Compromise

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was yesterday and my sins are that I compromised twice today.”

“You don’t have to bring this in here every day.”

“Should I count bringing it in as a sin too?”

“No, but try to exercise a measure of forbearance. Did you compromise with someone else for a change.”

“No, not with someone else. Like yesterday and the other days, I compromised with myself. I knew that what I wanted to do was a sin, but I felt that if I didn’t do it, I was probably hurting myself in some way by holding off. It sure felt that way. I got pretty desperate.”

“We’ve talked about this. It won’t injure you to hold off. Not holding off is a sin; it’s not a compromise. You’re giving in. That’s not the same thing.”

“Is it a mortal sin?”

“It is a gravely disordered action, but a mortal sin is done deliberately, knowing that it is not what God wishes for us and without any regard for that. You are an immature adolescent, which probably lessens your responsibility in this. God knows that we will sometimes fail but He does expect us to do our best to live according to His ways. He knows when we have done all we can to resist sin. If we have done that and have acknowledged and confessed our sin, then we can rest in the knowledge that we have done our best, and that He will forgive us.”

“So should I come tell you every time I do it?”

“Let’s you and I compromise. I’ll keep you in my prayers, you attend Mass, and the rest we’ll leave for now between you and God.”

“Can I compromise with Him too?”

 

For Daily Post

Guest Post: My Angels (Anne P.)

I’ve always seen angels. Hallucinations or schizophrenia, they’re real to me. They walk beside me and talk to me. Not always, but sometimes. One at a time.

Usually a  girl, although once in college and once when I was coaching a male lacrosse team for the company, they were uncertain boys.

All were my age, until I approached forty. Then they began to get younger as I got older.

The girls preferred the diaphanous. The boys preferred leather. They all stayed buttoned up, so some simple questions about them remained unanswered.

None were beautiful or ugly, but they were all attractive to me, and intriguing. At some point I learned that the Persians invented angels and for a while all my visitors had black curly hair and black curly beards, male and female alike.

We never discussed religious matters. Being old immortal Persians, they might have tried to convert me to a belief in Ahura-Mazda or another of their gods. Instead, we strolled along talking about whatever came into our heads.

What I discovered about angels:

  • They’re a lot like me.
  • They don’t ask questions.
  • Their strongest response to my confessions was “Oh. Huh.”
  • I never met one I didn’t like.

The Spice That Hooked Medieval Nuns

(The Atlantic)

Hang on, Atlantic. There is a big difference between having a habit and being hooked.

The medieval nuns had habits and the habits were boring affairs. Monochromatic. Itchy.

Don’t get me wrong. Living in a secure nunnery was vastly preferable to being stuck outside its walls, where life was nasty, brutish, and short, to coin a phrase. In the nunnery, the sisters made due with less: less mud, fewer fleas, and zero monks. Still, they could have done with something more, or so they told themselves. More less but also a little bit more more.

That’s when the wimple was invented, to spice up their habits. Each nun made herself two wimpli, one for the six quiet days and one for Sunday. In countries where the everpresent mud could be made to extract a dye, wimpli would be found of varying hues (they started out white but had to be washed in muddy water).

The monks answered with the invention of the cowl, but cowli just made the monks creepier than before. Why spend so much time on your tonsure if it were only to be covered with a hood? Nobody trusted a monk in a hoodie. In some neighborhoods, it was worth your life to beg for alms (or peanuts), especially if your robes were black.

Today, some nuns take their wimpli for granted. They want yet more. Some are wearing hats.

God’s Family: The Children

I have commented previously on God’s wife (here, here, and here) and dog (here and here). What about His children?

Of course we’re all God’s children. Jesus is the best and Satan is the worst. George Washington never told a lie but he’s the only U.S. president and God’s child who can say that. (I’d credit the wag who wrote the line about Washington but can’t remember his name.)

All of God’s children have got wings, robes, harps, shoes (some debate about this one), rhythm, swing, and trouble. They may not have money and they may have the blues.

So what about the kids still up there, living at home with God, who we never hear about?

God has three kids in the house: Bud, Randi, and Claude. Bud is a Buddhist who climbed a tree in God’s backyard a long time ago and never came down again. Randi is a two-billion-year-old teenager who lives in the basement and has a problem with the size of her wings. Claude… I’ve got nothing negative to say about Claude. Claude’s an angry young dude.

So nothing newsworthy about the stay-at-homes. Don’t call them Millennials! The Creator keeps it real up there in the Fields of Bethesda… or no, that’s a housing development in Maryland I’m thinking of.

There are stories about God’s special children, but I’ll save them for later.  I don’t want the next missile scare to be worse than the last one.

Missile-alarm Activity Guide

Missile Arrival Time – Activity Before It Hits

If you have 1 hr. (the missile won’t take longer) – Put your will in a lead box. If everything mentioned in the will is located near you, don’t bother.

