If it’s really true – my thoughts on Fr Phillips

If it’s really true, we need to pray.

We need to pray to Jesus Christ, sovereign priest, that this doesn’t turn out like another Fr John Corapi situation with an intransigent sinful priest.

We need to pray to Our Lady of Czestochowa that Fr Phillips serves out his final years in true repentance and atonement.

We need to pray to St John Vianney to intercede for the canons of the Canons Regular of St John Cantius, that they will persist in their vocations, and continue to attract new priests.

We need to pray for the intercession of the guardian angels of the parishioners of St John Cantius parish, that they hew close to the barque of Peter, no matter how fierce the waves crashing over it.

We need to pray to Our Lord for the other men involved, that they too will repent and atone.

We must not lose hope. We are all sinners. We are all capable of nearing the peak of the mountain, only to lose our footing and slide backwards, even tumbling head-over-heels and suffering serious, grievous injury.

It would be devastating, let’s be honest. Saturday night for me, after reading the news on Father John Zuhlsdorf’s blog… it felt like a family member died. How could this be? How could this man I regarded as a likely future saint possibly… And what fun our enemies will have.

We need to pray it isn’t true, but if it is, that he is forgiven.

St. John Cantius, pray for us, pray for Fr. C. Frank Phillips.


He will use Africa will chastise, purify the world

This morning’s front page of the Washington Post features a story on Africa’s incurable, often deadly monkeypox virus and how “scientists are racing to understand it before it goes global.”

Which got me thinking, God could be about to use Africa to purify the world and his Church.

The West is dying. It’s not having children. Its churches, convents, and monasteries are empty. It’s morally bankrupt, a new Sodom.

Africa is growing. Sub-Saharan African has some of the highest fertility rates on the planet. Holy Mother Church has gained tens of millions of new souls across the continent. The Church is in many ways going home. Holy men like Africa’s Robert Cardinal Sarah point us to the light of Truth amidst the fog of the West.

The West hasn’t seen a deadly epidemic since what, the Spanish Flu 100 years ago? Medical advances eradicated the threat of many deadly pathogens. But to paraphrase Jurassic Park, “Life finds a way.”

Perhaps it will be monkeypox. Perhaps another pathogen will evolve immunity to our antibiotics. But it would seem preeminently just that the Lord would choose his newest son to chastise and purify his oldest sons and daughters, wiping the slate clean as He’s done so many times throughout history.

Reflections on the death of my father


My father almost never went to mass when I was growing up. My mother took us children to our suburban parish’s 4pm Saturday anticipated mass. My father stayed home and took a nap. When we got home, us kids woke him. Mom baked a pizza, for Saturday was pizza night.

I recall us attending mass on Sundays on a few rare occasions, perhaps Palm Sunday. As an aside, I always felt revulsion at the folk singer guitar-and-tambourine group camped out on the right side of the altar at those Sunday masses. Saturday masses and the Wednesday school masses always had organist accompaniment. It was Mass.  But I digress. On Sundays, my mother did the weekly household laundry and ironing. It was anything but a day of rest for her.

Several times, I tried to ask my father why he didn’t go to mass, but he wouldn’t respond. As in, he literally would say nothing. There was stony silence. After a few tries, one got the message that you aren’t to ask that question. Accept that you will not know, just as you will not know how old your father is until your 5th grade religion class family tree assignment requires him to reveal his birth year. (Years later, you learn your father lied by several years to make himself seem younger. But I digress.) My father’s now dead and buried and I don’t know why he wouldn’t go to mass with us. I’m not ready to ask my mother. Part of me is afraid to find out some horrible truth, like he was an atheist or something.

Around age 25, I learned that my paternal grandfather had been Protestant. At that age, I was Catholic in name only, having stopped going to mass after leaving home for college, and fully immersed in the gay lifestyle. Nevertheless, I felt shock and shame that I wasn’t “pure” Catholic. My grandparents had a mixed marriage, it turned out, permitted by my Catholic grandmother’s family on the condition that any children would be raised Catholic.

All of my father’s schooling was Catholic: the Chicago neighborhood parish grade school, an all-boys Catholic high school staffed solely by priests, and a Catholic university. By the time my siblings and I were in Catholic grade school, all the teachers in our suburban parish school were laity. My father enjoyed telling us stories about the school sisters of his youth, and their strict discipline; How they’d rap you on the knuckles with a ruler, or make you stand in the corner, drag you by the ear, or otherwise ensure order though corporeal punishment, and how lucky us children were that our father didn’t whip our asses with a belt like grandpa had done to father. There was pass before school every day, in Latin, with the priest facing the altar. Strict parish boundaries meant my father had to walk a half-mile to his parish school, instead of going to the parish a block from his house. Later as a teenager, he took a bus or walked to a mile to high school.

