When we demand that every last little thing be calibrated to our aesthetic liking, we run the risk of worshipping aesthetics, rather than the Lord they’re meant to honor. So, yes, make adjustments when necessary. If a better translation is available, by all means use it! But don’t be such a precious butterfly that you simply can’t abide to alight on something that tickles you this way instead of that way. Keep on fluttering, and you’ll never get to the nectar.
On Benedict XVI’s birthday, meet him on his own terms
Today is the 91st birthday of our beloved Pope Emeritus, Benedict XVI. A good day to pray for this great and good man — and to meet him for the first time, if you haven’t already, in his writing. (Book links are affiliate links.)
You’ll recall that, according to the mass media, Benedict XVI was a cold and creaky Emperor Palpatine who grinned with black gums as he brought his cruel fist crashing down on life, liberty, and the pursuit of sexy fun. They really believed it, too, because they are morons.
But you’re not a moron! Do yourself a favor and read something the man actually wrote, like the three volumes of Jesus of Nazareth. These make excellent reading in adoration, and will bring you closer to Christ. What more could you want? And it will be easy.
That’s the real surprise of reading Ratzinger: there’s no wading, no disciplined gritting of teeth, no grinding of mental muscles as you make your way through his works. I’m ashamed to remember how amazed I was to find myself enjoying his writing — and I am a lazy reader, believe me. John Paul II, by contrast, was so handsome and approachable, so warm and compassionate in person. He was evangelization personified. But his writing style . . . gevalt. I’d rather nibble my way through the Berlin Wall than read all the way to the end of a JPII encyclical. This is a me-problem, not a him-problem; but still, it’s a problem.
But Benedict XVI was (is) just the opposite. To see or hear him (at least in the snippets that rose to the surface of pop culture) was to reinforce every stereotype about the authoritarian, elitist, unapproachable magisterium of the Church. But to read him is like watching the sun rise, gorgeously, joyfully, making everything it touches clear and beautiful. And he knows his audience, understands their prejudices, anticipates their questions, and speaks directly to them. There are great depths in his writing, but they are depths you can plumb.
Try his short work “In the Beginning:” A Catholic Understanding of the Story of Creation and the Fall. Many Catholics live with an uneasy shame when we face the question of how the world began. We are half afraid that the Church isn’t ready to deal with science — that it defiantly insists we believe God made the world with big old hands in six 24-hour days, like a white-bearded Gepetto who’s been taking his pep pills.
Well, no. The Church is well aware of all the theories of how the universe came to be (it was a priest, Georges Lemaître, who first hypothesized the Big Bang theory), and she has spent a considerable amount of time synthesizing Genesis, astronomy, and cosmology, and working through the existential ramifications of various theories of how the world came to be. Ratzinger gently, firmly, and wittily guides us through what she has learned, not like a scholar speaking to scholars, but like an experienced professor who knows his material and his students equally well. I recommend this book for high schoolers and anyone else who thinks we must choose between science and faith, or anyone who rejects both unthinking fundamentalism and sneering rationalism.
Don’t be stupid, be a smarty! Meet Benedict XVI on his own terms. I guarantee you’ll be delighted, both with what you come to learn about Christ, and what you come to learn about Ratzinger himself. He’s a gentle and brilliant friend you need to have in your life. He is a man full of heartfelt courtesy and love — not abstract, intellectualized caritas, but a sweet yearning to save, comfort, sanctify and teach his flock.
***
A version of this post originally ran at the National Catholic Register in 2016.
photo credit: Catholic Church (England and Wales) Pope Benedict XVI Holds His Final General Audience via photopin (license)
Protected: Podcast #55: Two problems
What’s for supper? Vol. 123: House of carbs
Sometime before dawn, a shelf holding my son’s swords collapsed, falling on the hamster cage, which released the hamster, which caused the cat to go berserk and knock over some boxes of tools. That’s what woke me up, and I leaped out of bed thinking this was clearly the noise of my daughter struggling to get to my door before she crumpled into a diabetic coma.
Which hasn’t actually happened yet. Yay! We’re doing fine, overall. She’s doing great. I’m trying to strike a balance between reading enough real-life accounts of managing the inevitable crises so I know what to do when it happens, and not reading so much that I feel like we’re always about to fall off a cliff. We’re doing fine, overall. Oh, and the hamster survived, who cares.