If you have 45 minutes – Enough time to do something fun. What do you like? Food? Indulge yourself. Rock climbing? Climb your chimney. TV? Lots of buzzkill programming probable at this time; stick to DVDs. Sleep? If you can sleep in this situation, your mind is right.

If you have 30 minutes – Way too much time for anything religious, like prayer. An eternity if you’re praying, especially if you’ve got bad knees. But speaking of eternity, you might want to spend a second or two thinking about how you’re going to spend that.

If you have 15 minutes – Cook soft-boiled eggs!  One iteration for practice and another to eat, with seconds left over to wash the yolk off your lips. A good soft-boiled egg depends upon timing. Bring your water to a boil, then maintain it at a strong simmer. Add eggs to the pot. Begin timing. If you’re cooking one or two eggs, five minutes delivers a tasty runny yolk. Cook up to seven minutes for a firmer yolk that can still be eaten with a spoon. Don’t just check your watch. Set a timer to ensure consistent results.

If you have 5 minutes – You need something simple to do. Straightforward. No time to organize. I like to floss at stoplights, for example. If your life has not been so great, count your blessings. Five minutes should be plenty.

If you have 30 seconds – Bend over. KYAGB. (Why not go out on an old, old joke?)

Ex-employee Slams Measles Church

Oh, the itch!

Jesus had chicken pox but he never had measles. You can confirm this in the Epistle to the Walmites in the Apocrypha.

Who did have measles? Search the holy writ. Google “measles god jesus the holy trinity a host of angels and saints true republicans” and see what you get. Nada.

And yet, as far as we can determine, by prayer and introspection, neither God nor Jesus was ever vaccinated!  Measles are caused not by invisible “germs,” but by sin, QED.

I was hired by the One True Megachurch as a greeter. My job was to watch for vaccination marks. Or “Satan’s Mark,” as Reverend Amoebes referred to it. Those with the mark were drawn into the church, placed in positions of power, and then blackmailed. The Reverend also had a thing for those marks, so there was some physical monkey business going on as well. I had no problem with the blackmail, as the receipts were used by the Reverend to  further the ends of the church. I wasn’t provided with the details.

It’s surprising how many different types of mark a measles vaccination can cause. Reverend Amoebes never tired of the variety.

Once the Reverend was through with them, the marked church members were banished.

Naturally, quite a bit of measles and mumps was to be found in the congregation, especially among the children, whereas in the rest of the city the diseases were practically nonexistent. The church was being tested by God. Once it passed the test, measles and mumps would break out all over the metropolitan area and everyone in the church would become immune. In the meantime, we were the Job of congregations, questioning not our suffering, everyone looking like spotted chipmunks with cheeks full of nuts.

Everyone but the Reverend, that is. Miraculously, he remained healthy.

So matters would have remained if I had not surprised the Reverend in his  study late one Sunday evening. Later he claimed that I was sneaking in to get at the chest containing his “slush fund.” I could have sworn he was in the vestry with Pearl Price at the time. She was moaning in there for sure. Was it just the itch?

In his study, the Reverend was changing out of his vestments. He liked to go downtown after midnight wearing black. When I walked in on him, he was between shirts and there on his arm was a vaccination mark.  No way I could miss it.

Now, I’m out on the street, unemployed. Obviously didn’t reach the slush fund. No market in town for my job specialty, not until the city comes to its senses and learns to detest vaccinations like I do.

What Would Jesus Do? #526

Dear WWJD, my daughter, who is only twelve, wants to wear a “training Wonder Bra.” These things are designed to accomplish one thing and one thing only and should definitely be banned and illegal. I told my daughter N O spells NO and now we aren’t speaking. How would Jesus handle this situation? #AngryWorriedMom

Dear AngryWorriedMom, in Jesus’ time, women wore an outer tunic over an inner tunic. The woman’s outer tunic was somewhat longer than the man’s (Isaiah 47:2; Jeremiah 13:2). Nothing was worn beneath the inner tunic (the coordinated bra-and-panties set had not yet been invented).

So we would need to explain to Jesus what the training Wonder Bra is. Also, we would need to explain to Him that a girl of twelve, these days, is not already married and starting a family. These days, attracting a husband has more to do with dress, makeup, and jewelry that with presenting a goodly dowry of sheep and goats.

Sadly, we would also have to make Jesus understand that today, the average tween girl  looks like a tart on the best of days.

Once He had learned all this, I believe, Jesus would seek out the factory where the training Wonder Bras are made and, growing wroth, would drive all the workers to without the structure (which is located in Shenzhen in Guangdong Province, China, 19.1 km from our Christ the Lord Christian Church, congregation 129, in that same city).