After college, my father was drafted into the army, and then spent years focused on himself and building a career. He lived with his parents. Eventually, one of my father’s coworkers dragged my father to a Catholic singles dance where he met my mother.

My father openly told us children that he’d wanted a simple wedding ceremony at a courthouse in downtown Chicago. Instead, his Polish fiancé’s family engineered a big wedding, at a prestigious church, officiated by a prestigious cleric. Home movies shows my mother and father both kneeling at a prie dieu and receiving the Eucharist on the tongue at their wedding.

Children came. All were baptized Catholic and once again, home movies show my father attended. He went to our First Reconciliations, our First Communions, our Confirmation, and the rare “high holiday” Sunday mass. He always remained seated at Communion time.

When the nest was empty, and retirement from work accomplished, my mother became a Church Lady. She went to the Church Lady meetings, baked brownies for bake sales, and volunteered for parish garage sales, etc. It was then that my father resumes weekly mass attendance. I get the feeling it was more out of respect to my mother and avoiding her any further embarrassment for having a non-believing husband than any personal conversion.

Once, my mother told me my father went to confession at their parish because there was a visiting priest; Dad wouldn’t have to confess to the pastor who’d see him every week. So my father was a man of some pride. Again, until age 10 my father refused to tell us children how old he was! When I was 16 I found out (only by accident) how old he really was. Mother later told me that father didn’t want us to think of him as an “old man,” so he kept his age secret. I always thought that silly. Shouldn’t he expect us to love and respect him no matter how old he was?

I’m the last person in the family who saw Dad alive. As he lay sedated, wheezing, and dying two weeks ago Saturday, I stayed with him for a while after the rest of the family went home for the night. Kneeling down next to his bed, holding his hand, I asked him to accept Jesus, to forgive anyone he held a grudge against, and I implored Jesus to visit me with any suffering that would merit my father entrance into Purgatory at the least, if not Heaven.

The next morning, I woke up at 6:45am and lay in bed for a long time. After 20 minutes, mother phoned to say Dad passed away at 6:45.  I went to confession before Mass that morning and prayed for him throughout the Mass, offering the consecration of our Lord’s body, blood, soul, and divinity to God for mercy on the soul of my father.

Visitation and funeral

The visitation and funeral were several days later. A wise cousin counseled me that, “There are two times when a woman gets whatever she wants: The day she marries her husband, and the day she buries her husband.” I deferred to Mom on a lot of the wake and funeral arrangements and offered my input when asked. That meant “No” to the ugly 1970s holy card design she eyed, and instead selecting a traditional, overtly Catholic holy card design. It also meant requesting Eucharistic Prayer I (Roman Canon) and warning a sibling who’d asked to deliver a eulogy, “Do not canonize Dad.” I would not have made some (perhaps any) of the music selections Mother chose for the mass. I would have preferred not having to enter the sanctuary and read the Second Reading, but one has to choose their battles. On the whole, it was as solemn, reverent, and dignified as a suburban Novus Ordo funeral mass could be. (There were no Sanctus bells run at the consecration – that was jarring.) My family is not one for exuberant displays of emotion. Only a niece cried openly.

All dads go to Heaven?

I have it on the assurance of many well-wishers, one deacon, two priests, and a religious sister that my father is in Heaven. I lost count of how many well-wishers at the wake pledged to us that, “He’s in a better place.” I absent-mindedly replied to one lady, “We hope so…” Mother pursed her lips, flashed her familiar “Polish Mother look of disapproval,” and gently shoved me in the elbow. Oops.

As an aside, a thoughtful even brilliant relative brought in sandwich trays and cookies from Costco to the funeral home during the wake. The funeral home had a kitchen and lounge. When a family has to stand vigil with their dead for six or more hours, receiving a constant stream of visitors, the stomach does growl and leaving the premises to dine-out isn’t a practical option. Do consider this courtesy the next time a loved one must wake their dead! I’m grateful for the Church Ladies who literally dragged my mother by the arm to “go eat something.”

Near the end of the wake, a deacon from the parish led us all in prayer. He told us father’s in Heaven, in a better place. “But we need to pray for him.” At the funeral mass, the parish priest also canonized my father in the homily. A week later I attended a mass offered for my father and the priest and a religious sister again canonized him.

Our family has a younger relative who’s an open, obvious lesbian. My mother granted her request to serve as a pallbearer. The woman, whose hair is closely cropped, wore a man’s shirt and tie.

