All In A Day

 

First up, brew strong covfeve on the Compound's annoyingly electric stovetop, must get a gas variant, so much better. Regardless, I use one of those Pedrini espresso contraptions, which offers up the right stuff, at least for me. Perhaps you have a different method and that's fine, no rule. Coffee on the go, feed the dog on the back porch, scan Telegram channels for Ost Front news, and go back in the house, your coffee's ready.

Drink that, take a morning constitutional to the Pick 'n Steal, run through your homily on the Front Porch, it should be memorized, then launch into Mass #1. This is said, oriented, Rite I 1979 BCP, Which means, all you liturgical trads, that it's seemly and in order, if not in Latin. OK, maybe that's a defect, but liturgical Tudor ain't bad either.

The sacrifice ascended, get in the rig and drive to the lake for Mass #2. This too is oriented, face the East and rising sun all you priests, who are supposed to lead the people towards the risen Christ as opposed to chairing some kind of circular Punch 'n Judy show. Well, there's room for that too, perhaps, but this Mass is sung and again, all is seemly, reverent and in order, in a country mission kind of way.

Curiously, the people won't leave their seats until all the candles have been put out on the Altar after Mass. "I say," I asked a former Provost of Baylor who attends faithfully, "Are we all Zeroastrians now?" He chuckled in a provostian kind of way, but surely it's a good thing for the congregation to sit in silent prayer for a few minutes after Mass. In fact, we're supposed to give thanks for inestimable benefit of the sacrament we've received and so reverent silence is by no means out of place. And then?

After a few sunny hellos, climb back in the rig to give Last Rites or Extreme Unction to man in ICU in Cleburne. He's a good man and a faithful, devout, catholic Christian who ran into a cactus and got spiked by a needle. The wound became infected and he, in his '80s, fell into grievous condition. You might pray for him, his name is Jack.

Sickbed seen to, head for home and, if you're me, try to take a short nap. But how can you when the times we live in are so interesting, if appalling. Question: How did Trump's security team fail to surveil the shooter's position and, if they'd done so, why did they allow the boy to loose off a few rounds? Rumors of malfeasance abound.

Your Old Buddy,

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

Last Rites

Sometimes clergy are asked to administer the sacrament of extreme unction, of anointing the sick when they're close to death. It's a powerful and, for me, emotional rite. Consider this prayer:

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, let there be extinguished in you all power of the devil by the imposition of our hands, and by the invocation of the glorious and holy Mother of God, the Virgin Mary, and of her illustrious Spouse, St. Joseph, and of all the holy Angels, Archangels, Patriarchs, Prophets, Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, and of all the saints together. Amen.

I tell you, these prayers have great efficacy. Or, to quote a Baptist friend of mine, "You sure prayed the Devil out of her!" The woman in question made a full recovery, leaving the doctors relieved if bewildered. 

I'd gone to the hospital straight from a ride, all Wranglers, boots and hat. I don't know if there's a corollary between that and the miracle.

God bless,

LSP

The Crying Towel

When I'm feeling pathetically sorry for myself and tempted to snivel into a crying towel, I reflect on the woman I visited in ICU this morning.

That puts things in perspective right away.

God bless,

LSP