seen and Unseen.
Last Sunday the Irish bishops’ conference put out a press release on voting in the European elections. The local elections get only a passing mention, but the bishops are keen that we all get us out today to elect the next batch of MEPs. Melancholicus shall not reproduce the text in full, since much of it is written in the lorem ipsum of management-style boilerplate—although, unlike last year’s pastoral on the Lisbon Referendum, the bishops don’t actually go as far as instructing us how we must vote. Helpfully, however, the bishops have summarized the whole in two basic points:
- To vote is a concrete way of fulfilling the Gospel challenge to serve our neighbour
- MEPs should promote respect for freedom of religion and religious expression as a fundamental right and a defining value of the Union
With all due respect to our fathers in God, both of these are problematic. First of all, the notion that we “fulfil the Gospel challenge to serve our neighbour” (what lovely newchurch newspeak!) by casting a ballot. Does such necessarily follow? In 1932, 37% of the German electorate cast a ballot for the NSDAP. Look how that turned out. I humbly suggest we can “fulfil the Gospel challenge” perfectly legitimately by, when the occasion merits it, abstaining from casting a vote. Abstention is certainly preferable in cases where the only choice is between two equally impious alternatives. In such instances, a non-vote is itself a sort of vote. Not voting should not be seen as a ‘failure’ to vote, and certainly not as a “failure to serve ourselves, our neighbour and our children”, as the bishops have the temerity to describe it.
To be fair, the bishops are probably influenced in their attitude by the existence of non-democratic forms of government in certain countries where the struggle for the establishment of democracy is literally a matter of life and death. In such places courageous souls risk life and limb in order to win for their people the privilege of voting. If one chooses not to exercise the privilege one enjoys, the fact that the same privilege may be denied to others does not make one’s choice worthy of blame. No-one should be forced to vote; the beauty of democracy is that one can vote for any particular candidate—or indeed for none of them, if one prefers. The choice is up to the enfranchised individual, and it will not do for the bishops to imply that there is always a moral obligation to vote in every election or plebiscite or whatever.
Then the bishops address the subject of freedom of religion. This is what they say:
The newly elected MEPs will need the political competence and skills necessary to deal with the above mentioned challenges. They will need the qualities of mind and heart to work in the multi-cultural, multi-lingual and politically diversified environment of the EU and its institutions.
This includes giving full recognition to the contribution of Christianity to the construction and values of the European Union and to the importance of religious faith in the lives of its citizens.
MEPs should promote respect for freedom of religion and freedom of religious expression as a fundamental right and a defining value of the Union. They should hold strong convictions on promoting respect for human dignity, upholding the right to life and the rights of the family. They should be committed to shaping a political order that provides justice to everyone, especially the poorest.
There is nothing worthy of condemnation here, but the loose language employed robs the text of any power it might otherwise have had. What, precisely, does it mean to give “full recognition to the contribution of Christianity to the construction and values of the European Union”? We might be talking about history here, and nothing more. There is not even the slightest suggestion that the EU bind itself in its workings to the moral principles of Christianity. Furthermore, what of “the importance of religious faith”? What “religious faith” would that be, then? The Catholic faith? If so, why not say so clearly? Or perhaps their Lordships mean the whole babel of religions taken as a totality? It is hard to see how in practice such could be even remotely workable, unless their Lordships have in mind not particular religions with particular beliefs and a particular praxis, but a vague, secular religiosity of the kind practiced by His Eminence Tony Blair.
And as for freedom of religion—a noble idea in itself—let us see, by the addition of just a few words, how the current trend of the EU will implement the bishops’ call in practice:
MEPs should promote respect for freedom of [the Islamic] religion and freedom of [Islamic] religious expression as a fundamental right [for Muslims] and a defining value of the Union. They should hold strong convictions on promoting respect for human dignity [of Muslims], upholding the right to life and the rights of the [Islamic] family. They should be committed to shaping an [Islamic] political order that provides [sharia] justice to everyone, especially the poorest [Muslim immigrants].
Can it be denied that they’re doing this already?
H/T to Seen and Unseen.
Election day!
Today, June 5, elections shall be held in the Republic of Ireland, giving the electorate an opportunity to chastise the ensconced oligarchy for its negligence, its corruption and its misrule.Last Saturday’s episode of The Emergency on Newstalk 106 featured a sketch about door-to-door canvassing for elections in Germany in 1949, shortly after World War II. Two canvassers introduce themselves as members of the Nazi party and ask the incredulous householder if he would consider giving his vote to the Nazis. The householder is aghast and tells them “No! ... Impossible! ... you destroyed the country!” The comparison in our own time and place with Fianna Fáil (which is what the sketch writers were aiming at) was immediate, obvious, and not a little amusing in a bitter-sweet kind of way.
Today’s elections come in three varieties:
- There shall be a by-election to fill Dáil seats left vacant by the repose of two TDs, namely
Seamus Brennan (†9 July 2008)
Tony Gregory (†2 January 2009)
These elections concern the Dublin South and Dublin Central constituencies respectively, and as such Melancholicus (who lives in Dublin North-West) has no vote in either of them. Here are the contenders in each:- Dublin South: Shay Brennan (son of the late Seamus Brennan)
George Lee (former RTÉ economic analyst turned FG candidate)
Alex White
Shaun Tracey
Elizabeth Davidson Noel O’Gara Frank O’Gorman Ross O’Mullane
George Lee is the hot favourite to win here. - Dublin Central: Maurice Ahern (Bertie’s other brother) Paschal Donohue Ivana Bacik (good grief!) Christy Burke David Geary Maureen O’Sullivan (the Gregory candidate)
Paul O’Loughlin
Malachy Steenson
Pat Talbot
The late Tony Gregory’s seat will probably go to Independent Maureen O’Sullivan, billed as “the Gregory candidate”, or else to Christy Burke of Sinn Féin. Paul O’Loughlin (Christian Solidarity), who has stood for Dáil elections in this constituency on previous occasions, can be confident of his usual 200 or so votes. Even the Nazis, in their first serious electoral outing in 1928, while winning a derisive 2% of the overall vote, did better than Christian Solidarity ever did or will. Malachy Steenson (Workers’ Party) and Pat Talbot (Immigration Control Platform) have no chance.
It is safe to say that neither of the government parties (FF and Green) will win a seat in either constituency, although the young and untried Shay Brennan may well benefit from the dynastic nature of Irish politics.
- Then there are the elections for the European parliament. For this purpose Ireland is divided into four constituencies: Dublin, East, North West and South. Three seats are up for grabs in each. Melancholicus shall here confine his attention only to Dublin, since this is where he shall be voting. The candidates are as follows: Eoin Ryan (outgoing MEP) Eibhlin Byrne Gay Mitchell (outgoing MEP) Proinsias de Rossa (outgoing MEP) Mary Lou McDonald (outgoing MEP) Deirdre de Burca Patricia McKenna
Caroline Simons
Joe Higgins Emmanuel Sweeney
This is a tough one to call. The fact that only three seats are available means at least one of the sitting MEPs will lose his/her seat. Melancholicus was briefly tempted to cast his vote for Mary Lou, if only to force Eoin Ryan out, but also toyed with the idea of sending Joe Higgins off to Brussels out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Regular readers of Infelix Ego know this writer’s opinion of Socialism, but politics aside, Mr. Higgins is in many respects an admirable man. In the end, however, Melancholicus shall be responsible and vote instead for Caroline Simons as the candidate most fully representing his attitude to the EU. - Finally there are the local elections to city and county councils throughout the country. Attention here will be confined to your blogger’s home ward of Artane-Whitehall. Here be the list: Sean Paul Mahon (outgoing councillor) Julia Carmichael (outgoing councillor) Declan Flanagan (outgoing councillor) Noel Rock Paddy Bourke (outgoing councillor) Andrew Montague (outgoing councillor) Sinead Seery Larry O’Toole (outgoing councillor) Denise Mitchell
Martin O’Sullivan Anna Harvey
A motley crew, and no mistake. There are only 5 seats available in this ward, which means at least one of the sitting councillors will lose a seat. Melancholicus is not even going to attempt to guess who will win here, for he is trying to decide how he shall vote on this one. Fianna Fáil do not deserve to retain their seats. However, he is loath to vote Fine Gael despite coming from a long line of blueshirts, and voting Labour is absolutely out of the question. Perhaps one or other of the two independents — but Melancholicus knows neither of them, and he never casts a vote for someone he knows nothing about. The only alternative is to cast a spoiled vote. He has never spoiled a vote before, but there is a first time for everything. A spoiled vote at least registers a protest, and hence is better than boycotting the polling station altogether.
The main problem with such elections is that there are almost no credible alternatives to the grasping, venal party currently in government. This is not a general election, but a catastrophic defeat for Fianna Fáil in the local elections may precipitate a general election, in which the main government party has no assurance of success. Fianna Fáil do not deserve a majority in the Dáil, or even a share in coalition government, but what other alternative have we? Any coalition not involving Fianna Fáil must of necessity involve the Labour party. Labour has always been on the left, but since its absorption of Democratic Left in 1999 it has swung even further leftwards. Any coalition in which Labour has a share will forge ahead with ‘multicultural’ fascism, political correctness and social engineering. Expect such a government to produce a raft of ‘progressive’ legislation. The consequences for the defence of human life, marriage, the family, education and even religious freedom could be severe.
There is no conservative party, socially speaking, in Ireland—not even Fianna Fáil, although the track record of the latter is generally better than that of other parties. But we can’t keep voting Fianna Fáil forever. No party should be kept in power longer than three terms; Fianna Fáil have already proved themselves incapable of keeping their hands clean.
But what alternative? It is maddening.
Geert Wilders and the BBC
Don’t you just love the partiality of the BBC! Don’t you just love the way al-Beeb views very social, political, historical or cultural matter through such a red-tinted lens that anyone even slightly on the wrong side of the centre line is blasted as “far right”, as though the Dutch Freedom Party were the quintessence of fascism, akin to the Nazis?Well, the Freedom Party appear to be showing strongly in the European elections, strongly enough to claim at least four seats in the European parliament.
This has sent al-Beeb into conniptions. Count the number of times the expressions “right wing” and “far right” appear in the following story.
When does the BBC ever use the terms “left wing” or “far left”? Answer: it doesn’t. This because that organisation is slanted so far to the left that to be “left wing” is to be positively centre, which is where al-Beeb fondly imagines itself to be.
Dutch far right in poll triumph
The party of the right-wing Dutch MP, Geert Wilders, has come second in the country's elections for the European Parliament, partial results indicate.
Mr Wilders, who is facing prosecution over anti-Islamic statements [interesting that no-one ever faces prosecution over anti-Christian statements], said his Freedom Party (PVV) would get four of the 25 Dutch seats in the parliament.
With more than 92% of votes counted, the ruling Christian Democrats are top.
Voters are now going to the polls in the Czech Republic and the Republic of Ireland. The UK voted on Thursday.
Dutch and British voters were the first to go to the polls to elect the EU's most powerful legislative body.
Some 375 million people in 27 member states are eligible to vote. Most will cast their ballots over the weekend.
Partial results released on Friday showed Mr Wilders' PVV was on course to win 16.9% of the votes in the Netherlands. The PVV currently has no seats in the European Parliament [looks like this is about to change—unless the EU decides to refuse acknowledgement of democratic results it doesn’t like, which is not beyond the bounds of possibility].
Mr Wilders was refused entry to the UK in February on the grounds that he had sought to incite hatred with a film he made last year that equated Islam with violence and likened the Koran to Hitler's Mein Kampf [one cannot even debate this subject without drawing down on oneself the hysterical fury of the multiculturalists, never mind the far more dangerous psychopathic fury of the islams, but one can trash the Bible with as much vilification as one likes without the slightest consequence].
EU officials concerned
Voters are deciding who gets the 736 seats up for grabs under various forms of proportional representation.
The European Commission has asked for an explanation from Dutch officials, who broke EU rules by releasing partial results early. Results are not supposed to be announced until polls close across Europe on Sunday night [perhaps the real explanation they’re looking for is why the Dutch electorate have dared to deliver such an unpalatable result. Re-education, anyone?].