Anyway, CARBS. We’re counting them, and starting to venture into figuring out how different kinds of carbs affect blood sugar. Most days, diabetes management feels like a hassle, more than a calamity, and basic recipes have suddenly become unfamiliar territory, because I can’t eyeball anything anymore.
I won’t bore you with more details. I’ll just say that even though I wasn’t grateful to Mrs. Dootlittle when I was in third grade and she made us learn math, I’m grateful now. (Yes, we have a calculator. You still have to know what the hell you’re doing.)
So here’s what we had. You can see that Lucy is not on a special diet, exactly, except the “for crying out loud, let’s get some meat on your bones” diet. She eats normal food; we just have to know exactly what’s in it and how much she gets, and keep an eye on her. I’m going to include the carb counts at the end, in case anyone’s interested. Let me know if this is something you’d like to continue to see in food posts.
SATURDAY
Cranberry pecan chicken salad
I had a migraine, so Damien roasted some chicken breasts, and served them sliced up over mixed greens with dried cranberries, toasted pecans, feta cheese, and balsamic vinegar. Always a popular meal (although I noticed that the younger kids ate everything except the greens, so I probably shouldn’t call it salad. Salad bar, maybe).
This meal was so low carb, Lucy had an entire chocolate bar for dessert and still stayed within her target.
SUNDAY
Shrimp linguine, garlic bread, roast Brussels sprouts
There was a crazy sale on frozen whole shrimp at Aldi, so I bought . . . kind of a lot. Damien used this Deadspin recipe, which starts with boiling a big pot of saltwater. Not salty water, but saltwater, “like the ocean, briny and harsh and intense.” Then you shell and devein the shrimp and dump the shells in the water, too, and then fish them out, and then you cook the pasta. The recipe notes, “You may now dump those shells in the trash and tell them that you will see them in hell.” Then you cook up the shrimp with olive oil, minced garlic, hot pepper flakes, and white wine. There are more steps, but you can see what kind of ridiculously flavorful deliciousness this is.
Normally, a dish like this will have you working through some insipid pasta to get to the occasional bright light of the shrimp, but this dish was worth your full attention with every bite.
I ate so much, and I’m not even sorry. I had it for lunch the next two days, too.
The Brussels sprouts were cut in half, mixed with olive oil and plenty of salt and pepper, and I think parmesan cheese, and put under a hot broiler until they were gorgeously charred. The chompy texture was the perfect accompaniment to the creamy shrimp linguine.
We had Italian ices for dessert.
And here is Clara getting the garlic bread ready, so you can see exactly how well our kitchen renovations are going.
MONDAY
Tacos and tortilla chips
Nothing to report.
TUESDAY
Pork ribs, risotto, frozen peas
Still the best way to serve pork ribs, if you’re not going to get all fancy with smokers and three-day commitments. Sprinkle the ribs with plenty of salt and pepper, put them on a shallow pan with drainage, and shove them under a hot broiler for a few minutes on each side until they’re browned and sizzling. Juicy and wonderful.
I made a double recipe of risotto in the Instant Pot, using this recipe minus the squash. I forgot to take pictures.
WEDNESDAY
Beef teriyaki stir fry, crunchy noodles, white rice
Blithely ignoring what cut of meat it was, I trimmed and sliced the hunk of beef as thin as I could in the morning, then set it to marinate in half a bottle of teriyaki sauce. At dinner time, I sauteed the meat, then added two bag of frozen mixed stir fry veggies and the rest of the bottle of sauce. Made a bunch of white rice and put out crunchy noodles. No complaints.
THURSDAY
Chicken nuggets, raw veggie platter and dip, deviled eggs, chocolate milk
Sort of a “preschooler’s delight” meal. If we haven’t hit Lucy’s carb target for a meal, we often make it up with milk, and this time, we had so much to make up, we had chocolate milk. So of course everyone had to have chocolate milk. Again, no complaints.
Well, Corrie threw up, but we think that was more because she ate most of a bag of salted pumpkin seeds not long before dinner. But it was good for a good two-hour terror while I thought about what would happen if it was a virus and Lucy started throwing up. This is why there is Buspar in the world. Not that I took any, because I am stupid.
