Retreat!

 

I know, "retreat" sounds bad, like some kind of defeat, but this was good, a retreat  with the local chapter of the SSC (Society of the Holy Cross) at Camp Crucis, just outside Granbury. It's a fun drive if you take the country roads, 22 and 144 through Whitney, Meridian, Walnut Springs and Glen Rose, with long stretches of empty two lane highway running through the hills.

Not so long ago this was bandit country, the notorious haunt of outlaws and bootleggers and it still has, I always think, a frontier feel. You can imagine Indians on the hills and sure enough they were there, but now Granbury's home to marauding hordes of tourists instead of Commanche war bands and the camp's pleasantly distant from that.

Our schedule was simple, Morning Prayer, Low Mass, Evensong, Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament and a series of meditations on the priesthood. Plenty of time to have fun with fellow clergy too, all united in a common love of the Faith. And no, there weren't any priestesses performing transing liturgical dance to the beat of a unicorn's hooves. That's not allowed. 

Then, all too soon, it was time to head back to the Compound, uplifted in spirit. It was good to get away.

God bless,

LSP

Sunday Sermon

 

Trads, try not to scorn me but we use the new-fangled three year lectionary in the missions, which means today's Gospel was Luke 14:1, 7-14. Here, Jesus is at a feast held by a ruler of the pharisees and he gives, on the face of it, a simple warning against pride.

When you're invited to a wedding feast don't go for the seat of honor lest you're cast down in shame to a lower place. Instead, go for the lower place and be invited up. He concludes, "He who exalts himself will be humbled and he who humbles himself will be exalted."

How that must have stung in such exalted company. Woe to you pharisees! You tithe and go for the seats of honor at the synagogue, you make long prayers and while you're at it devour widow's houses. "Ye are as graves," spiritually dead.

We can imagine the dinner party's host shifting uneasily as he's served five star from his slaves, and we can also imagine the Savior holding the man's gaze, eye to eye. The Word pinning the darkness to itself, and of course the pharisee can't complain; God abhors the proud, they are repellent to him, the Law and Prophets make this clear. Our Lady exults, "He has cast down the mighty from their seat and exalted the humble and meek." But why are the proud so egregious in the eyes of God?

Because they're ugly in themselves. "Look at me, I am so very, very important," said the junior British Army officer, fresh out of Sandhurst. to the platoon and the world. I know, a certain arrogance goes with the trade, but still, no one likes that man, not me, not you, not God. Again, pride is the start of sin, a well-head of wickedness. What evil will a proud, self-obsessed, exalted man not commit? More seriously, this deluded, luciferean attitude of heart and mind, of soul, is idolatrous.

The proud man sets himself up against God, he's forgotten "it is he that hath made us and not we ourselves." And therein lies disaster, you cannot go against God, reality itself, and stand. The math doesn't work. What a warning to the pharisees, what a warning to our present age.

Are we not at the xenith, the pyramid peak of rebellion against God? What would the spirit of the age, the zeitgeist look like if was a person? Hideous thought. I tell you, its head would be so swollen with self-importance that it couldn't fit through the door posts of the narrow gate which leads to the marriage feast, to heaven. 

Caveat in mind,  what a blessing that the people of the missions and all over the world came together in humility to worship God, to adore Christ as their sovereign King and Lord, to hear his revealed Word and be nourished by the Sacrament of the Altar in which we find union with the one perfect sacrifice of our Savior.

Domine non sum dignus

May God give us the grace to go out into the world and invite the "maimed, the lame, the blind," all those wounded by sin, to the Feast, to the heavenly banquet, even as we ourselves have been invited by the author and perfecter of our faith.

Ad Maiorem,

LSP

Pray Hard Please

 

The text came in early this morning, "They think he's developed pneumonia. White blood cell counts are up and organs don't look good. We could lose him today." 

This was my friend and MC at one of the missions, a man I'd worshiped with at the Altar, Sunday by Sunday, for the past thirteen years. An outstanding athlete in his day, he's now on a ventilator. 

So I dropped everything and drove to an ICU in Waco to administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction, and offer the prayers of the Church. “Go forth, Christian soul..." and if it's God's will, return to health. I'll be honest, everyone's praying for a miracle and I''m asking you to do so too.

He was and is a good man. Nothing remotely fake about him, he called his shots as he saw them and if he didn't suffer fools gladly was always good to me, sometimes in a tough way.

For example, a few years back I was laid up in bed with a broken hip, thanks to a mad Arab, and I called my friend on Saturday morning, "Hey, have you got a priest to cover the Mass tomorrow?" A short pause, "No, I haven't." I thought for a moment, mind like a steel trap, "Why not?" A shorter pause, "Because you're doing it."

Not wanting to seem like a pathetic soy of a wimp I rolled up to the Altar the next day on a walker and said Mass, MC at my side. One his daughters took a photo and produced a meme, when an old cowboy bullies his priest into saying Mass with a broken leg. Ha. But hey, he was right, got me moving.