In the UK, elections were also held in some areas for local councils.
The results of both UK polls are keenly awaited to see how they might affect the national political scene, following weeks of turmoil over MPs' expenses claims.
Latvia, Cyprus, Malta and Slovakia vote on Saturday, while the Czech Republic and Italy vote over Friday and Saturday, and Saturday and Sunday respectively. People in the remaining 18 member states will vote on Sunday.
In Ireland, the vote is seen as a key test ahead of a second referendum on the EU's controversial Lisbon Treaty, expected in October.
The Irish government, stung by the voters' rejection of Lisbon last year, is opposed by Declan Ganley's Libertas. The millionaire entrepreneur, who helped fuel anti-Lisbon sentiment in Ireland, hopes to win one of the 12 Irish seats.
Coalition ally hit
The anti-immigration Dutch Freedom Party MEPs will be headed by Barry Madlener and Mr Wilders will remain an MP in The Hague, Radio Netherlands reports.
The partial results in the Netherlands also showed gains for two staunchly pro-EU parties - the social-liberal D66 and Green Left. Each is on course to send three MEPs to Brussels.
The Christian Democrats' governing coalition partner, the Labour Party (PvdA), was the biggest loser - its share of the Dutch vote fell nearly 10% percentage points to about 14%.
"We dare to talk about sensitive subjects like Islamisation and we use plain and simple words that the voter can understand," Mr Wilders has said in the past.
The controversial politician is facing prosecution in the Netherlands for making anti-Islamic statements, following a court ruling in January [once again, would Mr. Wilders be facing prosecution if he had made anti-Christian statements? Rhetorical question...].
Polls show that Euroscepticism among Dutch voters has increased since the last European elections, with EU enlargement and integration the most unpopular issues.
Across Europe, far-right [there we go again!] parties are hoping to win at least 15 seats. However, the centre-right European People's Party bloc is expected to remain the main force, followed by the European Socialists.
Geert Wilders is now unmasked as a known agent of Goldstein, and he must be stopped before he spreads thoughtcrime throughout the European Union!
What is heartening, however, is that the Dutch at long last seem to be waking up and recognizing the reality around them. This is a country Melancholicus had long given up for lost, but the Islamic infiltration of Europe has now reached such a pitch that even the liberal, left-leaning Dutch have started to notice. Why are so many Dutch people casting their vote for the “right-wing” Geert Wilders and his “far right” Freedom Party? Because they are afraid. They see their liberal, tolerant, easy-going society and culture being filched from them little by little, and supplanted with a replacement which is anything but liberal, tolerant and easy-going, abetted by the Dutch government and by the EU.
Just ask the good people of Rotterdam.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Ordination day
Iam non dicam vos servos sed amicos meos, quia servus nescit quid faciat dominus ejus. Alleluia. Vos autem dixi amicos, quia omnia quaecumque audivi a patre meo nota feci vobis. Alleluia.
Last Saturday, the vigil of the feast of Pentecost, Melancholicus’ former classmates were ordained to the sacred priesthood of Jesus Christ by Bishop Fabian W. Bruskewitz in the Cathedral of the Risen Christ, Lincoln, Nebraska.
Owing to personal circumstances, Melancholicus was unable either to be there or to assist at the First Masses of his friends. He has not yet received any photographs of the happy event but hopes to remedy this defect before long.
In the meantime he earnestly solicits the prayers of his readers for the new priests as they begin their priestly ministry:
Fr. Brian Austin FSSP
Fr. Matthew Goddard FSSP
Fr. Michael Stinson FSSP
While we wait for the ordination pictures, here are a couple of shots from Father Austin’s First Mass, celebrated on Pentecost Sunday at the Carmel of Jesus, Mary and Joseph in Valparaiso, Nebraska (see the rest of them here):
Ad multos annos.
Fr. Goddard will celebrate his first solemn Mass in his English homeland at 11am on 6 June (Saturday) in St. James’ church, Spanish Place, London. British readers of Infelix Ego in London and the south-east are encouraged to attend. Tell Fr. Goddard afterwards that Melancholicus sent you. He’ll be amused.
Last Saturday, the vigil of the feast of Pentecost, Melancholicus’ former classmates were ordained to the sacred priesthood of Jesus Christ by Bishop Fabian W. Bruskewitz in the Cathedral of the Risen Christ, Lincoln, Nebraska.
Owing to personal circumstances, Melancholicus was unable either to be there or to assist at the First Masses of his friends. He has not yet received any photographs of the happy event but hopes to remedy this defect before long.
In the meantime he earnestly solicits the prayers of his readers for the new priests as they begin their priestly ministry:
Fr. Brian Austin FSSP
Fr. Matthew Goddard FSSP
Fr. Michael Stinson FSSP
While we wait for the ordination pictures, here are a couple of shots from Father Austin’s First Mass, celebrated on Pentecost Sunday at the Carmel of Jesus, Mary and Joseph in Valparaiso, Nebraska (see the rest of them here):
Ad multos annos.
Fr. Goddard will celebrate his first solemn Mass in his English homeland at 11am on 6 June (Saturday) in St. James’ church, Spanish Place, London. British readers of Infelix Ego in London and the south-east are encouraged to attend. Tell Fr. Goddard afterwards that Melancholicus sent you. He’ll be amused.
Render unto Caesar... and only unto Caesar
Melancholicus received the following by e-mail, and thinks it worth sharing with his readers:
No comment necessary, except to say Ms. McLeod is a brave woman. Someone could have denounced her to the Gestapo.
Or worse, to the ACLU.
This is a statement that was read over the PA system at the football game at Roane County High School, Kingston, Tennessee, by school Principal, Jody McLeod:
"It has always been the custom at Roane County High School football games to say a prayer and play the National Anthem, to honor God and Country. Due to a recent ruling by the Supreme Court, I am told that saying a prayer is a violation of Federal Case Law. As I understand the law at this time, I can use this public facility to approve of sexual perversion and call it "an alternate lifestyle", and if someone is offended, that's OK.
I can use it to condone sexual promiscuity, by dispensing condoms and calling it, "safe sex". If someone is offended, that's OK.
I can even use this public facility to present the merits of killing an unborn baby as a "viable means of birth control". If someone is offended, no problem...
I can designate a school day as "Earth Day" and involve students in activities to worship religiously and praise the goddess "Mother Earth" and call it "ecology..."
I can use literature, videos and presentations in the classroom that depicts people with strong, traditional Christian convictions as "simple minded" and "ignorant" and call it "enlightenment...."
However, if anyone uses this facility to honor GOD and to ask HIM to Bless this event with safety and good sportsmanship, then Federal Case Law is violated.
This appears to be inconsistent at best, and at worst, diabolical. Apparently, we are to be tolerant of everything and anyone, except GOD and HIS Commandments.
Nevertheless, as a school principal, I frequently ask staff and students to abide by rules with which they do not necessarily agree. For me to do otherwise would be inconsistent at best, and at worst, hypocritical... I suffer from that affliction enough unintentionally. I certainly do not need to add an intentional transgression.
For this reason, I shall "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's", and refrain from praying at this time.
"However, if you feel inspired to honor, praise and thank GOD and ask HIM, in the name of JESUS, to Bless this event, please feel free to do so. As far as I know, that's not against the law — yet."
One by one, the people in the stands bowed their heads, held hands with one another and began to pray.
They prayed in the stands. They prayed in the team huddles. They prayed at the concession stand and they prayed in the Announcer's Box!
The only place they didn't pray was in the Supreme Court of the United States of America — the Seat of "Justice" in the "one nation, under GOD."
Somehow Kingston, Tennessee, remembered what so many have forgotten. We are given the Freedom OF Religion, not the Freedom FROM Religion. Praise GOD that HIS remnant remains!
JESUS said, "If you are ashamed of me before men, then I will be ashamed of you before My Father."
No comment necessary, except to say Ms. McLeod is a brave woman. Someone could have denounced her to the Gestapo.
Or worse, to the ACLU.
The witness of a true hero of charity
Let us not fool ourselves with the notion that the horrendous abuse inflicted on innocents in industrial schools and suchlike institutions is a post-conciliar phenomenon. Grave sin is a feature of fallen human nature generally, not of post-conciliar theology alone.
There is a tendency among some Traditional Catholics to imagine that, because we have access to the old Latin Mass, we are somehow immune from such turpitude. The Ryan Report, as well as more recent experience, should be sufficient to disabuse us of that precious notion.
Alarm bells were sounded as long ago as the 1940s — long before the Novus Ordo was imposed on these shores — by no less a figure than Father Edward Flanagan, of “Boys’ Town” fame, who in 1946 condemned Ireland’s reform schools as “a disgrace to the nation”. It is much to be regretted that his judgement went unheeded. If a thoroughgoing reform of these institutions had been undertaken and pursued by ecclesiastical authorities at the time, how much suffering and abuse might have been averted, how much scandal need never have been given! But, alas, Fr. Flanagan’s timely warnings were not only ignored; he was attacked and ridiculed for daring to upset the status quo.
This story courtesy of Irish Central. Melancholicus has added his own remarks in red.
H/T to Dennis K. for the link.
Indeed. Is the Church in Ireland built upon rock or upon sand? In the light of the number of millstones—far too many millstones!—we might perforce conclude the latter. But such an institution surely deserves to wither. Without heroic penitence and true charity there is no hope for it, not now, not ever.
There is a tendency among some Traditional Catholics to imagine that, because we have access to the old Latin Mass, we are somehow immune from such turpitude. The Ryan Report, as well as more recent experience, should be sufficient to disabuse us of that precious notion.
Alarm bells were sounded as long ago as the 1940s — long before the Novus Ordo was imposed on these shores — by no less a figure than Father Edward Flanagan, of “Boys’ Town” fame, who in 1946 condemned Ireland’s reform schools as “a disgrace to the nation”. It is much to be regretted that his judgement went unheeded. If a thoroughgoing reform of these institutions had been undertaken and pursued by ecclesiastical authorities at the time, how much suffering and abuse might have been averted, how much scandal need never have been given! But, alas, Fr. Flanagan’s timely warnings were not only ignored; he was attacked and ridiculed for daring to upset the status quo.This story courtesy of Irish Central. Melancholicus has added his own remarks in red.
H/T to Dennis K. for the link.
Boys Town founder Fr. Flanagan warned Irish Church about abuse
By JOHN FAY, IrishCentral.Com Staff Writer
Father Edward Flanagan, founder of "Boys Town" made famous by the Spencer Tracy movie, was a lone voice in condemning Ireland's industrial schools back in the 1940s –and he was viciously castigated by church and government for doing so.
Fr. Flanagan, from Co. Roscommon, left Ireland in 1904 and was ordained a priest eight years later. In 1917 he was living and working in Omaha, Nebraska, when he hit upon the idea of a "boys town," which offered education and a home for the poor and wayward boys of Omaha.
However, demand for the service was so great that he soon had to find bigger premises. Boys Town, built on a farm 10 miles from Omaha, was the result.
The center was open to all. There were no fences to stop the boys from leaving. Fr. Flanagan said he was "not building a prison". "This is a home," he said. "You do not wall in members of your own family." [this saintly man's attitude was in striking contrast to that of the Irish reformatories]
Boys Town eventually became so well-known - and so well-respected - that Hollywood and the U.S. President came calling. Spencer Tracey and Mickey Rooney starred in the 1938 movie "Boys Town," and it made a national hero out of Fr. Flanagan [Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven - Mt. 5:16]. He was internationally renowned as “the world's most foremost expert on boys' training and youth care."
When World War II ended in 1945, President Harry S. Truman asked Fr. Flanagan to tour Asia and Europe, to see what could be done for the homeless and neglected children in those regions.
Fr. Flanagan decided to return to the land of his birth in 1946 to visit his family, and also to visit the "so-called training schools" run by the Christian Brothers to see if they were "a success or failure" [Fr. Flanagan thus approached these institutions with an open mind].