FRIDAY
Mac and cheese, raw veg
I haven’t worked out the carbs yet, but I’ll probably use this Instant Pot recipe, and maybe add a layer of buttered bread crumbs on the top.
And there it is. Now I’ll list the carb counts for these meals. Don’t forget to let me know if you feel strongly, either way, about me including these in the future!
Cranberry chicken salad:
2 cups Aldi Simply Nature organic spring mix: 3
chicken: 0
pecans 1/4 c : 3
dried cranberries 1/4 c: 25
2 Tbs Italian dressing: 3
(doesn’t want feta)
Shrimp linguine meal:
1 cup cooked linguine 43
shrimp – 0
garlic and white wine – 2
garlic bread – 1/8 baguette from Hannaford – 28
1/2 cup brussels sprouts – 4
Italian ice: 26
Tacos:
tortilla: 18g each per small fajita size (20 count bag)
ground beef: 0
Alsi Casa Mamita taco seasoning mix is 2 tsp, 3 g; 12 tsp total in package; usually use 2 packs
cheddar cheese: 1 g
roma tomato: 3 g per whole tomato
sour cream – 1 carb per Tbs
salsa – 3 g per 2 Tbs
tortilla chips 19 g per 7 chips
Pork, risotto, peas:
rice 4 cups uncooked: 576
beef broth 8 cups: 5.6
olive oil: –
onion medium red: 11
garlic minced 1 Tbs: 3 g
sage 1 tsp: 1.2
salt and pepper: .5 (1/2 tsp pepper)
parmesan cheese 8 oz (full jar): 0
risotto total: 597.3 for ten cups of cooked risotto
about 60 g per cup
pork: 0
peas: 2/3 cup is 13 g
Beef stir fry with rice and noodles:beef: 0
cooked rice: 45 g per cup
sauce: entire bottle, 192 Kikkoman teriyaki original sauce
vegetables: 48 g total in TWO bags Birds Eye broccoli stir fry vegetables (broccoli, carrots, onions, red peppers, water chestnuts, mushrooms, and celery)
MeeTu chinese noodles: 20 g per 1/13 of a bag
10 cups of meat, veg, and sauce: entire = 240 entire batch
1 cup rice: 45
1 meat, veg, sauce: 24
2 moderate daddy handfuls of noodles: 20
1 meat, veg, sauce: 24
2 moderate daddy handfuls of noodles: 20
Chicken nuggets meal:
I guess I forgot to save this info.
Mac and cheese:
Not ready to face this yet.
Pope Francis’ troubling apology
In a letter regarding victims of sexual abuse in Chile, Pope Francis said, “I ask forgiveness of all those I have offended and I hope to be able to do it personally in the coming weeks.”
His apology comes after months of controversy, during which the Pope first apologized to Chilean victims of sexual abuse by the Church, but then strongly defended a Chilean Bishop accused of covering up those victims’ allegations. Pope Francis called their accusations “calumny” and said he had seen no evidence supporting them.
In the letter of apology made public today, he said that he “fell into serious errors in the evaluation and perception … due especially to the lack of true and balanced information.”
The Pope’s apology is encouraging, but also troubling. He sets an irreplaceable example of how to respond humbly when confronted with personal error, but he also appears to deflect personal responsibility. We look forward to clarification, after he meets with the Chilean victims, about why he didn’t believe the victims’ accusations, why he felt it was appropriate to denigrate the victims publicly, and whether he intends to be more circumspect in front of microphones in the future, since his ill-conceived words caused so much damage.
We also wonder if he is telling the truth about lacking necessary information.
The pope wrote his letter after he read a 2,300-page report detailing a investigation he commissioned in February to study allegations of sexual abuse and its cover-up in the Chilean Church.
On his visit to South America in January of 2018, the Pope was met with protests and outrage over the alleged cover-up of sexual abuse by Chilean Bishop Juan Barros.
Four men accuse Barros’ charismatic mentor, Fr. Fernando Karadima, of sexual abusing them, and Barros of ignoring warnings from parishioners and of covering up evidence. The accusers claim Barros was present during some of the abuse, but continued to protect and defend Karadima. A civil complaint against Karadima was dismissed for lack of evidence. The Vatican found him guilty in 2011 and sentenced him to a “life of prayer and penitence” and to “lifelong prohibition from the public exercise of any ministerial act, particularly confession and the spiritual guidance of any category of persons.” Barros continues to maintain his innocence.
