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

'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 Event^TM 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 Man^TM 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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’.

Birthday greetings

Melancholicus received this notice by e-mail, and wishes to extend his congratulations to Fr. Ó Fionnagáin (not that he reads Infelix Ego, but nonetheless). Fr. Ó Fionnagáin is one of the ‘good Jesuits’, as the following makes clear:

Congratulations to Rev Father Proinnsias Ó Fionnagáin SJ who is on the eve of his 100th Birthday. Father Ó Fionnagáin was of considerable help to the traditional movement in Ireland for many years as well as being an historian doing valuable work on the causes of the Irish martyrs. As he joined the Society of Jesus at the age of 18, he is 82 years a Jesuit; 80 years professed and 67 years a priest.

82 years a Jesuit! What a life spent in service to the Lord!

Melancholicus’ correspondent also said “I am tempted to say Ad multos annos but I am not sure of the propriety of this on such a birthday.” Melancholicus was likewise tempted, but shall prescind for like reasons.

Readers may wish privately to honour Fr. Ó Fionnagáin on his centennial birthday with a spiritual bouquet.

Iggy's rant - the riposte

Alas for Iggy! It does not look as though the masses are mobilizing behind him; his brother priests certainly aren’t. This letter from a Galway cleric appeared in yesterday’s Irish Times:

Madam, – Rev Iggy O’Donovan’s interpretation of the lifting of the excommunication of four illegally ordained bishops is unnecessarily malign and vindictive (The Irish Times, February 13th).

In 1988 Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, who rejected the reforms of Vatican II, effectively turned his back on the Catholic Church and set up a schismatic “church” in his own image by illegally ordaining as bishops four men who shared his views.

This very act strikes such a blow to the unity of the Church that, in canon law, Lefebvre and the four new bishops literally excommunicated themselves from the Church.

Since then Pope Benedict, first as Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and subsequently as Pope, has worked tirelessly to nudge this expanding community back into unity of heart and mind with the Church. This work of building up and defending the unity of the Church has been the central task of the papacy since the time of St Peter.

This Pope has therefore spent decades painstakingly shepherding this community back to a point where it is now very close to recognising and accepting the teachings of the Second Vatican Council. This, of course, is the Pope’s central goal.

For anyone to claim that the Pope’s intention is exactly the opposite, to undermine the Vatican Council, is both shameful and ridiculous.

The lifting of these excommunications is a gesture of clemency directed towards restoring church unity. It does not mean these individuals have already been granted full communion. They are still not permitted to celebrate the sacraments, they have no recognised pastoral charge, and their teachings are in no way underwritten by the Church’s magisterium. It is merely a confidence-building step in the journey towards unity.

Every peace process has its pitfalls. From a communications point of view it is clear that the distraction of Bishop Williamson’s dangerously wacky world-view should have been decommissioned much earlier, but the fact that the ramblings of this minor professor in Argentina did not crop up in negotiations is hardly the fault of the Holy Father himself.

Rev O’Donovan reveals ugly underlying sentiments towards the Pope when he repeats, without any context, the old calumny of Pope Benedict once being a member of Hitler Youth. The facts on this have been put on record so often that he cannot claim to be innocently ignorant. Under Hitler’s regime young children simply had no choice but to be conscripted, and the Pope has often written of how he and his family suffered because of their opposition to Hitler.

It is ironic to note that Father O’Donovan is the very last person one would have expected to argue that the ultimate penalty of excommunication should apply for sounding off in public with irrational and disturbing opinions. – Yours, etc,

Rev CONOR CUNNINGHAM,

Church Lane,

Castlegar,

Galway.

Melancholicus doesn’t know who Rev. Conor Cunningham is, but he likes his style. While one might take issue with his sweeping generality that Archbishop Lefebvre “rejected the reforms of Vatican II” as well as his impression that the council represents some kind of superdogma the SSPX must accept if they are to be considered proper Catholics, such is really beside the point. Rev. Cunningham makes a number of valuable points that might otherwise have escaped the notice of the average Irish Times reader, who cannot be expected to know very much about religion. He rebuts Iggy’s calumny that Pope Benedict is somehow working to “undermine” Vatican II, and draws attention to the important fact that the SSPX bishops have no pastoral charge, may not licitly celebrate the sacraments, and have not yet been granted full communion.

And as for the Nazi slur... those (Iggy?) who wish to believe that the pope was/is a Nazi already have their minds made up, their hearts closed, and will believe this calumny no matter how clearly or how often it is refuted. But Iggy may have done greater damage to himself than to the Holy Father by resorting to such an hysterical insult.

Which is no bad thing, really.