The success of the film "Boys Town," meant Fr. Flanagan was treated like a celebrity on his arrival. His visit was noted by the The Irish Independent, which said that Fr. Flanagan had succeeded "against overwhelming odds", spurred on by the "simple slogan that 'There is no such thing as a bad boy'." [whereas the approach of the Irish institutions seems to have been the opposite, given the casual brutality whereto the inmates of these institutions were subjected. The institutions have since been compared to the camps in occupied Europe during the last war, and the behaviour of the religious who ran them has been likened to that of the SS. Sadly, there is not too much exaggeration in that comparison]
But Fr. Flanagan was unhappy with what he found in Ireland. He was dismayed at the state of Ireland's reform schools and blasted them as "a scandal, un-Christlike, and wrong." [that's very strong language for 1946. Fr. Flanagan was clearly disturbed by what he found] And he said the Christian Brothers, founded by Edmund Rice, had lost its way [a telling remark, the truth of which has since been borne out times without number].
Speaking to a large audience at a public lecture in Cork's Savoy Cinema he said, "You are the people who permit your children and the children of your communities to go into these institutions of punishment [with this description he has forthrightly identified the true ethos of these reform schools]. You can do something about it." He called Ireland's penal institutions "a disgrace to the nation," and later said "I do not believe that a child can be reformed by lock and key and bars, or that fear can ever develop a child's character." [a man who knew what he was talking about speaking straight from the heart]
However, his words fell on stony ground. He wasn't simply ignored. He was taken to pieces by the Irish establishment. The then-Minister for Justice Gerald Boland said in the Dáil that he was "not disposed to take any notice of what Monsignor Flanagan said while he was in this country, because his statements were so exaggerated that I did not think people would attach any importance to them." [the same incredulous obtusity that was to characterize the response of our superiors, both civil and ecclesiastical, from that day to this. There was not so much as the proposal of an official inquiry, never mind the promise of one. Did they not think that Fr. Flanagan, a man of international renown with a proven track record in childcare, might not have something important to say on the matter? It truly beggars belief]
Fr. Flanagan was a devout Catholic, a man who Catholics and non-Catholics world-wide had deemed a hero. He was the Mother Theresa of his day.
Despite that, the Irish Church and the Irish authorities felt comfortable ignoring Fr. Flanagan, ignoring the fact that he was considered to be an expert in the matter of providing for the education and upbringing of boys who were otherwise considered to be "lost causes."
When he arrived back in America Fr. Flanagan said: "What you need over there is to have someone shake you loose from your smugness and satisfaction and set an example by punishing those who are guilty of cruelty, ignorance and neglect of their duties in high places . . . I wonder what God's judgment will be with reference to those who hold the deposit of faith and who fail in their God-given stewardship of little children." [But he that shall scandalize one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be drowned in the depth of the sea - Mt. 18:6]
Again, his efforts fell on stony ground.
What was it about the Irish Church and the Irish authorities that made them so insular that they felt comfortable dismissing someone of Fr. Flanagan's stature? Despite the fact that Fr. Flanagan was a popular hero to many Irish people, his words had no sway with those in authority, whether in the government or the Church [they may now rue that they did not listen. But it is now too late for such regrets - the damage has been done, and what unspeakable damage it is!].
And, once those who endorsed the industrial school model survived Fr. Flanagan's broadsides, they must have known that no one would challenge them again. They were right, for 50 years anyway [they could get away with it for a time, only for a time; the truth will always come out in the end].
Not since the penal times has the Catholic Church been so threatened in Ireland. Only this time the damage is all self-inflicted and not imposed by an outside force. Unless strong Catholic characters arise from the wreckage we have now, the Church in Ireland is doomed [unless we are as blind and obtuse as the late Minister Boland, we must concur with the writer's assessment].
Indeed. Is the Church in Ireland built upon rock or upon sand? In the light of the number of millstones—far too many millstones!—we might perforce conclude the latter. But such an institution surely deserves to wither. Without heroic penitence and true charity there is no hope for it, not now, not ever.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Mass for the Feast of the Lord's Ascension
The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass (Roman Missal of 1962) shall be offered at 11am this coming Thursday (21 May) for the feast of the Ascension of the Lord in St. Joseph’s church, Newtownmountkennedy, County Wicklow.
The propers of the Mass shall be sung in plainchant.
Low Mass (Roman Missal of 1962) is also offered in the same church every Saturday morning at 11am. Visitors welcome
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
'Blasphemous libel' to be a criminal offence
Just two questions. Why? And why now?
Melancholicus was surprised to learn that, despite the reputation of Ireland’s Catholic past, blasphemy has never been a criminal offence in this country.
One would have thought that in this secular age, and in the midst of the most serious economic downturn the State has seen since its inception, the last thing required to occupy the attention of government ministers would be legislation introducing a new offence of ‘blasphemous libel’.
Melancholicus is not impressed.
For the past two hundred years it has ever been the fashion for the rulers of the States, as embodying the temporal power, to pretend incompetence in matters spiritual in order to excuse themselves from the obligations attendant upon adherence to the Christian religion: this, that they might be unfettered in their rule by the doctrines of any Church, whether Catholic or Protestant, and that they might appeal to both by appealing to neither.
The notion of the agnostic or atheistic State was condemned by the Popes down to the middle of the twentieth century.
Then in the 1960s there occurred an EventTM which saw the holy Church turn turkey and completely reverse her position, in which religious liberty for all and sundry was ebulliently proclaimed from the basilica of St. Peter’s, and enshrined for Modern ManTM in Dignitatis Humanae.
So if even the Catholic Church herself now prescinds from the notion of the confessional State, what business does an elected politician—here today, gone tomorrow—have in prescribing penalties for controversies touching upon religious matters?
How ironic, that the same State which confessed itself agnostic in matters religious these many years past suddenly claims to know what blasphemy is, how to sniff it out, and how best to punish it when detected.
When Melancholicus first heard of this proposed law, and once he had retrieved his jaw from its recumbent position on the floor, he wondered if it might not actually be a good thing. The Irish media, and not least RTÉ, have for unnumbered years made a sport out of baiting doctrines, practices and persons associated with Catholicism, not least the Holy Father himself. It would not be at all unpleasant if a stop were to be put to such odious practices.
Melancholicus has read grossly offensive articles in daily newspapers in which the writer’s treatment even of our Divine Saviour and His Blessed Mother has appalled him. But instead of going out rioting and setting cars on fire and taking up a scimitar to start beheading people, Melancholicus’ response has been simply to stop reading, or to say a prayer for the smug, self-satisfied writer—or at the most, to submit a letter of complaint to the paper concerned.
Then he realised he was deluding himself by believing that this might redress the current state of open season against the religion he himself professes. The proposed law will be of no benefit whatsoever to Christians. It is now many decades since the government of this country pretended concern for the welfare of Christians and for the integrity of the religion they profess. The relentless spiteful, sarcastic and mocking attacks in the nation’s media on the religion of the majority of the nation’s citizens—attacks including ridicule and defamation which could certainly be regarded as blasphemous—has in recent years never been a cause of concern to the nation’s government.
So why start now? Has Dermot Ahern suddenly found God?
Blasphemy is defined in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (§2148) as “uttering against God—inwardly or outwardly—words of hatred, reproach, or defiance; in speaking ill of God; in failing in respect toward him in one’s speech; in misusing God’s name. St. James condemns those “who blaspheme that honorable name [of Jesus] by which you are called” (2:7). The prohibition of blasphemy extends to language against Christ’s Church, the saints, and sacred things. It is also blasphemous to make use of God’s name to cover up criminal practices, to reduce peoples to servitude, to torture persons or put them to death”. (This last sentence is as clear a condemnation of the religion of Mahomet as ever was written).
As Ireland is now what they call a ‘diverse’ and ‘multi-faith’ society, the Church’s definition of blasphemy is most certainly not that which will inform the proposed law. Instead, we find blasphemy now defined as matter “that is grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion”.
This law will not take a single step towards banishing anti-Christian prejudice from the airwaves and the printsheets. No, this law is being introduced in order to protect the Mahometan—or rather, to appease the Mahometan and thus protect the peace by forbidding any criticism of Mahomet, or the religion he founded, or the Qur’an, or the behaviour of those who practice that religion, lest there be disturbances against public order. For if anything which might offend Mahometans be prohibited by the new law against blasphemous libel, perhaps they shall not riot if they see the offender punished by the full rigors of the law.
Melancholicus rather doubts that. The Mahometan will riot anyway because it is in his nature to do so. Perhaps by saying so Melancholicus has himself uttered blasphemy—at least according to how Dermot Ahern might define it.
From The Irish Times:
The Legal Affairs Editor of The Irish Times clearly disapproves of the proposed law. Melancholicus cannot blame her.
Melancholicus was surprised to learn that, despite the reputation of Ireland’s Catholic past, blasphemy has never been a criminal offence in this country.
One would have thought that in this secular age, and in the midst of the most serious economic downturn the State has seen since its inception, the last thing required to occupy the attention of government ministers would be legislation introducing a new offence of ‘blasphemous libel’.
Melancholicus is not impressed.
For the past two hundred years it has ever been the fashion for the rulers of the States, as embodying the temporal power, to pretend incompetence in matters spiritual in order to excuse themselves from the obligations attendant upon adherence to the Christian religion: this, that they might be unfettered in their rule by the doctrines of any Church, whether Catholic or Protestant, and that they might appeal to both by appealing to neither.
The notion of the agnostic or atheistic State was condemned by the Popes down to the middle of the twentieth century.
Then in the 1960s there occurred an EventTM which saw the holy Church turn turkey and completely reverse her position, in which religious liberty for all and sundry was ebulliently proclaimed from the basilica of St. Peter’s, and enshrined for Modern ManTM in Dignitatis Humanae.
So if even the Catholic Church herself now prescinds from the notion of the confessional State, what business does an elected politician—here today, gone tomorrow—have in prescribing penalties for controversies touching upon religious matters?
How ironic, that the same State which confessed itself agnostic in matters religious these many years past suddenly claims to know what blasphemy is, how to sniff it out, and how best to punish it when detected.
When Melancholicus first heard of this proposed law, and once he had retrieved his jaw from its recumbent position on the floor, he wondered if it might not actually be a good thing. The Irish media, and not least RTÉ, have for unnumbered years made a sport out of baiting doctrines, practices and persons associated with Catholicism, not least the Holy Father himself. It would not be at all unpleasant if a stop were to be put to such odious practices.
Melancholicus has read grossly offensive articles in daily newspapers in which the writer’s treatment even of our Divine Saviour and His Blessed Mother has appalled him. But instead of going out rioting and setting cars on fire and taking up a scimitar to start beheading people, Melancholicus’ response has been simply to stop reading, or to say a prayer for the smug, self-satisfied writer—or at the most, to submit a letter of complaint to the paper concerned.
Then he realised he was deluding himself by believing that this might redress the current state of open season against the religion he himself professes. The proposed law will be of no benefit whatsoever to Christians. It is now many decades since the government of this country pretended concern for the welfare of Christians and for the integrity of the religion they profess. The relentless spiteful, sarcastic and mocking attacks in the nation’s media on the religion of the majority of the nation’s citizens—attacks including ridicule and defamation which could certainly be regarded as blasphemous—has in recent years never been a cause of concern to the nation’s government.
So why start now? Has Dermot Ahern suddenly found God?
Blasphemy is defined in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (§2148) as “uttering against God—inwardly or outwardly—words of hatred, reproach, or defiance; in speaking ill of God; in failing in respect toward him in one’s speech; in misusing God’s name. St. James condemns those “who blaspheme that honorable name [of Jesus] by which you are called” (2:7). The prohibition of blasphemy extends to language against Christ’s Church, the saints, and sacred things. It is also blasphemous to make use of God’s name to cover up criminal practices, to reduce peoples to servitude, to torture persons or put them to death”. (This last sentence is as clear a condemnation of the religion of Mahomet as ever was written).
As Ireland is now what they call a ‘diverse’ and ‘multi-faith’ society, the Church’s definition of blasphemy is most certainly not that which will inform the proposed law. Instead, we find blasphemy now defined as matter “that is grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion”.