On his South America trip in January, Pope Francis apologized to victims of sexual abuse, saying he felt “pain and shame” for the “irreparable damage caused to children by some ministers of the Church.”
But when confronted with questions about the specific allegations against Bishop Barros, the pope called the accusations “calumny.”
The pope told the press: “The day they bring me proof against Bishop Juan Barros, I will speak. There is not one piece of evidence against him. It is calumny.” The Pope also told an AP reporter on the way home from South America, “You, in all good will, tell me that there are victims, but I haven’t seen any, because they haven’t come forward.”
But an AP Exclusive in February claimed that the Pope did have evidence against Barros, and that victims had come forward. The Pontifical Commission for the Protection of Minors says that they gave a letter from victim Juan Carlos Cruz to its president, Cardinal O’Malley, to be hand-delivered to the Pope before his South America visit. The letter “detailed the abuse, kissing and fondling [Cruz] says he suffered at Karadima’s hands, which he said Barros and others saw but did nothing to stop.”
Two members of the commission say that O’Malley confirmed to them that he did give the letter to the pope. Cruz says O’Malley told him “he had given the letter to the pope — in his hands.”
On January 10, Cardinal O’Malley took the extraordinary step of publicly admonishing Pope Francis, saying that his comments “abandon those who have suffered reprehensible criminal violations of their human dignity, and relegate survivors to discredited exile.”
Shortly after O’Malley’s rebuke, the Pope apologized for the hurt caused by his words. In February, he sent Archbishop Scicluna to Chile to conduct an exhaustive investigation of the alleged cover-up by Bishop Barros.
America Magazine reports that Scicluna presented the pope with a 2,300- page report based on interviews with 64 witnesses.
According to Catholic News service, in the letter made public on April 11,
Pope Francis apologized for underestimating the seriousness of the sexual abuse crisis in the country following a recent investigation into allegations concerning Bishop Juan Barros of Osorno.
But the Pope says his error was due to “lack of truthful and balanced information”:
The pope said he made “serious mistakes in the assessment and perception of the situation, especially due to a lack of truthful and balanced information.”
According to America Magazine,
He said, “From here on, I ask pardon of all those that I have offended, and I hope to do so personally in the coming weeks, in the meetings that I will have with representatives of the persons interviewed” by his envoys—Archbishop Scicluna and Father Jordi Bertomeu Farnos.
The Chilean bishops will meet with the Pope in the third week of May. Three of Karadima’s victims, including Cruz, will also meet with the Pope then.
Pope Francis’ apology and admission of error are unprecedented among popes, but troubling questions remain. In his letter, he blames his defense of Barros on “the lack of true and balanced information.” But if Cardinal O’Malley did hand-deliver the letter from victims, how can he say there was a lack of information? Did he read the letter? If not, why not? Did he read it but disregard what is said? If so, why would he do so, sixteen years after the Church has been shown to be guilty over and over and over again?
Even those who support and defend the Pope and his approach will find it difficult to understand his behavior in this matter. O’Malley and countless other faithful servants of Christ have been laboring hard to reform the Church, to make it safer for vulnerable people, and to reassure the world that things have changed. But a few ill-conceived words from its visible head have unravelled all their efforts more than once.
To victims, past and present, it must feel as though the Church has learned nothing. How far can yet another apology go?
***
Image By Benhur Arcayan (Malacañang Photo Bureau) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
What will the detective say over your cooling corpse?
Modern Catholics sometimes preen ourselves on our stealthy infiltration of the secular world, by which we are constantly evangelizing our unchurched friends, when if fact all we’re doing is sitting around drinking beer and making butt jokes, which religious and secular people do in perhaps slightly different ways, but there is a lot of overlap. In other words, maybe your stealth evangelization is so subtle, there isn’t actually any.
What is your weak link?
So many people had lost beloved medals or crucifixes because the one little link that attached them to the chain just wasn’t strong enough. What a shame! And how baffling that Catholic jewelry companies so often make this mistake. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the medal is, how well-made, how expensive, how meaningful. It will only be with you if that one little link is strong enough.
