Monday, December 28, 2009

Holy Innocents

We expect brutish things of men like Herod, and me.

When women advocate the killing of children in the womb in a country that had until now accorded them protection, God help us.

H/T Martin Kelly

Sunday, December 27, 2009


My youngest boy was diagnosed coeliac just before Christmas and makes his First Holy Communion (God, Monsignor and the Curate willing) in May. He's fine but this will present problems with Communion.

Anyone have any pointers? Contributions from priests with experience or Catholic coeliacs (or parents of) most gratefully received

We don't do God

At this time of year, Christians take the opportunity to put the most important person in their lives at the heart of their Christmas.

"Season's Greetings" to you all.

Saturday, December 26, 2009


Friday, December 25, 2009

Behold, the Saviour!

1. The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

2. The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

3. The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

4. The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown.
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

Gilbert Keith (G. K.) Chesterton (1874 - 1936)

A Happy and Peaceful Christmas to you all. The boys and I will remember our blogging friends at Mass today.

Pax vobiscum!


Thursday, December 24, 2009

Switch on Radio 4. Now!

Monday, December 21, 2009

When men stop believing in God

Poor old Johnny Ball. Quite what a nice old chap was doing at an event like Nine Lessons and Carols for Godless People is anyone's guess. He made the fatal error at this event of questioning the orthodoxy of Anthropogenic Global Warming or Climate Change or whatever it's called this week. He was booed off before you could say "Dawkins"

Ball, 71, claimed that spiders’ flatulence was more damaging to the environment than fossil fuels, and criticised the “bad science” of global warming during a performance at a Christmas show in celebration of atheism and science.

Audience members at ‘Nine Lessons and Carols for Godless People’ at the Bloomsbury Theatre, London responded with slow handclaps, whistles, jeers until he left the stage.

They added: “A cry of ‘shame’ from the audience broke the dam, the boos started and a perplexed and shaken-looking Ball was finally forced from the stage.”

I used to like him as a kid and like many I gained a great love of science from his programmes. The BBC at its best. Sad that he discovered the hard way that if you want dogmatism and irrationality, don't look any further than where two or three atheists are gathered in Dawkins' name .


Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Atheism, hubris and fallen angels.

According to Charles Moore in this week's Spectator, organised atheists of the Dawkinsite variety turned up mob-handed to an Intelligence Squared debate in true Trotskite style to skew the vote towards their preferred result. The debate was 'Atheism is the New Fundamentalism' with Moore and the Anglican cleric Richard Harries against Dawkins and AC Grayling. You can watch the debate HERE.

Apparently such atheists have started calling themselves 'Brights' which recalls nothing other than Lucifer huimself (he was a pretty bright chap). Indeed such is their hubris that they are obviously unaware of Bright's Disease:

The Symptoms Of Bright's Disease
The consequences are increasing weakness and frequently emaciation, en-feeblement of the mental powers owing to the presence of effete products in the blood....

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Monday, December 07, 2009

But he's such a great orator...

Do you think this will make Have I Got News For You? Or Mock The Week?

Saturday, December 05, 2009

Cardinal Ratzinger prepares to meet Professor Küng

Du laberst mich an? Du laberst mich an?

[Sorry about the German sweary words]

Friday, December 04, 2009

Dress Down Friday - MiB

Peter Kaye. Comic genius.


Thursday, December 03, 2009


Mulier Fortis and The Crescat are after naff Nativities. The one above is the naffest I could find but the one below gives the impression of Our Blessed Lord having been born in Chernobyl.


Wednesday, December 02, 2009


...please, for my colleague whose 2 year old daughter lost her fight for life and died last night in her parents' arms. Pray that they and their wider family will find some peace and comfort in the grimmest of times.

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Labouring the point

We got back from London too late on Sunday for Mass in our parish but just in time to make evening Mass at the one down the road. It was interesting. Things are changing there. There is a new curate there with ideas about the Yoof. He'd certainly attracted a lot of Yoof to Mass (Good Thing) but then what they got was less than the Real Deal (and that's a Bad Thing).

We were accomodated in the choir loft because the musicians (drum kit, keyboards, saxophone(!), guitar, cello and warbly girl on mic) were occupying the front third of one side of the church. Naturally. They could have been in the loft but you can't hide young women in their late teens/early twenties when there's an audience for them. All wrong. Stunt their spiritual growth. Or something.

The music started. Paulinus Minor Major said "This sounds like a funky church, Dad". The words of the hymn were projected onto the wall powerpoint-stylee.

The priest wore a blue chasuble. This particluar church does not have the rare privilege of allowing blue vestments and this was not a feast of the BVM. The ten minute sermon took 9:30 to get to mentioning Our Lord. We had beggars by the bins mentioned (but no injunction to personal charity - just a denunciation of 'the system') and some stuff about Global Warming and Trident. At the collection the powerpoint presentation told me I had to support the church through a direct debit or standing order. I put my bawbees back in pocket. I'm sure Monsignor won't refuse the extra next Sunday back in my home parish.

For the readings we were all given candles to light. I was getting disoriented - was it Candlemas or Easter?

Out came the ceramic liturgical vessels and then the improvised preface and a rough approximation to EP2 with references to clergy expunged and 'sisters' always mentioned first. The host was raised at the offertory. "That is one big piece of bread, Dad" said one of my boys.

Eventually we were all dismissed to be nice people. Or whatever. As we came away Paulinus Minor Major (who spends some of his time these days with an iPod in his ears murmuring stuff about "wearing ma Rolex" in a Sarf London accent) said "The music wasn't right for church, Dad".

It's easy to sneer and I'll try not to. Mass is not about feelings. Whether it plainchant or Palestrina or Paul Potts, fiddlebacks or horseblankets, it's not about the aesthetics, important though they might be. It's about Jesus Christ and His eternal sacrifice bloodlessly made at the altar. I am grateful I had a priest to say Mass.

But Lordy, why does it have to be so laboured? At the end of the day the knowing chipping away at the signs eventually causes disorientation and we all turn away from looking upwards to God Almighty into one big cosy circle of self-affirmation.

As we were leaving the choir loft, there was a gaggle of young lads who at one stage in this church's history would have filled the sanctuary. Needless to say there were no acolytes at this church. This was Father's Gig. I know lads. No way in a million years would they be seen dead joining the singing with a group of girlies at the front. The music was pitched too high for their recently dropped voices anyway. So in our supposedly patriarchal Church the only thing they would be comfortable with (the choreographed liturgical action of serving ) is denied them and they slink to the back, any embryonic vocation snuffed out and stamped upon. Welcome, Yoof.

Sursum corda.