This law will not take a single step towards banishing anti-Christian prejudice from the airwaves and the printsheets. No, this law is being introduced in order to protect the Mahometan—or rather, to appease the Mahometan and thus protect the peace by forbidding any criticism of Mahomet, or the religion he founded, or the Qur’an, or the behaviour of those who practice that religion, lest there be disturbances against public order. For if anything which might offend Mahometans be prohibited by the new law against blasphemous libel, perhaps they shall not riot if they see the offender punished by the full rigors of the law.
Melancholicus rather doubts that. The Mahometan will riot anyway because it is in his nature to do so. Perhaps by saying so Melancholicus has himself uttered blasphemy—at least according to how Dermot Ahern might define it.
From The Irish Times:
Crime of blasphemous libel proposed for Defamation Bill
CAROL COULTER, Legal Affairs Editor
A NEW crime of blasphemous libel is to be proposed by the Minister for Justice in an amendment to the Defamation Bill, which will be discussed by the Oireachtas committee on justice today.
At the moment there is no crime of blasphemy on the statute books, though it is prohibited by the Constitution.
Article 40 of the Constitution, guaranteeing freedom of speech, qualifies it by stating: “The State shall endeavour to ensure that organs of public opinion, such as the radio, the press, the cinema, while preserving their rightful liberty of expression, including criticism of Government policy, shall not be used to undermine public order or morality or the authority of the State.
“The publication or utterance of blasphemous, seditious, or indecent material is an offence which shall be punishable in accordance with law.”
Last year the Oireachtas Committee on the Constitution, under the chairmanship of Fianna Fáil TD Seán Ardagh, recommended amending this Article to remove all references to sedition and blasphemy, and redrafting the Article along the lines of article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights, which deals with freedom of expression.
The prohibition on blasphemy dates back to English law aimed at protecting the established church, the Church of England, from attack. It has been used relatively recently to prosecute satirical publications in the UK [Although Melancholicus has no knowledge of such matters, he guesses Private Eye as a likely victim of that law. The ironic thing is that the Church of England now, more than at any other period of her history, most fully deserves a thoroughgoing lampooning].
In the only Irish case taken under this article, Corway -v- Independent Newspapers, in 1999, the Supreme Court concluded that it was impossible to say “of what the offence of blasphemy consists” [and the Supreme Court is impeccably correct since its judgement is not informed by adherence to one religion or another].
It also stated that a special protection for Christianity was incompatible with the religious equality provisions of Article 44 [indeed. Denial of special protection for Christianity ipso facto confers that special protection to other religions, of which Mahometanism will no doubt be the chief beneficiary].
Minister for Justice Dermot Ahern proposes to insert a new section into the Defamation Bill, stating: “A person who publishes or utters blasphemous matter shall be guilty of an offence and shall be liable upon conviction on indictment to a fine not exceeding €100,000.” [That’s rather steep. To deter those who persist in warning the western world about the grave threat posed by Islam, perhaps?]
“Blasphemous matter” is defined [by whom, precisely?] as matter “that is grossly abusive or insulting in relation to matters held sacred by any religion, [pay attention... here’s the meat] thereby causing outrage among a substantial number of the adherents of that religion; [of what religion, gentle reader, do “a substantial number of adherents” become outraged when confronted with ‘blasphemous’ matter? It ain’t Catholicism. When was the last time Catholics rioted because an off-colour journalist made some off-colour remark about the Pope or about the doctrines of the faith? When was the last time a film-maker was murdered by outraged Catholics after a piece of his work which reflected badly on the Church was screened by RTÉ?] and he or she intends, by the publication of the matter concerned, to cause such outrage.” [One thinks at once of the Motoons, and perhaps indeed those who drafted this definition even had the Motoons in mind when they did so]
Where a person is convicted of an offence under this section, the court may issue a warrant authorising the Garda Síochána to enter, if necessary using reasonable force, a premises where the member of the force has reasonable grounds for believing there are copies of the blasphemous statements in order to seize them [in order that books, pamphlets, other writings, images, video footage, computer disks or any other media containing criticism of Islam may be seized and destroyed. Melancholicus wonders if it will even be an offence to download Pat Condell’s videos for personal use].
Labour spokesman on justice Pat Rabbitte is proposing an amendment to this section which would reduce the maximum fine to €1,000 and exclude from the definition of blasphemy any matter that had any literary, artistic, social or academic merit.
The Legal Affairs Editor of The Irish Times clearly disapproves of the proposed law. Melancholicus cannot blame her.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Vocations Sunday
This Fourth Sunday of Easter is the annual “Day of Prayer for Vocations”.To be fair, we were invited to pray in a special way for vocations to the priesthood and the religious life, but true to the inanity of the conciliar church, this morning’s priest couldn’t help but witter on about us all finding our vocation in life.
This to a sparse congregation the average age of which is seventy, and to which one might respond that if such persons haven’t discerned their vocation by now, they never will.
Of course deflecting attention from a specific vocation to vows or sacred orders in favour of a general vocation to married life, single life, or maybe afterwards the Church, simply defeats the purpose, because every human being, Catholic or not, will either end up getting married or staying single anyway.
The trick is to get them to stay single in order to serve God and His holy Church in a specific manner. That is the whole point of praying for vocations. We pray on this Sunday not that young Jimmy will make up his mind whether to get married some day or to remain single (perhaps in order to indulge in serial concubinage), but that the Lord will inspire the hearts of young people with a spirit of generosity, self-sacrifice and a desire to serve Him and His Church in vows or in holy orders.
Laying out the priesthood and the religious life alongside all the other options really just focuses attention on those other options in the minds of those few young people who even hear the message in the first place. Framing the question in terms of “marriage or religious life?” just confuses people, and makes of religious life no more than an afterthought. If you go down to your local Opel dealer to view the new Insignia, he will be most welcoming and helpful to you, but he will not tell you about equivalent models manufactured by Renault or Toyota. He will talk to you of Opel, and only Opel. First decide whether or not you wish to buy Opel; afterwards, if you have not committed yourself, you can start thinking about Toyota.
Anyhow, the ‘Year of Vocation’ announced on 13 April 2008 came to an end this Sunday.
Without meaning to mock, or to throw stones at well-intentioned albeit clueless people who really haven’t a notion what they’re doing, Melancholicus does seriously wonder if the ‘Year of Vocation’ just ended has borne any fruit at all.
There is no word on the website as to whether the year has been a success or a failure. To be fair, it is probably too early to judge such. The wretched blog still has the mere three entries it sported—one of which is to do with marriage, if you please!—when it was derided some time ago by the sorely missed and much lamented Smasher.
So let us offer our prayers on this day for vocations to the priesthood and the religious life, not for some vague grandiosity that we will all somehow “find our vocation”. Many of us have already found our vocation, thank you very much. The Church needs priests, monks and nuns. She does not need Opel dealers recommending that their customers test drive the Toyota Avensis.
Now a touch of humour. Here is the text of the prayer for vocations provided on the liturgical calendar of Catholic Ireland, reproduced exactly as Melancholicus found it:
“Lord Jesus, you said to your disciples: ‘The harvest indeed is great but the lobourers [sic] are few.’
Ie [sic] ask that we may know and follow the vocation to which you hove [sic] called us. We pray for those coiled [sic] to serve: those whom you have called, those you ore [sic] calling now, ond [sic] those you will coli [sic] in the future.
May they be open ond [sic] responsive to the coli [sic] of serving your people. Amen.”
“Coiled to serve” is a rather arresting image, is it not? Are we looking for serpents or shepherds for the Kingdom of God? And how about being “responsive to the coli”? What coli would that be, then? Hopefully not this variety. Get that in your bowels and they’ll certainly be responsive and no mistake.
Sometimes it is wise not to trust the scanner too much.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Swine flu: what not to do
Do not, gentle reader, neglect to enjoy this parody of Sky News’ coverage of the swine flu pandemic on The Emergency at Newstalk 106.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Welcome to the free market my friends
Melancholicus rather likes the nickname, namely The Suppository, coined by Mulier Fortis for that formerly Catholic journal The Tablet. Hence he shall start using it himself.A few weeks back The Suppository featured an editorial which blazed indignantly against Catholic bloggers who, for some clearly malicious reason, seem to take a position diametrically opposed to that peddled by The Suppository itself. That piece was dealt with so ably and in so witty a fashion by so many Catholic bloggers that there is no need for Melancholicus to add his own ingredients to the stew. Instead he shall content himself with an observation.
What the staff of The Suppository are really upset about is not that ‘right wing’ bloggers have been having a go at them. No, for even liberals have a thicker skin than that. What upsets them runs much deeper and in its effects is much more profound than a mere fisking here and there.
The root of their distress is that with the spread of the internet and the proliferation of blogs representing what thousands of ordinary Catholics, both clerical and lay, really think about what’s going on in the Church, they have lost their control over the channels of Catholic communications. They are no longer able to set the agenda. Their own is no longer the only voice being heard. They are no longer able to confine public discussion to the fashionable left-wing causes of interest to themselves and their fellow travellers. Now they have to compete and, if they are to survive, they will have to do their work properly. It will no longer suffice to say what they like and have their diktat taken as the final word. Google has on a number of occasions already seen to it that they have been caught out in their spin-doctoring, their half-truths, and their outright lies.
Now they are immersed in the free market of ideas, and the buffets and billows of those waters are not to their liking. In order to win sympathy for themselves, they used to whinge and complain about the oppression under which free-thinkers like themselves were subject by the grey old men in the Vatican who were opposed to liberty, to freedom and to change. However, the recent growth of a samizdat press, thanks in large part to the internet, has turned this picture on its head. They are unmasked, finally, not as the brave champions of liberty struggling against authoritarianism, but as part of the propaganda ministry of a cabal of liberal bishops and revolutionaries long ensconced in power, the mouthpiece of a regime as arbitrary and authoritarian as they sought to portray the Magisterium of the Church, and far from being courageous freedom fighters, they are revealed as a tool of establishment power and control.
Small wonder they should feel uncomfortable and turn their anger against the light now shining on their darkest deeds.
The only channels of information on Church news once available to the average Catholic in England and Wales was the established Catholic press, and periodicals such as The Suppository, as well as occasional coverage in relentlessly hostile secular sources. With a singular exception, all of these portrayed events, persons and even defined Church teaching from a slanted and dissenting perspective. The Catholic faithful, appalled at the heresy being published weekly in these so-called ‘Catholic’ sources, likewise appalled at the audacity of those who published such heresy, were often denied so much as a right of reply. True, one could write a letter of complaint to such and such a newspaper or periodical. But would they publish it? The editors of these publications could exercise supreme control over what was selected for publication, with the result that their journals became vehicles for dissent. The Suppository is to this day still such a vehicle, as are many similar rags in Ireland—The Furrow, for instance, to name but one—but they no longer exercise a monopoly over the channels of communication. Their readership is falling, a new generation of Catholics has arisen who no longer unquestioningly toe the revolutionary line, and alternative platforms are now cheaply and easily available for the dissemination of alternative views.
And the old guard, hysterically reciting their satanic verses in shriller and shriller tones, are afraid.
It is natural they should be afraid, for defeat looms on the horizon.
The BBC on the first hundred days
Yesterday marked the 100th day in office of US President Barack Hussein Obama.
The celebration of this sacred festival was reported in a variety of media and without exception all coverage of Obama’s first hundred days was overwhelmingly positive. It was astounding to listen to the effusive, jaw-dropping panegyrics.
RTÉ Radio 1 featured an American commentator—Democrat, naturally—whose smooth, slick and syrupy tribute to the wonders of the presidency thus far was lapped up eagerly and uncritically by the presenters. The only negative notes allowed to ruffle the waters were found in passing references to the inevitable ‘far right’ and that favourite bugbear of leftist journalism, the ‘religious (i.e. Christian) right’.