It’s hard to resist the metaphor here.
Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.
Image by Sean McGrath via Flickr (Creative Commons)
. . . and they’ll never let me forget it
Whenever my daughter Irene isn’t where we expect her to be, someone says darkly, “She’s probably sitting on the floor, playing with blocks.”
This is because, several years ago, she insisted on being the one to run into the city library and fetch the middle school kid while the rest of us waited in the car. And waited. And waited.
And waited.
It was punishingly hot, everyone was hungry and angry, the baby was screaming, and I was too low on gas to run the air conditioner. I didn’t have enough big kids in the car to stay with the little kids while I went in myself, and I didn’t have a quarter for the parking meter anyway, so we had to wait. And wait. And wait. No kid. Eventually I sent a second kid in to find the kid I had sent in to find the other kid; and when that didn’t work I sent a third — no, a fourth kid in. We had all read the story about Clever Elsie, and nobody liked where this was headed.
But no, just a few minutes after he had gone in, that last kid emerged with all the others in tow. He reported indignantly that he had found Irene just sitting on the floor playing with blocks. Just playing with blocks, while we waited!
Irene, of course, defended herself. There was a very good reason! She couldn’t find the first kid, and she looked in the computer alcoves, in the manga section, by the fish tanks, everywhere a boy might be. Having done her due diligence, she then sensibly wondered if maybe he was in the bathroom in the children’s room upstairs. But the bathroom door was locked, and no one answered when she knocked — a telltale sign that it must be her brother inside, because he never answers when you knock. So she plopped herself down on the floor outside the bathroom and passed the time by playing with blocks until the unreliable crumb would decide to stroll himself out and stop inconveniencing everyone.
What she didn’t know was that the children’s bathroom is always locked, and you have to go ask the librarian for a key. No one answered her knock because no one was in there. So there she was, blissfully building little castles outside an empty bathroom, while the rest of us steamed our brains out in the car while the baby screamed and screamed. And we’ll never let her forget it.
We cherish memories of abject failure by our loves ones, even more than memories of perfect birthday cakes, golden hours reading fairy tales, or happy meals with laughter and song. Why? Because twisting the knife is fun! I don’t know. I can only imagine how many happy evenings Adam whiled away, reminding Eve of that one tiny little mistake she made that one time, years and years and years ago. Never mind all the good times, all the hard work and dedication, all the nice loincloths she made for the family. No one wants to reminisce about the day she invented lentils. Nope, it’s always, “Hey, remember that time you doomed mankind?”
Parents, especially, are popular targets of this selective memory. My kids, Irene included, live for the chance to remind me that I once picked up the kids at school and drove all the way into the next town before I even noticed I forgot Sophia. On Valentine’s Day! They always forget that I was nine months pregnant and it was a certifiable miracle I could remember how to use a steering wheel, much less count heads, and I did go back and get her. It’s not as if I just washed my hands of her and got on with my life without Sophia like some kind of bad parent. Nope, it’s just The Day Mama Forgot Sophia . . . On Valentine’s Day. And they’ll never let me forget it.
Then there was the time when my own parents went into what I remember as a long and completely unreasonable tirade about careless children who knock over their cups at meals, causing untold frustration and inconvenience for everyone else at the table, who just want to sit down at the end of a long day and enjoy a meal without having to jump up and clean something every five minutes, if people would just be a little bit more considerate and take the extra two seconds it takes to move their cup out of the way of their elbow so it doesn’t get knoc–
and then, of course, my father knocked over his cup, and my mother knocked over her cup. It was glorious. Glorious. And we’ll never let them forget it.
Now you tell me about your public shame. I want to know what they’ll never forget about you!
In which I answer anything!
Seeing as I was so far behind in all kinds of all work of all kinds, I said “Ask me anything!” on Facebook. Here are (most of) the questions, with my answers. By the way, “Ask me anything!” is commonly abbreviated as “AMA,” and so is “against medical advice.” MAKE OF IT WHAT YOU WILL.
If you could take a weeklong vacation in another country, which would be your first choice?
For most of my adult life, I would have said “Italy” without even considering anything else; but today, the thought of walking on cobblestones fails to compel. Plus, I remember how Rome smells. So I’ll go with somewhere trite, predictable, and full of white sands, clear waters, hammocks, and cocktails. I don’t even care where, as long as someone gets me to the right gate.
Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Because rods are horrible? Everyone likes Easter, but nobody wants Good Friday. Everyone thinks the Eucharist is great, but nobody wants to think about how Jesus felt when He decided to get devoured.
If you could learn any art medium you don’t already know how to use, what would it be?
Pottery. I want to make a nativity scene where Mary is taking a nap and Joseph is holding the baby.
Were you born this way?
No, but it came upon me suddenly along with my first teeth.
How do you REALLY feel about Texas?
If it were possible to relocate UD to some more reasonable state, I’d do it.
Cantelopes: bad idea or good idea?
They bulk up fruit salad and make it more economical, but I draw the line at honeydew.
Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
If sitting in the snow and drinking Rolling Rock counts as dancing, then yes.
Top ten favourite things to eat!
Not in order, or in combination: Sourdough bread, shrimp, mango, dill pickles, tzatiki sauce, mint chocolate chip ice cream, salt bagels with lox, steak, most things with cilantro, key lime pie.
What is the airspeed velocity . . . Oh, never mind.
Phew.
Why?
Because, because, because, because, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
If you were pope for a day, what one doctrine would you change?
Trick question! Doctrine doesn’t change. It just sneaks forward a little bit when you’re not looking, like in “Red Light, Green Light.”
How are you? Lots of life change in your home.
I’m so effing tired. But I want to be Lucy when I grow up.
We hope that God will bless us with many children. What is your best tip (of any kind) for those with large families?
Be ready to change your mind about all kinds of things. But go easy on yourself if you’re having a hard time changing your mind, because change is hard.
Next time you’re in Michigan, would you like to come for dinner?
In theory, yes. In practice, I’m much too shy, and will have to be trapped into it, but then I’ll be glad.
How do we deal with the really really bad times of NFP? I love your book, but there’s a specific situation that I’ve seen come up that you didn’t address, and that’s the feeling that women sometimes get of being “used”. For example, if a woman can’t have a very “enjoyable” time during the available days, so only the man is experiencing full pleasure, she can sort of just feel like a receptacle for semen. I’d love to know how you think we should personally deal with this (besides the obvious of prayer/communication) and how we can support friends who deal with this.
Great question. I think it deserves its own post, so I’m working on that now.
Should I take the undercarriage wash option at the car wash?
I never do, and how that works out is, my mechanic really had to squint hard before he passed my car for inspection, because you can put your finger right through the rocker panel, boop! What is it, an extra five bucks? Yeah, definitely don’t spend that extra five bucks. That’s what I would do.
What’s 2+5
Need context. Is it days past peak? Is it carbs in chicken nuggets? If not, I don’t understand the question.
Imagine you’re a queen in a beautiful country where you are loved and can do whatever good you want without being criticized – What would your favorite queenly ensemble and jewels be? Money is no object.
Let’s also add that I have a waist again, have somewhat better posture than Tony Soprano, and have lost sixty pounds and grown my hair long again, and the answer is: Italian Renaissance for the dress, with acres and acres of velvet and brocade and seed pearls. But for jewelry, I’d go straight to India. When I feel bad about everything, I google “Indian wedding jewelry” and just wallow for a while.
Will you pray for me and my family?
Sure.
Are you planning to answer?
Yes, but I’m also planning to put together that six-cube storage unit I got on clearance, because it will make All The Difference, and it’s been leaning against the dining room wall, still in the box, for two months now.
Is the plural of platypus platypuses or platypi?
It would be either platypuses or just platypus, or possibly platypodes. The one thing to avoid is trying to sound fancier than you actually are.
Sometimes people think you can make any word that ends in “-us” plural by changing the “us” to an “i,” but that only works if the word is derived from Latin and the pluralized form in Latin ends in “i.” So, the plural of nucleus is nuclei; the plural of fungus is fungi; the plural of alumnus or alumna is alumni. But there are words which end in “us” for which the correct plural ending is not “i,” like chorus or hummus or hippopotamus or callus.