'Iggy' gets in on the act

A ‘concelebrated Mass’ on Easter Sunday 2006. Photo courtesy of the Church of Ireland Gazette.

Remember this?

Three years ago an Augustinian priest residing in the Armagh archdiocese caused a sensation when he attempted a concelebrated Mass with a clergyman of the Church of Ireland.

The question that bugged Melancholicus at the time was not how on earth could a Catholic priest concelebrate holy Mass with an Anglican (nothing surprises him in these heady, post-conciliar days), but how a clergyman of the Church of Ireland could stoop to such popery in the first place.

The answer of course is that Rev. Michael Graham is an Anglo-Catholic, which in practical terms means he’s more Catholic than Iggy.

Yes, the priest’s name is Iggy, which one presumes is a contraction of Ignatius. Melancholicus does not know whether this is his baptismal name or his name in religion, but the fact that he has chosen so to bastardize it shows clearly the side of the cultural and theological fence whereon he sits. This is the face of ‘religion lite’, and ‘religion cool’, an attempt by this particular henchperson of newchurch to have his version of Catholicism considered relevant^TM and meaningful^TM by a public so unchurched by the experience of the last forty years that they haven’t the faintest grasp of the immense differences between Catholicism and Anglicanism.

Well, Iggy has been pretty much out of the news since then, and now a golden opportunity has at last presented itself for Iggy to score a few points and let off some steam from the stinging criticism he received for being so ecumenical in 2006; and in so doing, once again to get his name in the papers and his face on the telly (or so he wishes).

There’s nothing quite like self-promotion, is there?

This time his target is the Holy Father himself, rather than those anonymous souls whom three years ago he castigated for being corrupted with piety. And the occasion? Bishop Williamson’s ‘re-incommunication’, naturally.

Taking a break from the woes of a failing economy, this from Patsy McGarry, religious affairs correspondent of The Irish Times:

(H/T to Smasher)

Holocaust-denying bishop's rehabilitation is 'crowning disgrace' of Benedict's career

THE ATTEMPTED rehabilitation by the Vatican of Holocaust-denying bishop Richard Williamson has been described as “the crowning disgrace of Pope Benedict’s career” by controversial Augustinian priest Fr Iggy O’Donovan [McGarry is supposed to be the 'religious affairs correspondent' of this newspaper, which means that Madam invariably turns to his services whenever something of ecclesiastical interest materializes. But in the phrasing of his opening sentence, McGarry shows the same unthinking obtusity characteristic of nearly all secular journalists that covered this story. What in God's name does 'attempted rehabilitation' mean?].

He has also said that change initiated by Vatican II in the Catholic Church [ah, here we get to the real point!] has become “a debacle” [Melancholicus would agree with Iggy there; it is a debacle. But methinks that Iggy probably meant something else].

Announced 50 years ago, Vatican II, “this noble venture” [well, Pope John XXIII's intentions were good, even if the council were thwarted by revolutionaries on its very first day, revolutionaries with whom Iggy is clearly in sympathy], was now “on life support” [life support? Really? There's hope yet for all us 'corrupted with piety' types! Te Deum laudamus...]. “Almost from day one insidious attempts were made to undermine conciliar reform,” he wrote in an Augustinian newsletter [he is speaking primarily of the liturgical 'reform', but Melancholicus surmises that Iggy's opposition to Pope Benedict's restorationism goes much deeper than that]. “If anything illustrates this latter point it is the recent announcement, on the 50th anniversary of the convocation of the council, of the lifting of the excommunication of the bishops illicitly ordained by Archbishop Lefebvre.” [that was a piece of wry humour on the part of the Holy See intended for the benefit of the SSPX. But we see it has enraged the likes of Fr. Iggy, for whom traditionalist Catholics are the ultimate untouchables].

In 2006 Fr O’Donovan was bound to silence and removed from a teaching post in Rome by the Vatican [proper order] after he concelebrated an Easter Sunday Mass in Drogheda with local Church of Ireland rector Rev Michael Graham.

“We are now at a juncture where Rome demands total conformity with papal ideas and ideals in all things and not merely in those which are essential to the unity of Christian and Catholic faith,” he said [this is mere petulant lashing out in order to stir up the emotions of the mob. Rome demands no such thing].

“That is all very well but when the Holy Father is ‘accident prone’ (as the present incumbent is) the potential for damage to the church is incalculable. “The recent case of the rehabilitation of ... Richard Williamson is a prime example of this.” [Like McGarry, Iggy also likes the word 'rehabilitation' even though it has absolutely no meaning in the context in which he uses it].

President Barack Obama had “been quick to come out and admit he ‘screwed up’” in proposing Tom Daschle as health secretary.