But BBC Radio 4’s World Tonight programme, presented by Robin Lustig, went further than RTÉ in attributing a voice and a human face to those perfidious opponents of the Chosen One. The effect, of course, was to make them look ridiculous—which was surely the purpose of such coverage to begin with. In search of fruitful propaganda, the reporter, one Kevin Connolly, betook himself to the American mid-west, specifically to the state of Oklahoma, where he hoped to obtain a collection of suitably dotty soundbites from a collection of suitably dotty individuals, which would then be passed off by the BBC as representative of conservative American opinion at large. The premise: that opponents of Obama are unbalanced, uneducated, prejudiced, fundamentalist evangelical rapture-type rednecks who stubbornly refuse to render the great man his due adulation for a variety of specious reasons that no sane rational person could possibly take seriously. They are also, naturally, racist and ‘homophobic’. The BBC doesn’t have to say this, of course. The beauty of this propaganda coup is that the selected interviewees make such an arse of themselves denouncing the President that one feels positively embarrassed listening to them. One may safely assume that anyone expressing a more moderate view, or opposition to Obama on more specific and tangible grounds, would have been carefully edited out so as not to spoil the picture.
We do not exaggerate. For those who may have missed it, or who are so nauseated by the shameless bias of the contemporary BBC that they cannot bring themselves ever to listen to anything broadcast by that organ, here is the source. The anti-anti-Obama propaganda starts at approximately 39 minutes in.
Listen particularly to the group of “Bible-believing Oklahoman ladies who lunch” after 40:50 to get the kind of score the BBC was really after. The reporter’s caveat that one “wouldn’t wish to meet more hospitable, warmer people anywhere” is merely a disarming remark and nothing more.
It’s all really rather insulting to the good people of Oklahoma, as well as to the millions who voted either for John McCain or for another candidate, to suggest that opposition to Barack Hussein is based only on this kind of stuff.
Bravo comrades at the BBC, you’re doing your work well!
The 'Mass presenter', part the second
A fortnight ago Melancholicus dreamed a ‘liturgical’ dream—a nightmare actually—the particulars of which are described in the post immediately preceding this one.
After recounting the gory details, he remarked that the good news is that it was only a dream.
The bad news, however, is that it has doubtless happened for real in some God-forsaken hell-hole of a parish in the wasteland of the conciliar church.
Confirmation of that grim remark was not long in coming. For now Melancholicus has stumbled upon this atrocity, related for us by Fr. Ray Blake.
A whole coterie of Mass presenters, engaged in an invalid and sacrilegious simulation of the holy sacrifice.
So outrageous is this incident that not a few of those who posted comments on Fr. Blake’s post are convinced it is a hoax.
Melancholicus would like to think that this is indeed a hoax, but such is the wretched state of the Church in our time and the profound ignorance of the holiest things one finds even among those few who still practice, that one cannot be sure.
We await further news regarding this sordid affair.
After recounting the gory details, he remarked that the good news is that it was only a dream.
The bad news, however, is that it has doubtless happened for real in some God-forsaken hell-hole of a parish in the wasteland of the conciliar church.
Confirmation of that grim remark was not long in coming. For now Melancholicus has stumbled upon this atrocity, related for us by Fr. Ray Blake.
A whole coterie of Mass presenters, engaged in an invalid and sacrilegious simulation of the holy sacrifice.
So outrageous is this incident that not a few of those who posted comments on Fr. Blake’s post are convinced it is a hoax.
Melancholicus would like to think that this is indeed a hoax, but such is the wretched state of the Church in our time and the profound ignorance of the holiest things one finds even among those few who still practice, that one cannot be sure.
We await further news regarding this sordid affair.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The 'Mass presenter'
Driving back to Dublin one recent Sunday evening, I chanced to pass through the place where I grew up, a coastal town in north county Wicklow.
Not yet having satisfied my Sunday obligation, I intended to hear Mass in the parish church before continuing my journey. This would be something of a homecoming for me, since this was the church with which my earliest memories of the Catholic religion are associated, the stained glass windows of which have always captivated me, in which I had made my first confession, received my first holy communion and had been confirmed. It is also the church in which, in 1997, I resumed the practice of my religion after my youthful dalliance with secularism.
When I reached the church I was startled to find it shut. On the main door was posted a notice informing the public that the eucharist would instead be celebrated in such and such a place, at such and such a time.
Somewhat out of sorts, I made my way to the appointed place, namely a room in a nearby municipal building, which looked nothing like a suitable setting for a religious service, never mind the holy sacrifice of the Mass. The place was nothing more than a glorified schoolroom, with rows of chairs of the kind normally associated with modern education. There was a plain tiled floor, a tiled ceiling with hissing fluorescent lights, a beige curtain hanging along the length of one wall, and bare brick everywhere else. Think of the interior of any modern public edifice and in your mind’s eye you will see this scene exactly as I encountered it. Naturally there was no sanctuary—and no tabernacle—but in a corner of the room there was a dais on which was set one of those odious little Cranmer tables that are so much in vogue nowadays. Although the table was spread with a white cloth and flanked by the inevitable potted plants, neither candles nor crucifix were anywhere to be seen, nor was there any sign of shrines, statuary, stations of the cross or any other of the usual appointments one expects to see when one goes to attend a Catholic service. Not even the ubiquitous felt banners—so beloved of the Novus Ordinarians and correspondingly detested by Trads—put in any appearance here. The only indication in this room that Mass was about to be celebrated were two bowls on the table, piled high with what were clearly hosts. I say bowls, but they were really only plates, commonplace utensils of the sort from which one would eat one’s toast for breakfast at one’s kitchen table. There was also a carafe, or rather a large glass jug, filled with a pale reddish liquid, presumably some sort of wine.
My dismay in the face of this unpromising prospect was both heartfelt and immediate. At first I was thrown by the sight of the hosts, not knowing in this highly unusual setting whether they were already consecrated or whether they were to be so consecrated in the Mass that was about to begin. But I hesistated to make any sign of reverence, feeling distinctly that there was something very fishy, and indeed unholy, in what was going on here. A few yards down the road there was a perfectly good and indeed beautiful church, where Mass ought to have been celebrated with due solemnity, but this church was closed for no discernibly good reason, and the liturgy transferred instead to a decidedly secular and profane setting. It seems that the majority of the parishioners had already decided that, since they could not attend Mass in the parish church, they would not attend it at all, for as I glanced around the room I saw that there were only a half dozen other persons in attendance, seated in the front row of schoolroom chairs, with what looked like a programme or missalette in their hands. Aside from one elderly man, I was the only male present. The women in attendance were all in their fifties and sixties. The old man never once looked in my direction, but the women all smiled beamingly at me with a syrupy sickliness, reminding me of the facade of false friendliness I have encountered among store clerks, waiting staff and other service personnel in my travels in the United States. Although my senses were now screaming at me to shun this place and leave as quickly as I could, I took a seat a couple of rows back from the others, uneasy, yet curious to see what sort of liturgical atrocity would be played out in front of me.
Mass was about to begin!
Suddenly, from behind the beige curtain, a woman appeared. She was in her forties, short-haired, with hands clasped in an attitude of religiosity. What was most immediately shocking about her appearance was her dress. Although she was clad in one of those full-length, off-white, alb-like smocks tied at the waist with a cincture, it was not that which shocked me. Around her neck, over the alb and passing down beneath the cincture was a long strip of white cloth, camouflaged somewhat by its colour against the background of the alb but clearly visible nonetheless. I did a double take.
It was a stole.
A stole!
It is common in these days of increasing liturgical laicism for the conciliar church to kit out its extraordinary womenesses in those alb-like smocks and even cinctures during the celebration of holy Mass. This may be regarded pushing the envelope, but as it does not trespass egregiously against what pertains to the priesthood, it can be let slide.
But a stole is an entirely different matter. The stole is a uniquely priestly vestment. Not even a deacon may wear his stole in the inverted U-shape with both ends hanging down the front as this woman was doing right before my eyes. Needless to say, no-one who is not in sacred orders (with the singular exception of a mitred abbess) may wear a stole at any time for any reason whatsoever.
I was so shocked I neither moved nor spoke. The woman then proceeded to the dais, stood behind the Cranmer table and addressed the ‘congregation’. She informed us that “Father H. cannot be here this evening, so he has asked me to lead you all in prayer. My name is Barbara, and I am your Mass presenter.”
I remained rooted, immobile. Barbara, our ‘Mass presenter’, began to speak, an overflowing torrent of words, beaming smiles and waving hand gestures, but such was my stupefaction I heard nothing of what she said. When my intelligence began, slowly, to return to me, I noticed there was no book on the table in front of her. Whatever ‘service’ was being performed in front of me, it was wholly extemporised and bore hardly a tittle of resemblance even to the loosest interpretation of the Novus Ordo, at least as I knew it. At a certain point, I think the ‘Mass presenter’ may have read from the Gospel; I am sure I heard her say “The Lord be with you” and my fellow congregants responding enthusiastically. She also preached—naturally—and it seemed that more emphasis was laid on her homily than on anything else thus far, though I cannot quite recall what she preached about. When she finished her histrionics she returned to the Cranmer table—the Creed was not recited—and began elevating the plates of hosts and the jug of wine in what I can only describe as some sort of counterfeit offertory. At this point my senses returned to me completely and I realised with clarity that this was NOT a Mass, it was (at least if the elements on the table had been consecrated beforehand) a mere communion service, that I had no obligation to attend such a thing, and that if the elements on the table were not yet consecrated and the ‘Mass presenter’ were to attempt to ‘consecrate’ them herself, her ‘eucharist’ would actually be an invalid and sacrilegious simulation of a sacrament, and that I should leave immediately.
That is what I did. Rising purposefully from my seat I made a beeline for the exit, so I have no idea what sacrilegious antics the ‘Mass presenter’ got up to in my absence. As I left the building I realised I had forgotten to switch off my cellphone for at that moment I received a noisy text message from my fiancée, which woke me with a start.
The good news is that all of the above was only a dream, a dream which I had just last night.
The bad news is that all of the above has doubtless happened for real in some God-forsaken hell-hole of a parish in the wasteland of the conciliar church.
Incidentally, the ‘Father H.’ referred to by the ‘Mass presenter’ above is a real person. He no longer serves at the parish in question (Deo gratias) but he was a source of much annoyance to the orthodox during his ministry there, and prescinding from the celebration of Mass so a lay woman could have her turn playing priest at the altar is just the sort of thing he would do if he thought he could get away with it. A few years ago I dreamed of him celebrating Mass—in alb and stole, sans chasuble—elevating the host and chalice at the Per ipsum, flanked by women in albs, six on each side, with their hands extended, as though concelebrating. A nightmare, actually.
It was a night of strange dreams. I also dreamed that the university at which I work incarcerated me in my office for three days and nights, not allowing me to leave. This at the behest of an unidentified religious superior of somewhat conciliar inclinations who, having stumbled upon Infelix Ego, did not like what he found there. Whereat I woke up.
Then there was another dream in which I was walking along a street in an unidentified town in rural Ireland. There was a column of monastics from a decidedly ‘progressive’ community processing down the street in the opposite direction. Some of them were in the habit of their order, others in shirts and ragged denims. One particularly obnoxious soul, a mufti-clad middle-aged man with curly black hair was speaking into a tanoy, such that his voice could be heard throughout the village. With brazen arrogance he denied one Catholic doctrine after another—the Virginity of Our Lady, the Divinity of Christ, the Redemption, the Resurrection, Transubstantiation and Holy Orders. His language was the language of a marxist; when not denouncing the faith of our holy mother the Church he spoke of building the earthly utopia of which every socialist dreams. None of his brethren batted an eyelid. I swore at him, denouncing his monologue as “heretical shite”. He ignored me completely, but his voice grew louder as he continued his diatribe. Whereat I woke up.
There were other dreams, but I shall not tax the patience of my readers by recounting them all... what a wondrous thing is the unconscious imagination, which can generate pictures of not only such oddity but clarity and vividness—much more vivid sometimes than that of which one’s waking imagination is capable.
I know there are books and websites which specialise in the interpretation of dreams, and can inform one what it means if one dreams of flying, falling, death, etc.