Octupus, for instance, was Greek before it was Latin, and so it makes no sense to say “octopi” for the plural. In general, if you see a word that ends in “pus” meaning “foot,” the correct plural ending will be “pods” or “podes,” or simply “puses.” Changing it to “-i” is the equivalent of saying “between you and I.” I realize it doesn’t really matter, not like kindness or ethics or good quality shoes matters; and I’ve probably got some detail wrong. But still. Just say “platypuses.”
Urn A has 7 red and 3 orange ping pong balls and Urn B has 7 orange and 3 red ping ping balls. An Urn is selected at random and a ball is selected at random from that urn. If the ball is orange, what is the probability that the selected urn is Urn A?
After skimming this question and concluding that it is mathy, my answer is this: I always recommend that you skip the first four urns and go directly to Urn E. There is an importance in being Urn E.
Almost a joke! Almost!
More serious question: What was the most surprising thing you learned as a result of your child’s Type I diabetes diagnosis?
I answered that in part here. Other than that, I can’t get over how many carbs there are in garlic powder.
Who is your favorite child?
Another trick question! No one is currently cleaning out the car or making supper, so they’re all on equally thin ice.
How do you do it? I have half as many kids and I’m burned out. Yet you’re so creative and spiritual and wise. I spend all my time in the car!
Oh lordy. Remember what my mother said about homeschooling: It’s impossible. If you keep this in mind, it’s easier to do.
Did this question result from breakfast gin?
Nope. Three times in the last week, I fell asleep on the couch before finishing even one evening gin. Once I fell asleep while actually holding my drink. But I did not spill it! There’s life in the old dame yet.
What is the kitten’s name?
Lando. He totally earns it, too, if you skip the part where Lando redeems himself and turns out not to be a complete asshole.
When are you going to write a book about confession?
I would like to, as I have written more about confession than any other sacrament, and also I need the money. Would people put up with a book of collected essays? I’m so tired. But I need the money.
Would you be willing to join Fans of Simcha Fisher and make it official? I created it but didn’t add you because I know you hate that.
But I’m not a fan of Simcha Fisher! Or if I am, it’s in the bad, sledgehammer way.
when are you going to record another podcast? I miss them!!
This week! I’m sorry. We’ve just been so exhausted. Did I mention that? I’m afraid I may not have mentioned that. It warms my heart that you actually listen, though.
How are you so adorable and I love you so much?
See above, where I spend three paragraphs on insisting on “octopodes.” That should take care of it.
What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
African or European?
Somechop?
Some do.
You are starting an MLM. What are you selling?
Underwear my kids will wear. I don’t even care if I end up on the bottom of the pyramid. Someone needs to make this underwear.
What is the most dangerous item in your house, right now?
A set of walkie talkies we gave Irene for her birthday. The kids now have unlimited power to say, “What? . . . over!” as much as they like.
Will my children ever STOP EATING EVERYTHING? (The 2yo was licking the fridge yesterday. WHY???)
Your children are simply listening to their bodies. Unfortunately, their bodies are telling them to drive you out of your gourd. Then they will eat the gourd, too.
What’s the best strategy for defeating a dragon?
Procrastination. The dragon will eventually wander away in disgust to find someone who’s more engaged, and then you can shrug holily and tell yourself it’s God’s will.
While sitting quietly before a Tabernacle, praying your heart out… have you ever thought about opening that little Tabernacle door and freeing Jesus?
No, but I’ve had to keep myself from crawling up there and climbing inside with Him.
How do you go from accepting the Real Presence in your mind to having your heart know it?
I don’t think my heart knows it, most of the time. It’s not the same thing as feeling it, if that helps. I think if we felt it for more than a moment or two at a time, it would be unbearable and we wouldn’t be able to live.
But yes, it’s hard to go on never having that breakthrough. My father says that when he converted to Christianity, he told his landlord about it, and the man said, “You saw the light, huh?” My father said yes. And the man said, “I never have.” He was a Catholic. That was many decades ago, so I pray that, at some point, that man not only knew about the light but did eventually see it, at least one time.
I’ve found it less helpful to try to flog myself into believing, than to simply and quietly thank God for being present. Talk to Him, not about Him; and then be at peace, and let Him do what He will.
Why is your child not making more stop motion videos to entertain my kids?
I don’t know! We need more Elijah the Introvert. He would love more subscribers. That might light a fire under him.
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That is, as you well know, nobody’s business but the Turks’.