“In the case of Williamson Pope Benedict certainly ‘screwed up’ and must be as forthcoming as Obama in admitting it,” he said [this comparison is not apt. Daschle was proposed as a cabinet appointment. Williamson has merely had his excommunication lifted, not because of his views but in spite of them. He has been appointed to nothing, and Iggy knows it].

He continued: “how a German-born Pope (and a former member of the Hitler Youth to boot) could not foresee the furore that would follow the rehabilitation of a man who denies the Holocaust leaves me baffled. It is the crowning disgrace of Pope Benedict’s career.” [this as good as calls the Holy Father a Nazi. The Hitler Youth reference is a cheap slur; it is widely known, even among secular journalists, that the young Joseph Ratzinger's membership of the Hitler Youth was not voluntary, nor did he or his family support the regime].

Reuters adds: Pope Benedict said yesterday that “any denial or minimisation of this terrible crime is intolerable, especially if it came from a clergyman [McGarry has at least included this clarification, which goes a long way to placing Iggy's self-seeking hysteria in context].

The pope also confirmed that he was planning to visit Israel. Vatican sources say the trip is expected to take place in May.

Benedict the Ordinary

From the blog of Fr. Ray Blake:

“The change from the age of John Paul “the Great” to that of Benedict, described by one French journalist as, “the Ordinary” in a way epitomises the transition of the 20th to the 21st century, it is movement to solid ground.”

Amen to that.

It is fashionable in neo-catholic circles to refer to the late pontiff as “John Paul the Great”. Melancholicus is not too troubled by this, since the cult of personality surrounding the aforesaid will diminish steadily the further the passage of time removes us from his pontificate. Whereat a sense of historical perspective will become operative.

But Melancholicus was totally unaware that there is a French scribbler who describes the current Holy Father as “the Ordinary”.

Melancholicus is not outraged. On the contrary, he regards this epithet as rather fitting. For after the freak-show circus of the last forty years, it is high time that we had some decent ordinariness in God’s holy Church. For ordinary is next to order, and order indicates everything most surely opposed to the Revolution and to its violence, its anarchy and its excesses.

Long live Pope Benedict the Ordinary! Ad multos annos.

John Paul II and Maciel

This post is not a diatribe against the late pontiff, but an attempt to understand the consistently peculiar response to allegations of clerical homosexuality and pederasty he displayed in his appointment of bishops, as well as his defence of and support for Marcial Maciel, the disgraced founder of the Legionaries of Christ.

John Paul II was not a man who approved of sodomy, or of the abuse and corruption of seminarians, or indeed of sexual predation of any kind. But his lack of decisive action not only in regard to Maciel but also in regard to the clerical sex abuse crisis generally, gave the impression to many observers, Catholics included, that the late pope was unconcerned about these things, or that he was unwilling to take action, or was incompetent, or all of the above.

John Paul II grew up in Poland, witnessing first the Nazi terror from 1939 to 1945, and then the deadening repression of Soviet-style communism. As a young priest, he ministered in a state which was officially atheist and materialistic. He experienced at first hand the same fraught tensions that exist between the Church and the state in every such country.

Naturally the communist regime had an interest in filling Polish sees with men known to be sympathetic, or at least not openly hostile to marxism; men who would, as it were, collaborate with the Revolution. In this way the regime exercised an influence over the Church.

Candidates for the episcopate who adhered too firmly to the social teachings of the Church as expressed in the encyclicals of the Roman pontiffs were, naturally, troublesome for the regime. The regime could prevent the appointment of such a man merely by whispering abroad that he was an active homosexual, whereat the Church would then prescind from the appointment. Candidates thus excluded were often the most Catholic, most devout and most hostile to the marxist status quo. These were often the most suitable candidates for episcopal office, and the slur of homosexuality was merely a tool employed to ensure they never achieved it.

Melancholicus remembers hearing that when John Paul II had become pope, his view of the universal Church was influenced by his experience of the travails of the Church in communist Poland. With the collapse of morals and discipline in the aftermath of Vatican II, a culture often openly favourable to homosexual behaviour bloomed in seminaries and in houses of formation. The spread of homosexuality among all ranks of the clergy in that time is well documented.

Hence, when a particular see became vacant, and the sovereign pontiff was given the terna of names from which to choose the new bishop, it sometimes happened that he would be advised not to choose one particular name on the terna, since that man was known to be given to unnatural vice.

Whereat the experience of communist Poland would kick in; the sovereign pontiff, convinced that this was only a slur by enemies within the Church to damage a saintly man’s reputation, would conclude that the accused man must be the best candidate, and so he would be appointed. In this manner, the late Holy Father appointed Daniel Ryan and Anthony O’Connell, and others too numerous to mention.