But is there any such source which can interpret dreams of heretical monks, stealth priestesses and liturgical abuse?
Not yet having satisfied my Sunday obligation, I intended to hear Mass in the parish church before continuing my journey. This would be something of a homecoming for me, since this was the church with which my earliest memories of the Catholic religion are associated, the stained glass windows of which have always captivated me, in which I had made my first confession, received my first holy communion and had been confirmed. It is also the church in which, in 1997, I resumed the practice of my religion after my youthful dalliance with secularism.
When I reached the church I was startled to find it shut. On the main door was posted a notice informing the public that the eucharist would instead be celebrated in such and such a place, at such and such a time.
Somewhat out of sorts, I made my way to the appointed place, namely a room in a nearby municipal building, which looked nothing like a suitable setting for a religious service, never mind the holy sacrifice of the Mass. The place was nothing more than a glorified schoolroom, with rows of chairs of the kind normally associated with modern education. There was a plain tiled floor, a tiled ceiling with hissing fluorescent lights, a beige curtain hanging along the length of one wall, and bare brick everywhere else. Think of the interior of any modern public edifice and in your mind’s eye you will see this scene exactly as I encountered it. Naturally there was no sanctuary—and no tabernacle—but in a corner of the room there was a dais on which was set one of those odious little Cranmer tables that are so much in vogue nowadays. Although the table was spread with a white cloth and flanked by the inevitable potted plants, neither candles nor crucifix were anywhere to be seen, nor was there any sign of shrines, statuary, stations of the cross or any other of the usual appointments one expects to see when one goes to attend a Catholic service. Not even the ubiquitous felt banners—so beloved of the Novus Ordinarians and correspondingly detested by Trads—put in any appearance here. The only indication in this room that Mass was about to be celebrated were two bowls on the table, piled high with what were clearly hosts. I say bowls, but they were really only plates, commonplace utensils of the sort from which one would eat one’s toast for breakfast at one’s kitchen table. There was also a carafe, or rather a large glass jug, filled with a pale reddish liquid, presumably some sort of wine.
My dismay in the face of this unpromising prospect was both heartfelt and immediate. At first I was thrown by the sight of the hosts, not knowing in this highly unusual setting whether they were already consecrated or whether they were to be so consecrated in the Mass that was about to begin. But I hesistated to make any sign of reverence, feeling distinctly that there was something very fishy, and indeed unholy, in what was going on here. A few yards down the road there was a perfectly good and indeed beautiful church, where Mass ought to have been celebrated with due solemnity, but this church was closed for no discernibly good reason, and the liturgy transferred instead to a decidedly secular and profane setting. It seems that the majority of the parishioners had already decided that, since they could not attend Mass in the parish church, they would not attend it at all, for as I glanced around the room I saw that there were only a half dozen other persons in attendance, seated in the front row of schoolroom chairs, with what looked like a programme or missalette in their hands. Aside from one elderly man, I was the only male present. The women in attendance were all in their fifties and sixties. The old man never once looked in my direction, but the women all smiled beamingly at me with a syrupy sickliness, reminding me of the facade of false friendliness I have encountered among store clerks, waiting staff and other service personnel in my travels in the United States. Although my senses were now screaming at me to shun this place and leave as quickly as I could, I took a seat a couple of rows back from the others, uneasy, yet curious to see what sort of liturgical atrocity would be played out in front of me.
Mass was about to begin!
Suddenly, from behind the beige curtain, a woman appeared. She was in her forties, short-haired, with hands clasped in an attitude of religiosity. What was most immediately shocking about her appearance was her dress. Although she was clad in one of those full-length, off-white, alb-like smocks tied at the waist with a cincture, it was not that which shocked me. Around her neck, over the alb and passing down beneath the cincture was a long strip of white cloth, camouflaged somewhat by its colour against the background of the alb but clearly visible nonetheless. I did a double take.
It was a stole.
A stole!
It is common in these days of increasing liturgical laicism for the conciliar church to kit out its extraordinary womenesses in those alb-like smocks and even cinctures during the celebration of holy Mass. This may be regarded pushing the envelope, but as it does not trespass egregiously against what pertains to the priesthood, it can be let slide.
But a stole is an entirely different matter. The stole is a uniquely priestly vestment. Not even a deacon may wear his stole in the inverted U-shape with both ends hanging down the front as this woman was doing right before my eyes. Needless to say, no-one who is not in sacred orders (with the singular exception of a mitred abbess) may wear a stole at any time for any reason whatsoever.
I was so shocked I neither moved nor spoke. The woman then proceeded to the dais, stood behind the Cranmer table and addressed the ‘congregation’. She informed us that “Father H. cannot be here this evening, so he has asked me to lead you all in prayer. My name is Barbara, and I am your Mass presenter.”
I remained rooted, immobile. Barbara, our ‘Mass presenter’, began to speak, an overflowing torrent of words, beaming smiles and waving hand gestures, but such was my stupefaction I heard nothing of what she said. When my intelligence began, slowly, to return to me, I noticed there was no book on the table in front of her. Whatever ‘service’ was being performed in front of me, it was wholly extemporised and bore hardly a tittle of resemblance even to the loosest interpretation of the Novus Ordo, at least as I knew it. At a certain point, I think the ‘Mass presenter’ may have read from the Gospel; I am sure I heard her say “The Lord be with you” and my fellow congregants responding enthusiastically. She also preached—naturally—and it seemed that more emphasis was laid on her homily than on anything else thus far, though I cannot quite recall what she preached about. When she finished her histrionics she returned to the Cranmer table—the Creed was not recited—and began elevating the plates of hosts and the jug of wine in what I can only describe as some sort of counterfeit offertory. At this point my senses returned to me completely and I realised with clarity that this was NOT a Mass, it was (at least if the elements on the table had been consecrated beforehand) a mere communion service, that I had no obligation to attend such a thing, and that if the elements on the table were not yet consecrated and the ‘Mass presenter’ were to attempt to ‘consecrate’ them herself, her ‘eucharist’ would actually be an invalid and sacrilegious simulation of a sacrament, and that I should leave immediately.That is what I did. Rising purposefully from my seat I made a beeline for the exit, so I have no idea what sacrilegious antics the ‘Mass presenter’ got up to in my absence. As I left the building I realised I had forgotten to switch off my cellphone for at that moment I received a noisy text message from my fiancée, which woke me with a start.
The good news is that all of the above was only a dream, a dream which I had just last night.
The bad news is that all of the above has doubtless happened for real in some God-forsaken hell-hole of a parish in the wasteland of the conciliar church.
Incidentally, the ‘Father H.’ referred to by the ‘Mass presenter’ above is a real person. He no longer serves at the parish in question (Deo gratias) but he was a source of much annoyance to the orthodox during his ministry there, and prescinding from the celebration of Mass so a lay woman could have her turn playing priest at the altar is just the sort of thing he would do if he thought he could get away with it. A few years ago I dreamed of him celebrating Mass—in alb and stole, sans chasuble—elevating the host and chalice at the Per ipsum, flanked by women in albs, six on each side, with their hands extended, as though concelebrating. A nightmare, actually.
It was a night of strange dreams. I also dreamed that the university at which I work incarcerated me in my office for three days and nights, not allowing me to leave. This at the behest of an unidentified religious superior of somewhat conciliar inclinations who, having stumbled upon Infelix Ego, did not like what he found there. Whereat I woke up.
Then there was another dream in which I was walking along a street in an unidentified town in rural Ireland. There was a column of monastics from a decidedly ‘progressive’ community processing down the street in the opposite direction. Some of them were in the habit of their order, others in shirts and ragged denims. One particularly obnoxious soul, a mufti-clad middle-aged man with curly black hair was speaking into a tanoy, such that his voice could be heard throughout the village. With brazen arrogance he denied one Catholic doctrine after another—the Virginity of Our Lady, the Divinity of Christ, the Redemption, the Resurrection, Transubstantiation and Holy Orders. His language was the language of a marxist; when not denouncing the faith of our holy mother the Church he spoke of building the earthly utopia of which every socialist dreams. None of his brethren batted an eyelid. I swore at him, denouncing his monologue as “heretical shite”. He ignored me completely, but his voice grew louder as he continued his diatribe. Whereat I woke up.
There were other dreams, but I shall not tax the patience of my readers by recounting them all... what a wondrous thing is the unconscious imagination, which can generate pictures of not only such oddity but clarity and vividness—much more vivid sometimes than that of which one’s waking imagination is capable.
I know there are books and websites which specialise in the interpretation of dreams, and can inform one what it means if one dreams of flying, falling, death, etc.
But is there any such source which can interpret dreams of heretical monks, stealth priestesses and liturgical abuse?
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Hope
Melancholicus has spent much of Holy Thursday reading (or rather re-reading) the late Archbishop’s book Open Letter to Confused Catholics.The Archbishop wrote this work in the 1980s, at a time when the conciliar revolution with all its excesses was going full tilt and there seemed to be no end in sight. It was still a tremendously topical work when Melancholicus first encountered it about the year 2000, and he found it most alarming reading.
Melancholicus first read the Open Letter online, but shortly afterwards obtained his own copy, rushed by special post hot off the presses of St. Mary’s, Kansas City. It was a defining moment, for it was one of those seminal sources which prompted him to try his vocation in the United States with the FSSP rather than risking his soul with his home archdiocese of Dublin.
Today Melancholicus re-read almost the complete text in a single sitting and, as topical as it had seemed when he first read it ten years ago, it left him this time round with the distinct impression he was reading a chronicle of a lost world.
With all due respect to the Archbishop, to whom in fairness Traditionalists everywhere owe so much, there is a great deal in the Open Letter that is now obsolete and dated, almost as dated even as the insane ravings of the modernists the Open Letter condemned over twenty years ago.
Reading through the grim chapters describing post-conciliar madness and seemingly inarrestable decline, Melancholicus was struck by the realization of how many of the front-rank revolutionaries, soi disant theologians and egregious bishops named by the Archbishop are now dead, or at least in senectitude and quiescent retirement. Each passing year thins their ranks still further, and since they have not inspired the generations that came after them to step into their shoes and take up the cudgels in defence of neo-modernism, their precious revolution will die with them.
What a difference has been made by the passage of a mere ten years!
The day after the bomb fell, the city of Hiroshima was unrecognizable, a scorched and flattened wasteland of charred debris. Observers on the scene were astounded at how quickly nature recovered from the shock; within a fortnight, the wasteland was abloom with flowers and green shoots and all manner of growing things.
Life finds a way. It will return even to the sterile wastes of the conciliar church, whereafter the latter will look less and less like the conciliar church and more like the Catholic one.
The conciliar revolutionaries having done their work, we, the orthodox, shall be left with the wreckage. But not only with the wreckage; we still have our faith, and the help of Divine grace, which no revolutionary can ever tear from us. It will be our task to painstakingly rebuild what has been destroyed by the malice and negligence of the last forty years. It will be an immense task. But we shall bear that burden gladly.
When the Lord in His agony on the cross cried out His consummatum est, bowed His head, and gave up the ghost, it seemed to His disciples as though the malice of hell had triumphed, and that evil had won.
But just as the Lord rose again on the third day in His glorified body, so shall He rise again in His mystical body, which is our holy Church. The Church can never be destroyed, and she will never fail, regardless of how many Neros or Diocletians or Muhammads or Luthers or Robespierres or Hitlers or Stalins or Weaklands or Küngs the angel of light may hurl against her.
We have the promise of Our Lord Himself, who can neither deceive nor be deceived.
That so much of what the Archbishop said in his Open Letter now belongs to a vanishing past is surely a cause for great hope.
Melancholicus thinks that the Archbishop’s heart would thrill for joy, were he only here to see it for himself.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Where we're at
The past month’s inactivity on Infelix Ego may have given the impression that Melancholicus has given up blogging for Lent.
He hasn’t.
He has been tremendously busy with work, with wedding preparations, with planning his move to the United States and, most recently, with a family crisis for which he earnestly solicits the prayers of his benevolent readers. March has not been an easy month, and April looks to be no kinder.