Can you run by Costco and pick up hamburger and milk and chicken nuggets? We’re out.
Even though our family could singlehandedly be the business model for a local Costco, we don’t have one. I’m stopping at Aldi, though. Every day this week. I don’t know what this week’s food post is going to say, other than “arrrrrrrrgh.”
How can I convince my five-year-old that Trader Joe’s really does only sell his favorite “gingerbread mans” cookies at Christmas?
First go convince Alex Jones that Emma Gonzalez is the best thing that’s ever happened to this dang ol’ country, and then move on to your five-year-old. It will be a breeze in comparison.
Favorite saint and why?
Currently Francis De Sales. He always has something sensible and solid to say. He knows what kind of traps he lays for ourselves, and he takes that into account while constantly redirecting us to something better.
Favorite verse from Scripture and why?
John 16:33: “These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”
Would you take a (nonordained) position in the Curia if offered it?
[quickly looks up “Curia.”] No way. Honestly, I’ve worked for some nightmarish bosses, but Pope Francis? Brrr.
Easter and other people
We made it to the Easter Vigil most years when I was little, often bundled in down jackets over our frilly Easter clothes.
We could just barely hear Fr. Stan‘s voice, muffled with age and with an aging sound system as he read the opening prayers. Then there was silence while we waited inside the church, twisted halfway around in our pews, wanting to follow the action outside but feeling so odd to turn our backs to the tabernacle. There would be swishing and clanking noises as the fire was prepared, and sometimes a whispered warning to the altar boys with their wide, flammable sleeves. Then more silence, and then . . .
“Christ our light!” would come crackling from the twilight outside.
Then a kind of magic that made you forget your awkwardness: Here came the flame. First we could only see a few points of light in the dark, then a few dozen, then enough to make the dark stained glass flicker, and then only a few pews were left separating you and . . .
some guy with a Bic lighter. Every single damn year, one of our well-meaning brothers in Christ thought he could speed things up, make Easter a little more efficient. No sense standing around waiting for that one flame to make its way all the way ovah heah! Here ya go, yut, no problem.
It makes me laugh now, but it didn’t seem funny at the time. We wanted the real Easter flame, not the fake butane one! Here it comes, contaminating the entire church! Somebody do something!
Well. It’s surely not in the spirit of the risen Christ to get all snippy and say “No thanks” when someone offers you a little light in the darkness.
On the other hand, every other single damn day of the year is a day for substitutes, for good intentions, for not-the-point, for whatcha-gonna-do. Surely we can get it right on Easter. Surely we have that much coming to us. What is more pure than the light of Christ? What is more simple and searing than a candle that divides itself but is not dimmed? When are we allowed to experience this loveliness except in the middle of the night in fragile, early spring, with the ground still trembling from the stone as it was rolled away?
And . . . what if there was more than one guy with a Bic out there, and we just didn’t know it?
I hope you’re not looking for a lesson here, because I don’t have one. We were way too tired to go to the vigil Mass this year. I spent most of Easter yelling at everyone I love the most, and I don’t even know why. I was sorry afterward, if that helps. I was even sorry during. Still, if I were all alone, without all these damn people, I’d get it right. I know I would. Would I rather be alone?
Christ plays in ten thousand places, better in the face of someone who just wanted to help than in someone who loves beauty and is enraged when she doesn’t get it. The idea that hell is other people made me laugh then, but it doesn’t seem funny now. To be alone, getting everything the way I want it: That is Hell.
Come to think of it, I can’t remember a single year when the Easter candle wasn’t adulterated with a helpful, dopey Bic lighter or two. Whatcha gonna do. Even though there never was even one time when we did it right, I still have it in my mind that there was something pure and holy there in that congregation, or else there wouldn’t have been anything to be spoiled.
We don’t want to miss His approach, but we don’t want to turn our backs to Him, so we plant our feet on the ground facing East, we twist at the knee, and we wait for someone else to get it right. And the Lord, too gracious to sigh at yet another night of missed-the-point, came to us without delay.
“Christ our light!” comes to us over an aging system. But it does come. Next time someone offers me a dumb little butane flame, I’ll try to accept it with thanks, in honor of the undimmable loveliness of the Lord. Because ten thousand places is so much better than none.
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Photo: Steve Moses via Flickr (Creative Commons)