His lethargy in responding to the scandals of 2002 may in part be explained by the likelihood that he simply did not believe these allegations—at least not until the evidence had mounted up and had been placed before his eyes.

Allegations concerning the immorality of the late Marcial Maciel began circulating while the latter was still alive; in fact, there were reports that all was not well in the conduct of that priest as long ago as the 1950s. It is clear, though, that John Paul II thoroughly disregarded these allegations (he certainly knew of them) since he interpreted such allegations as the malicious work of enemies of the Church seeking to ruin a virtuous man and wreck a thriving apostolate.

Corroborating evidence for this thesis? Melancholicus has none to hand, but if anyone reading this is able to point him in the right direction, he would be most grateful.

Anti-semitism and the BBC

Roger Bolton, of BBC Radio 4’s Sunday fame, is somewhat nonplussed by the claims of the UK parliamentary committee for anti-semitism that incidents inspired by this prejudice are at their highest level since recording began 25 years ago.

The interviewee, the Rt. Hon. John Mann, is the chairman of the aforesaid committee, and he was most adamant about the rise in the level of anti-semitic incidents, which he rightly described as “disturbing in a country which prides itself on its tolerance”.

Bolton doesn’t believe it, though. Listen to his language: “reported increase ... said to be ... danger of overstating the level of anti-semitism ... incidents are pretty low level ... we’re talking about hate-mail, anti-semitic graffiti ... I don’t want to downplay this [tongue firmly in cheek] but there’s still a relatively small amount of physical assaults and things like that...”

Melancholicus is not in the least surprised by this attitude. He knoweth the BBC far too well.

But who to blame for this “reported increase” of anti-semitic prejudice? Sure, why not the Jews themselves! Mr. Bolton asked his guest if there was a danger that opposition to Israel’s actions in Gaza might be confused with racial prejudice. Melancholicus thinks that Mr. Bolton would prefer the answer to be yes, which would comfortingly imply that there isn’t any genuine anti-semitism out there, at least not really. But that would necessarily involve the corollary of the BBC admitting—at least tacitly—its own responsibility for fanning the flames with its consistently partial and one-sided coverage of the interminable Israeli-Palestinian conflict. So either way Mr. Bolton can’t win, can he?

So he seeks a scapegoat: “In the past anti-semitism has been driven by religion, Christianity in particular”. Yes, he really did say those words. Listen. It’s at 9:20.

Melancholicus shall let pass this swipe at Christianity, soft target that it is (how brave of you, Mr. Bolton), for he is more interested in the words in the past.

Thus the elephant in the room goes completely unnoticed. Anti-semitism is indeed on the rise as the elephant grows bolder, more militant, and more sure of itself. But Mr. Bolton cannot admit this, since to do so would violate one of the BBC’s most cherished nostrums of political correctness. Witness the obsession with Israel; the other “I-word” doesn’t even get a mention. Melancholicus was disappointed that Mr. Mann likewise failed to cite the Islamic impetus behind contemporary anti-semitism—but then Mr. Mann is a Member of Parliament, so he can’t be expected to have a brain.

But guess who did get a mention? Yes, good old Dickie Williamson again! Melancholicus believes there has not been a single edition of Sunday which failed to mention the holocaust-denying bishop, even in passing, since the story first broke three weeks ago. Some things never change.

The day that's in it

Today is Friday 13th.

As to why this day should be considered unlucky, Melancholicus heard an explanation from a friend of his some years ago—namely Alaisdir Ua Seaghdha—a gentleman of wide reading and intellectual acumen. This explanation does not occur on the Wikipedia page for Friday 13th, so it bears some repeating here.

If any of these orally recounted details should be faultily remembered, perhaps Alaisdir could post a correction.

The association of Friday 13th with ill-luck began after the Reformation. Prior to this great religious upheaval, Friday 13th was not considered unlucky at all—in fact quite the opposite. This was a particularly lucky day, indeed an auspicious day, since it combined two elements associated with good fortune: the sixth day of the week, and the number thirteen.

In the Middle Ages, thirteen was a lucky number since this represented the number of people present in the upper room at the Last Supper—Christ and His Apostles.

The sixth day of the week—Friday—was considered a lucky day, since this is the day on which the Redemption occurred.

So a day on which these two fell together was regarded as an exceptionally lucky day.

But after the Reformation, with the rejection of all things popish and the rejection likewise of what were considered “popish superstitions”, the association of Friday 13th with good luck came to an end. So eager were the Reformers to retreat from such superstitions that they created an alternative superstition of their own—that Friday 13th instead of being an auspicious day was rather a day of calamity and misfortune.

Owing to the dominance of Protestantism, at least in the English-speaking world, so it has remained ever since.