Please, gentle reader, pray for someone close to me who is being harrassed by her employer. She is really suffering, has lost a lot of weight, has lost her appetite, is unable to sleep properly and is developing health problems as a result. In your charity pray for the persecutor too. It is easy to pray for one’s enemies when one doesn’t really have any, but when such are obnoxiously in one’s face, shoving their inimicitas down one’s very throat, it is difficult indeed to maintain a spirit of Christian charity.
As for the blog... dear blog, I shall update thee before long! But not before next week, for this evening I drive down to county Waterford for a two-day Lenten retreat in a Cistercian monastery, which I was nearly going to cancel on account of what’s going on in my life, but my friend—who is a good deal more than merely my friend—has insisted that I go and use that precious recollected time to pray to God for her. Please join with me in prayer for her intentions.
Yours with grateful thanks,
Infelix ego, Melancholicus, peccator.
He hasn’t.
He has been tremendously busy with work, with wedding preparations, with planning his move to the United States and, most recently, with a family crisis for which he earnestly solicits the prayers of his benevolent readers. March has not been an easy month, and April looks to be no kinder.
Please, gentle reader, pray for someone close to me who is being harrassed by her employer. She is really suffering, has lost a lot of weight, has lost her appetite, is unable to sleep properly and is developing health problems as a result. In your charity pray for the persecutor too. It is easy to pray for one’s enemies when one doesn’t really have any, but when such are obnoxiously in one’s face, shoving their inimicitas down one’s very throat, it is difficult indeed to maintain a spirit of Christian charity.
As for the blog... dear blog, I shall update thee before long! But not before next week, for this evening I drive down to county Waterford for a two-day Lenten retreat in a Cistercian monastery, which I was nearly going to cancel on account of what’s going on in my life, but my friend—who is a good deal more than merely my friend—has insisted that I go and use that precious recollected time to pray to God for her. Please join with me in prayer for her intentions.
Yours with grateful thanks,
Infelix ego, Melancholicus, peccator.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Shrove Tuesday
This is the traditional name given to the day preceding Ash Wednesday.
The Americans call it Fat Tuesday, owing, I guess, to the practice of clearing out the larder by eating everything therein forbidden during Lent. In many (principally Latin) countries it is known as Mardi Gras and celebrated with some abandon, but Melancholicus much prefers the traditional English name and sober manner of its celebration.
Shrove Tuesday is named from the verb shrive, which has past tense shrove and past participle shriven. This is an ancient word, going back to the earliest English and with cognates also in other Germanic languages. ‘To shrive’ is to hear confessions, and ‘to be shriven’ refers to the reception of sacramental absolution. Linguistically this is of course an archaic usage, but it is not dead even yet, for today one still encounters souls who use the traditional English terms for receiving the sacrament rather than the more common and pedestrian expression ‘going to confession’.
It is not mandatory to confess one’s sins in Shrovetide, but it is a praiseworthy practice nonetheless and makes for an excellent beginning to the Lenten fast. One should at least use Shrovetide as a time for planning—in consultation with one’s director if one has such—how one shall spend the forty days of Lent.
Melancholicus wished to be shriven on this day, but such was rather difficult as he didn’t venture out of the house except to visit the local shop, whereafter the prospect of driving into town, finding somewhere to park and locating a confessor was somewhat unappealing.
Instead he spent the day playing Rome: Total War, yes, the entire day—for this was his version of Fat Tuesday, and he shall be giving it up for Lent. Five of his cities are under siege, but the inhabitants thereof must wait until Easter to be relieved. His spiritual and intellectual life will benefit more from a renunciation of that game than it ever could abstaining from chocolate or alcoholic beverages.
In the UK and Ireland it is customary to eat pancakes on the evening of Shrove Tuesday, whence the oft-used name (particularly among children) of “pancake Tuesday”. Melancholicus continues to observe this custom in his adulthood although he now sources his pancakes ready-made in the local shop, which relieves him of the burden of frying them up himself.
Very tasty they were too.
The Americans call it Fat Tuesday, owing, I guess, to the practice of clearing out the larder by eating everything therein forbidden during Lent. In many (principally Latin) countries it is known as Mardi Gras and celebrated with some abandon, but Melancholicus much prefers the traditional English name and sober manner of its celebration.
Shrove Tuesday is named from the verb shrive, which has past tense shrove and past participle shriven. This is an ancient word, going back to the earliest English and with cognates also in other Germanic languages. ‘To shrive’ is to hear confessions, and ‘to be shriven’ refers to the reception of sacramental absolution. Linguistically this is of course an archaic usage, but it is not dead even yet, for today one still encounters souls who use the traditional English terms for receiving the sacrament rather than the more common and pedestrian expression ‘going to confession’.
It is not mandatory to confess one’s sins in Shrovetide, but it is a praiseworthy practice nonetheless and makes for an excellent beginning to the Lenten fast. One should at least use Shrovetide as a time for planning—in consultation with one’s director if one has such—how one shall spend the forty days of Lent.
Melancholicus wished to be shriven on this day, but such was rather difficult as he didn’t venture out of the house except to visit the local shop, whereafter the prospect of driving into town, finding somewhere to park and locating a confessor was somewhat unappealing.
Instead he spent the day playing Rome: Total War, yes, the entire day—for this was his version of Fat Tuesday, and he shall be giving it up for Lent. Five of his cities are under siege, but the inhabitants thereof must wait until Easter to be relieved. His spiritual and intellectual life will benefit more from a renunciation of that game than it ever could abstaining from chocolate or alcoholic beverages.
In the UK and Ireland it is customary to eat pancakes on the evening of Shrove Tuesday, whence the oft-used name (particularly among children) of “pancake Tuesday”. Melancholicus continues to observe this custom in his adulthood although he now sources his pancakes ready-made in the local shop, which relieves him of the burden of frying them up himself.Very tasty they were too.
Smasher R.I.P.
Alas, the Irish blogosphere is a sadder, colder, more joyless place than it was until lately.
For the incomparable Smasher has fared forth, perhaps to pastures greener, where one need never be anxious about dodgy homilies, mediocre bishops, or liturgical abuse.
The late savant’s obituary notice, posted by his widow Bellatrix, is so poignant it brings a tear to the eye.
With Smasher gone, who shall bait Donal McKeown for us? Who?
But since we are Christians and believe in the resurrection, we might express the hope that perhaps Smasher shall resurface at some point in the future, maybe under a different identity, and continue to edify and amuse...
Of course Smasher isn’t really dead. But he has quit blogging. Explanation here.
For the incomparable Smasher has fared forth, perhaps to pastures greener, where one need never be anxious about dodgy homilies, mediocre bishops, or liturgical abuse.
The late savant’s obituary notice, posted by his widow Bellatrix, is so poignant it brings a tear to the eye.
With Smasher gone, who shall bait Donal McKeown for us? Who?
But since we are Christians and believe in the resurrection, we might express the hope that perhaps Smasher shall resurface at some point in the future, maybe under a different identity, and continue to edify and amuse...
Of course Smasher isn’t really dead. But he has quit blogging. Explanation here.
Thank you Therese!
Melancholicus couldn’t believe his eyes.
His sitemeter has gone haywire with activity.
He is not normally given to boasting about stats since his regular readership is so tiny, and if Infelix Ego were online for a hundred years he still wouldn’t receive as many visitors as the heavy hitters get in a week.
Investigating this sudden upsurge in activity, he traced its source to a comment by one Therese B on this post on Fr. Z’s site, in which a link back to Infelix Ego is provided. Not a few wdtprs readers have followed the link, and it has more than tripled his stats - look!
Thank you, Therese! Your blogger is most grateful.
His sitemeter has gone haywire with activity.
He is not normally given to boasting about stats since his regular readership is so tiny, and if Infelix Ego were online for a hundred years he still wouldn’t receive as many visitors as the heavy hitters get in a week.
Investigating this sudden upsurge in activity, he traced its source to a comment by one Therese B on this post on Fr. Z’s site, in which a link back to Infelix Ego is provided. Not a few wdtprs readers have followed the link, and it has more than tripled his stats - look!
Thank you, Therese! Your blogger is most grateful.
Monday, February 23, 2009
It's forbidden, you know
This is apposite, as Lent is all but upon us.
It is customary in not a few Amchurch parishes to replace the normal contents of holy water fonts with sand, soil, pebbles, woodland detritus and sundry other unmentionables.
Melancholicus does not recall encountering this unlawful nonsense in any Irish church. But if any of his Irish readers have come across such in this country, he would be interested in hearing from them.
Here is the response from the CDW:
Thanks to the Orthometer, by way of The Crescat.
It is customary in not a few Amchurch parishes to replace the normal contents of holy water fonts with sand, soil, pebbles, woodland detritus and sundry other unmentionables.
Melancholicus does not recall encountering this unlawful nonsense in any Irish church. But if any of his Irish readers have come across such in this country, he would be interested in hearing from them.
Here is the response from the CDW:
Prot. N. 569/00/L
March 14, 2000
Dear Father:
This Congregation for Divine Worship has received your letter sent by fax in which you ask whether it is in accord with liturgical law to remove the Holy Water from the fonts for the duration of the season of Lent.
This Dicastery is able to respond that the removing of Holy Water from the fonts during the season of Lent is not permitted, in particular, for two reasons:
1. The liturgical legislation in force does not foresee this innovation, which in addition to being praeter legem is contrary to a balanced understanding of the season of Lent, which though truly being a season of penance, is also a season rich in the symbolism of water and baptism, constantly evoked in liturgical texts.
2. The encouragement of the Church that the faithful avail themselves frequently of the [sic] of her sacraments and sacramentals is to be understood to apply also to the season of Lent. The "fast" and "abstinence" which the faithful embrace in this season does not extend to abstaining from the sacraments or sacramentals of the Church. The practice of the Church has been to empty the Holy Water fonts on the days of the Sacred Triduum in preparation of the blessing of the water at the Easter Vigil, and it corresponds to those days on which the Eucharist is not celebrated (i.e., Good Friday and Holy Saturday).
Hoping that this resolves the question and with every good wish and kind regard, I am,
Sincerely yours in Christ,
[signed] Mons. Mario Marini
Undersecretary
Thanks to the Orthometer, by way of The Crescat.
The liturgical colour of Lent: not violet, but green!
The C of E, that formerly venerable institution of English culture and religion which has given us such delights as choral evensong and the Oxford Movement, but which lately has resorted to frivolous gimmicks to keep up its media profile, is now preparing for the holy season of Lent.
And what are Christians being urged to do for Lent this year?
Mortifying the body through the practice of fast and abstinence? Not a bit of it.
How about rising earlier from sleep in order to give oneself to an hour of prayer before undertaking the duties of the day? Not that either.
Or, perhaps, spiritual reading and daily meditation? No.
More frequent attendance at church services, or almsgiving, or works of charity? Not these.
No, the Church of England in general and two of its bishops in particular, have recommended that Christians give up carbon for Lent. In practical terms, this involves such practices as eschewing the use of plastic bags, washing dishes in the sink instead of in the dishwasher, insulating the house and the hot water tank, switching off electrical appliances when not in use, &c. In this wise, Lent is to be a time for reducing the size of one’s “carbon footprint” rather than a time of penance and spiritual renewal.
How thoroughly, heart-warmingly secular! How totally at one with the zeitgeist! How completely and fashionably trendy! They must have forgotten what Lent is all about. There is nothing in their lordships’ prescription, apart perhaps from the occurrence of the word Lent to which any atheist could take exception.
A secular programme for what is in essence a secular goal, and with it the Christian significance of Lent is jettisoned entirely.
Lest Melancholicus be thought of as mocking the Anglicans, he assures his readers he has no such malicious intention. On the contrary, he is pleased to offer, as an antidote to the above nonsense, some edification he found on the blog of a C of E clergyman here.
And what are Christians being urged to do for Lent this year?
Mortifying the body through the practice of fast and abstinence? Not a bit of it.
How about rising earlier from sleep in order to give oneself to an hour of prayer before undertaking the duties of the day? Not that either.