As I have no wife, I accompanied my mother in all the processions. She declined a graveside interment, to my disappointment, so we concluded the funeral at the cemetery chapel. Having kept a stiff upper lip since shedding tears Sunday morning, I nearly broke down as the bugler played taps after the American flag was removed and folded from my father’s casket. At the luncheon that followed, someone remarked on how “sonorous” I sounded delivering the Reading at Mass.


I was dismayed but not surprised that at no point during the wake or funeral did anyone mention Purgatory or Hell. I wonder if I’m the only person who’s truly prayed for mercy on my father’s soul, either before or after his passing. The wake should be about praying for the deceased. The funeral mass should be about offering sacrifice for the soul of the deceased. Neither are about canonizing them, or solely for the consolation of the family. Wasn’t it Our Lady of Fatima who said so many souls fall into Hell because they have no one to pray for them? I trust that the Lord heard my pleas, but as of yet, suffering has not visited me. Perhaps it may be many years, perhaps even requiring the sacrifice of my own life. So be it.

Every morning in the two weeks since my father died, I’ve lied in bed saying a rosary for him after I awaken.  In those two weeks of daily rosaries, I’ve experienced no serious temptation to impurity, my primary vice.

As the Church Militant, pray for the souls of your dead family and friends. Pray for the souls of the priests who baptized and ministered to you throughout your life. Pray for the poor souls in purgatory, the Church Suffering, for those souls forgotten, for those sisters, brothers, monks, priests, bishops, cardinals, and popes who have no one praying for them. Pray for those elderly Catholic men and women lingering in Purgatory, having been denied Catholic funerals by their apostate descendants. Pray to the souls in Heaven, the Church Triumphant, to intercede for you in your pursuit of holiness and obedience to the Gospels.

Lord, have mercy on the soul of my father. Daddy, if you’re in Heaven, pray for me.

WashPost story on Millennials and marriage

This Sunday morning, Amazon.com’s Washington Post tweeted a dusty three-day-old story about Millennials eschewing big weddings for small or no ceremonies, and “sharing” the wedding with friends and family via Facebook. The story’s headlined, “Forget the big wedding. More of today’s couples ‘include’ you through Facebook.

On the one hand, I was optimistic to see young people forgoing the pomp and materialism of what weddings have become. How many couples postpone marriage and cohabitant, fornicate, living publicly in sin, because they can’t “afford” to get married? Or at least, can’t afford what modern American culture tells them a proper wedding SHOULD be.

But the more I read on, the more apparent it became that things haven’t changed SO much — the marriage is still all about them, the couples, nay, the two individuals marrying.

Like their parents, Millennials view marriage as a contract, not a covenant. A man can enter into and terminate contracts, whereas a covenant only ends with the death of one or both parties. Marriage is about children. How do civilizations die? They stop having children. In summer 2016 the media reported that the US fertility rate’s fallen to its lowest point since record keeping began a hundred years ago.

Husband and wife are consecrated to a purpose above and beyond themselves, ... to populate earth and heaven

Husband and wife are consecrated to a purpose above and beyond themselves, … to populate earth and heaven

None of the Millennials profiled by Amazon married in an ecclesial community building, much less a Catholic Church. Instead they got married at courthouses or town halls.

Let me regale you with some of the more horrifying and telling quotes:

“We picked up the papers from the courthouse — it was really easy — and left to Starbucks”

“We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It was nice,” she says. “A little bit romantic even.”

“Weddings … aren’t really meant for you. They’re meant for your family and your friends”

And last but not least, the quote that would make any German bishop proud,

“The main point of a wedding is to ask people to support your journey”

So we may see more weddings as Millennials pare down the pomp and circumstance, but these are still a people who embrace abortion, contraception, redefining marriage to include men marrying men and women marrying women (but curiously not couples of three or more, or next of kin, or children, etc.).

Finally, I noted that writer Megan McDonough didn’t interview any homosexual or lesbian Millennial couples for this article. They dykes, I can see, would like going cheap on weddings. They’ve got several cats to keep fed, after all. Veterinarian visits aren’t cheap. But the homos love a big, fabulous bourgeois party.

Mazel tov, Millennials.

A year of cataloguing child sex abuse stories

Child sex abuse and pedophilia are not a Catholic problem, they are not a priest problem, they are an epidemic problem throughout our society, and they happen far more often than you realize.

I like to follow current events and read a lot of news. Over the years, I noticed how many news stories actually do document sexual crimes against children, but fly under the radar and don’t get top story / front-page treatment – typically unless they involve a Catholic priest.

