There is a hush over August. Its quietude invites every Jackself to take as one’s own Hopkins’ interior monologue: “Let be, call off thoughts awhile. buy finasteride online https://medicalcoder.io/wp-includes/sitemaps/providers/php/finasteride.html no prescription ” Words, too, need a rest. Only in silence can we hear the psalmist: Be still, and know that I Am God.Until later. And with glad wishes for a sweet summer’s end. Continue Reading
A man’s being a poisoner is nothing against his prose. Oscar Wilde
Every embarrassment is not a scandal. Egg on the face washes off. Scandal, by contrast, does not. It cuts to the core. A Church scandal poisons trust in those we look to for guidance through the thicket of our own caprices. And it negates those teachings and practices that exist to purify our own desires. That in mind, I turn to this flurry of recent emails clamoring about the impending gay rites between the organist at St. Continue Reading
I foresee churches with their Jesuit bureaucrats open daily from 9-5, closed on weekends. Georges Bernanos
Jesuits are blameless here but the point stands. The debacle at Our Saviour is a symptom of bureaucratic conditions more critical than any clash of taste in church décor. Umbrage over “the integrity of the art” is a red herring. If that were the essential factor, this would be a minor local foofaraw. But it is not minor; and the breach of trust on display extends beyond locale to the temper of our clerical bureaucracy itself. Continue Reading
Something unedifying is under way at the Church of Our Saviour, on lower Park Avenue in Manhattan. This alert from a knowledgeable source came Tuesday morning and has been circulating:
I am informed that having [been] officially appointed Pastor of COS, Father Robbins is in the process of removing the other icons and also wants to remove the large Pantocrator. The demolition is in process, and the intention is to finish it before anyone can protest. So immediate action is needed.
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I counted indulgences when I was a child. Quite likely, some of you did the same, though maybe not as fastidiously as I did. Every First Friday and First Saturday, there I was indemnifying myself against the wages of sin. My insurance agent was St. Helena’s Church on Olmstead Avenue alongside the IRT Pelham Line; my carrier, Catholic devotions in all their gaudy splendor.   Sparkhill Dominicans assured me His eye was on the sparrow. But that was no guarantee it was on a latchkey kid in the Bronx. Continue Reading
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