I say again, please pray for a miracle and in the absence of a sign, for the angels to escort this good soul to paradise.

LSP

Yet More Fog

 

It's another day of mist and mellow fruitfulness in bucolic olde Texas. And I like that, it reminds me of strolling about in the Cairngorms, Snowdonia or 'Nam. That'd be Cheltenham, obviously. This in mind, it's good to see our ancient adversary turn from blazing, stupid hot to something else. Nice. Climate Change, bring it on.

Climatic context set, there we were in the sacristy of Mission #2 this morning, getting ready for the sacred mysteries when the Junior Warden knocked on the door.

"Come in!" I uttered, like Stentor himself, and he did. "What's up, Chief?" he was one, "Thought you might like these," he replied. I looked at the offered copies of NRA's latest MAGAzines and said, "Thank you very much." And then, turning to the Altar Party, "Gentlemen, let us pray," and we did.

An acolyte was heard to mutter, "You know you're in a country parish in Texas when..." And I fixed him with a lazerlike eye as we prepared to process, "Quite." Come and take it was left unsaid. I tell you, they're a good and faithful crew. Praise God for that.

This lifts my spirits and I hope yours too.

Spero in Deo!

LSP

Just Taking a Break

 

Unlike Satan, I try to take some time off after Christmas and usually fly to Calgary, which is fun but wasn't on the cards because of the China Virus. So I pointed the rig at Dallas and went there instead. Big fun, presents, dogs, and family, and a delicious rib roast. 

The roast became a beef and mushroom pie on Boxing day, but that was after a haircut at Ramone's and a pint of Guinness at Cannon's.

Cannon's advertises itself as an Irish Pub and serves Irish style food, like bangers and mash, chicken curry and an "Irish Breakfast." The breakfast costs $18. 

We all went to Mass at St. Matthias on Sunday, and it was good to sit in the pew as incense rose like the prayers of the saints. I like that church and its Rector, and we made plans to go skeet shooting in the next week or so. Always fun to get out and blast away at the clay adversary.

And that, punters, is the story of that.

Cheers,

LSP

Happy Easter!

Storms, adventure, the silvery light, just another April morning in Texas at 3 am, as lightning split the sky, thunder crashed from the heavens and the house shook at the sheer, board-quaking fury of it. Well, it woke me up, I can tell you. A few hours later it was time to walk Blue PsyOp and get the show on the road, Easter Day style.

We strolled by the Meth Shack, the Pick 'n Steal and then back to base and picked up a server. He helped set up for Mass on the front steps of Mission #1. It went well,  the people staying in their cars at the curb of the thing. Next step?

Drive to the lake. No, not on some kind of fishing expedition, this was all about the second Mass, celebrated in the car park of Mission #2. It went well under a pop-up, though the audio part of "AV" was annoyingly imperfect. 

No matter, the Sacrament was confected, the people fed and there it was, Christus Surrexit. We even had a cop to make sure no one got rowdy or outta line. He used to run Dallas SWAT, good man. Carries a SIG, curiously.

Then, mission accomplished, I visited some churchpeople for lunch. What a good crew, descendants of Ranch 101 and rodeo stars to boot. Consensus 'round the table was that China's made an act of war, and that we should kick their butt 'round the block and six ways to sideways. Like no dam foolin. 

Here's the thing. Hitler and the Rising Sun mistook US forbearance for weakness. Big error, right, so watch out, Xi. Keen-eyed readers will note a ChiCom ship caught fire in dock the other day. Sorry, does this lack NYT CCP nuance?

Happy Easter! In Christ we have the Victory,

LSP

Gone to the Dogs

There's a good new tradition here - ecumenical dog trials, which take place at the local Cowboy Church's arena. Our Mission provided the food; pulled pork and brisket today and very tasty it was too.

So was the canine action, with plenty of sharp work between the hooves. The average score came in at around 7 minutes and 30 points, with the best achieving double that in the same time. I'd say the skills are similar but it's altogether more high energy than the sheep variant, not that there's anything wrong with that either.

After the dogs it was down to the hospital to visit the sick, say Evening Prayer then visit the horses. They seemed well; I'm looking forward to working with the new mare tomorrow after Mass.

Cheers,

LSP

Barnyard Face-Off

Lent seems to be proceeding apace and with it an increase in neighbouring poultry, which kick up a row at most hours of the day and night. Sometimes they fire up the local dogs, who answer their strangled crows with fierce barking, but there seems to be less of that lately, thank God.

I tell you, it's not easy to concentrate on the sacred mysteries of the Mass when there's some kind of barnyard face-off between bird and pitbull.

Still, there's plenty of peace of mind to be gained from riding and shooting; who knows, maybe one day I'll be good at both - at once.

I'd say that was a fine ambition, unlike the strange new "hate database" for children in the U.K., where there's evidently a rash of overweight preteens calling each other "gay boy".

Just say no to dhimmitude.

LSP