So I decided to spend a year, from January 1, 2015 to December 31, 2015, tracking them on this blog to prove a point: This isn’t a Catholic priest problem. This is a societal epidemic that we don’t pay enough attention to, and it’s far more pervasive in our public school system than we want to face up to. A recent USA Today year-long investigation showed that.

The results:

  • 220 stories
  • 50 involving (mostly public) schools
  • 4 involving Catholic priests
  • Most centered in Chicago region

I stumbled upon these stories during my normal news consumption. I did not seek them out. I did not create Google News Alerts. I didn’t search media web sites for them. My catalogue’s not scientific.

The list includes stories about people (almost all males) accused of consuming or possessing child pornography. While those individuals may not have been charged with actually abusing a child, a child WAS abused in the production of those materials. It is not a “victimless crime!”

I used WordPress’ categories feature to track them under the category Crimes. I also slapped the tags priest and school where appropriate.

Prayer to St. Joseph

Saint Joseph, Guardian of virgins and father, to whose faithful care Christ Jesus, innocence itself, and Mary, Virgin of virgins, were entrusted, I ask and beg of thee, through these two dearest pledges, Jesus and Mary, preserve me from all defilement, and make it always possible for me unsullied in mind, pure in heart, and chaste in body to give to Jesus and Mary my holiest service. Amen.

(I recently found this prayer in my missal and have been praying it after the Sacrifice of the Mass on Sundays.)

A poor Church, for the poor

Quite soon after his election to the Petrine throne, his Holiness Pope Francis I said he wants “a poor Church, for the poor.” Through martyrdoms white and red, he shall have it, if perhaps some time following his pontificate.

As the world turns against Holy Mother Church and her children, those children shall suffer persecution, even the glorious crown of martyrdom. Primarily middle or upper class in social status (for the poor, in their pride and lust for earthly pleasures shall reject the Bride who would “deny” them their “freedoms”), faithful Catholics shall suffer the loss of status, employment, housing, civil rights, family, friendships, even their very lives. Catholics shall be cast to the periphery of society. They shall become the poor Church, for the poor.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

Thus She and her children shall evangelize, living the Gospel, converting the pagans. Upward, upward shall she rise, until she has swept up the whole into her arms and shepherds them forth, one nation, under God.

Football & the gender elephant in the room

Sitting here eating chips and salsa, watching Super Bowl L just for the commercials, it strikes me how this game is so masculine. Still.

All the players are men. All the coaching staff are men. The photographers on the sidelines? Men. The announcers? Men. That goes for most major sports. They are the domain of men.

All of that is kind of odd, given American culture’s disdain for men, for the masculine, for everything the masculine projects. With all the “equality” stuff in our culture, the I-can-sleep-with-anyone-and-don’t-judge-me, the I-can-be-any-gender-I-want-and-y0u-WILL-conform-to-my-fantasy, how oh how have major league sports, like the NFL, escaped?

Why aren’t Millennials boycotting the Super Bowl for not allowing women? Why aren’t Millennial teenage girls, or girls who think they’re boys, demanding the right to try out and MAKE their high school or college football teams? Why aren’t legions of bull dykes marching outside Levi Stadium demanding their “right” be play as defensive tackles? Why are there no female coaches in the NFL? Half of the US population has no part to play, literally play, in major league sports or events like the Super Bowl. Women are not “represented.” They are not being treated equally by “the patriarchal establishment” or whatever wording “the enlightened” are using nowadays.

I’m not saying I’m “pro-” women in major league sports. I don’t follow sports, I was never good at them, they bore me, there’s too much money involved, so it makes no difference to me if women play or not. But it’s peculiar that this industry’s thus far escaped the overarching cultural pressures on men to be less manly. Don’t you think?


Prayer to St Joseph for purity

Found this buried in the “Thanksgiving after Mass” section of my missal. What a prayer for men, all men, but especially those of us suffering from inherently disordered inclinations:

Saint Joseph, Guardian of virgins and father, to whose faithful care Christ Jesus, innocence itself, and Mary, Virgin of virgins, were entrusted, I ask and beg of thee, through these two dearest pledges, Jesus and Mary, preserve me from all defilement, and make it always possible for me unsullied in mind, pure in heart, and chaste in body to give to Jesus and Mary my holiest service. Amen.

Ex-‘Glee’ star Mark Salling accused of child porn possession

December 29, 2015

The Chicago Tribune carries an Associated Press story reporting,

Authorities say former “Glee” star Mark Salling has been arrested in Los Angeles for investigation of possessing child pornography.