Or, perhaps, spiritual reading and daily meditation? No.
More frequent attendance at church services, or almsgiving, or works of charity? Not these.
No, the Church of England in general and two of its bishops in particular, have recommended that Christians give up carbon for Lent. In practical terms, this involves such practices as eschewing the use of plastic bags, washing dishes in the sink instead of in the dishwasher, insulating the house and the hot water tank, switching off electrical appliances when not in use, &c. In this wise, Lent is to be a time for reducing the size of one’s “carbon footprint” rather than a time of penance and spiritual renewal.
How thoroughly, heart-warmingly secular! How totally at one with the zeitgeist! How completely and fashionably trendy! They must have forgotten what Lent is all about. There is nothing in their lordships’ prescription, apart perhaps from the occurrence of the word Lent to which any atheist could take exception.
A secular programme for what is in essence a secular goal, and with it the Christian significance of Lent is jettisoned entirely.
Lest Melancholicus be thought of as mocking the Anglicans, he assures his readers he has no such malicious intention. On the contrary, he is pleased to offer, as an antidote to the above nonsense, some edification he found on the blog of a C of E clergyman here.
That was not my Mass
So says Elena Curti, deputy editrix of The Tablet, a journal which (like so many other things in the recent life of the Church) was once a bastion of Catholicism but is now a suppurating carbuncle of error, division and dissent.
As is by now well known across the blogosphere, the target of Ms. Curti’s invective was the traditional rite of Mass in general, and Fr. Tim Finigan in particular.
Happily for all good servants of the Lord, Ms. Curti’s hatchet job seems to have done more damage to herself and to the organ for which she writes than to Fr. Tim. Nevertheless that good priest has been maligned in a grossly offensive manner that at least one observer has considered actionable.
It is no secret that the editorial staff of The Tablet has a special animus against the old Mass. That they have such stems from ecclesiology—they have a different view of the Church and of religion, and probably a different view of God as well, to that which Catholics have always held. The old Mass is non grata in the wonderful, ‘renewed’ Church we currently inhabit because it so clearly expresses the old religion. The preference of the revolutionaries for the new Mass stems from the ambiguity of its ritual, since, given the plethora of options available to the celebrant or liturgy planner and the often sloppy manner of its celebration, the old religion is not as immediately and unambiguously expressed as in the older rite.
Melancholicus would never assert that a mere preference for the new rite constitutes an attachment to heresy, or renders one less Catholic than one’s neighbour. This rite has been normative in the western Church for nearly forty years, and it is no exaggeration to say that the majority of those who still attend Mass today do prefer it. They are accustomed to it, and where religious rites are concerned, long familiarity creates a deep attachment. Many ordinary Catholics have also unconsciously imbibed the propaganda of the liturgical revolution through no fault of their own.
So there is nothing in itself wrong with preferring the new Mass to the old, and Melancholicus would never oppose granting access to the Novus Ordo to those who desire it. Even if ideological radicals such as the likes of Elena Curti wish to attend the new rite every Sunday, so be it, it is not his place to interfere.
But what of those who desire access to the old rite? Should they not also be treated with equanimity?
While a mere preference for the new rite as the Mass to which one is accustomed is blameless, Melancholicus has always thought there is something peculiar about those whose attachment to the new rite is in part a reaction against the old.
They are suspect who wish to suppress the old Mass, or to see it suppressed. Such an attitude manifestly savours of heresy.
They are likewise suspect who, though aware of the old Mass, care nothing in particular for it and would cry no tears if it did in fact vanish, as though it were not a great treasure of the Church that ought to be cultivated and fostered with great care to be handed on to future generations. Such an attitude, while it does not necessarily indicate espousal of heretical opinions, is at the very least a ripe example of cultural and artistic philistinism.
Yesterday Melancholicus so wanted to attend the Mass of Quinquagesima Sunday instead of that for the seventh Sunday of “Ordinary Time”, but it just wasn’t available in his locality.
But he did not exclaim, with the arrogance of Elena Curti, that “that was not my Mass”. While improvements could certainly be made to the state of the liturgy as it is celebrated in these parts, the sacrifice of Calvary is still in there somewhere.
The Mass is the Mass; it is not the plaything of any priest, or layperson, or group of laypersons. It is an Actio Christi, an action of Christ, for He is both the Priest who offers, and the Victim who is offered, that the sins of many might be remitted. This is as true of even the wackiest Novus Ordo as it is of the most solemn and reverent celebration of the Latin Church’s ancient liturgy. The Mass is not a party, nor is it a simple meal, it is an august and solemn sacrifice, even the sacrifice of Calvary itself.
Each one of us knows how liturgical terrorists have obscured the sacrifice by changing the words of the rite and with the signs and gestures and other externals whereof it is composed, in an attempt to make it appear more a celebration of the community, or whatever, rather than an action of Christ. This is nothing less than a blasphemy, since it attempts to obscure a great truth that God himself has revealed to us, and attempts to refuse the greatest gift of all that He has given us. As St. Vincent de Paul said (quoted in the video below), “ceremonies may be shadows, but they are shadows of great truths, and it is essential that they should be carried out with the greatest possible attention”. And that, of course, is why the old liturgy and those who celebrate it are pursued with such bitter and fanatical zeal by our friends over at The Tablet, and elsewhere. The old Mass is unmistakably a solemn sacrifice, Calvary made present on our very altars in an unbloody manner — and that is why they hate it.
As is by now well known across the blogosphere, the target of Ms. Curti’s invective was the traditional rite of Mass in general, and Fr. Tim Finigan in particular.
Happily for all good servants of the Lord, Ms. Curti’s hatchet job seems to have done more damage to herself and to the organ for which she writes than to Fr. Tim. Nevertheless that good priest has been maligned in a grossly offensive manner that at least one observer has considered actionable.
It is no secret that the editorial staff of The Tablet has a special animus against the old Mass. That they have such stems from ecclesiology—they have a different view of the Church and of religion, and probably a different view of God as well, to that which Catholics have always held. The old Mass is non grata in the wonderful, ‘renewed’ Church we currently inhabit because it so clearly expresses the old religion. The preference of the revolutionaries for the new Mass stems from the ambiguity of its ritual, since, given the plethora of options available to the celebrant or liturgy planner and the often sloppy manner of its celebration, the old religion is not as immediately and unambiguously expressed as in the older rite.
Melancholicus would never assert that a mere preference for the new rite constitutes an attachment to heresy, or renders one less Catholic than one’s neighbour. This rite has been normative in the western Church for nearly forty years, and it is no exaggeration to say that the majority of those who still attend Mass today do prefer it. They are accustomed to it, and where religious rites are concerned, long familiarity creates a deep attachment. Many ordinary Catholics have also unconsciously imbibed the propaganda of the liturgical revolution through no fault of their own.
So there is nothing in itself wrong with preferring the new Mass to the old, and Melancholicus would never oppose granting access to the Novus Ordo to those who desire it. Even if ideological radicals such as the likes of Elena Curti wish to attend the new rite every Sunday, so be it, it is not his place to interfere.
But what of those who desire access to the old rite? Should they not also be treated with equanimity?
While a mere preference for the new rite as the Mass to which one is accustomed is blameless, Melancholicus has always thought there is something peculiar about those whose attachment to the new rite is in part a reaction against the old.
They are suspect who wish to suppress the old Mass, or to see it suppressed. Such an attitude manifestly savours of heresy.
They are likewise suspect who, though aware of the old Mass, care nothing in particular for it and would cry no tears if it did in fact vanish, as though it were not a great treasure of the Church that ought to be cultivated and fostered with great care to be handed on to future generations. Such an attitude, while it does not necessarily indicate espousal of heretical opinions, is at the very least a ripe example of cultural and artistic philistinism.
Yesterday Melancholicus so wanted to attend the Mass of Quinquagesima Sunday instead of that for the seventh Sunday of “Ordinary Time”, but it just wasn’t available in his locality.
But he did not exclaim, with the arrogance of Elena Curti, that “that was not my Mass”. While improvements could certainly be made to the state of the liturgy as it is celebrated in these parts, the sacrifice of Calvary is still in there somewhere.
The Mass is the Mass; it is not the plaything of any priest, or layperson, or group of laypersons. It is an Actio Christi, an action of Christ, for He is both the Priest who offers, and the Victim who is offered, that the sins of many might be remitted. This is as true of even the wackiest Novus Ordo as it is of the most solemn and reverent celebration of the Latin Church’s ancient liturgy. The Mass is not a party, nor is it a simple meal, it is an august and solemn sacrifice, even the sacrifice of Calvary itself.
Each one of us knows how liturgical terrorists have obscured the sacrifice by changing the words of the rite and with the signs and gestures and other externals whereof it is composed, in an attempt to make it appear more a celebration of the community, or whatever, rather than an action of Christ. This is nothing less than a blasphemy, since it attempts to obscure a great truth that God himself has revealed to us, and attempts to refuse the greatest gift of all that He has given us. As St. Vincent de Paul said (quoted in the video below), “ceremonies may be shadows, but they are shadows of great truths, and it is essential that they should be carried out with the greatest possible attention”. And that, of course, is why the old liturgy and those who celebrate it are pursued with such bitter and fanatical zeal by our friends over at The Tablet, and elsewhere. The old Mass is unmistakably a solemn sacrifice, Calvary made present on our very altars in an unbloody manner — and that is why they hate it.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Bloggers' Choice Awards
It’s that time of year again.Although Melancholicus was sufficiently vain as to solicit nomination from another blogger, he was at least not so vain as to nominate himself!
Unhappily, though, some weeks ago he discovered through carelessly fiddling with the website, and much to his surprise, that it is indeed possible to vote for oneself—and hence through that ill-conceived experiment, his vote for 2009 is already used up.
That was not his intention. He would much prefer to have given his vote to someone more deserving. Ah well, he shall remember this lesson next year.
But, gentle reader, if Infelix Ego has in any way moved you, whether to rapture, laughter, fury, boredom or tears, do consider visiting the Bloggers’ Choice Awards and voting...
... for Mulier Fortis.
Sodality of Our Lady retreat
As he remarked in this post last December, Melancholicus feels the need for a retreat in order to clear away the cobwebs and let some sunlight into his benighted soul.As to the contents of such a retreat, he expressed a preference for, naturally, daily Mass (usus antiquior), silence, wholesome spiritual conferences, examen and of course confession.
Members of the Sodality of Our Lady have now organised such a retreat scheduled to take place in Mount Melleray Cistercian monastery in April, and Melancholicus will be going. He can forward details to any of his Irish readers who are likewise interested in participating; just get in touch. The traditional Mass will be offered each day and, circumstances permitting, perhaps one or more of the traditional breviary offices will also be sung.
Melancholicus much misses the chanting of the office, particularly that of vespers, and more so the grandeur of first and second vespers of Sunday and of major feasts. The beauty of the Roman office chanted in choir is sublime; every now and then in maudlin mood he opens his Liber Usualis and fondly reminisces over one of the best parts of what it was like to be a seminarian in a traditionalist community. Sometimes he even goes so far as to chant the office alone. But it’s not the same.
The closest that one can come to a celebration of the traditional Roman office in Dublin is, paradoxically, solemn evensong at St. Bartholomew’s church on Clyde Road. This is an Anglo-Catholic church, which means that the liturgy is Anglican use—essentially Cranmer’s prayer book but with an admixture of Romanising elements, such as the office hymn, the plainsong antiphon at the Magnificat, the thurible, the incensing of the altar, the choir and the congregation, and the gregorian tones employed for the psalms. Driving back to Dublin on Sunday evenings for the start of his working week, Melancholicus occasionally calls in to St. Bart’s, marvelling at the beauty not only of the church itself but of the liturgy, and how strikingly it reminds him of the traditional Roman office as he knew it in seminary. It is sad that such beauty is too often alien to the liturgy as it is celebrated in Roman Catholic churches in this archdiocese.
Anyhow, I shall leave it at that, otherwise this post will descend into yet another sarcastic and bitter screed against the bugninists and the liturgical ‘reform’.
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