Wednesday, December 26, 2012

36...Nice number, but who are you folks, anyway?

I got phished over the holiday. The upshot, email contacts hacked, no major blowback yet, knock on wood. But in the amazing arcane process of trying to recover stuff, change stuff, make it all better, I, along with my ATT-Uverse, Internet Explorer, Google and Java pals human and borg, eventually got around to discovering I couldn't sign into my blog account. So, I randomly tried thinking like a toolbar, went into Internet Options and changed a few buttons. TaDa.
So then I find my dashboard and there are 36 of you people who've visited me today. And I haven't posted since Newtown. I've been rather quiet due to both the gig and a major bronchial infection. But, we (me and she who is to obey and who got a major cold the Night Before Christmas) got through the requisite four hour Midnight Mass and two others, and yet live to tell the tale. I'll get around to that.
Happily, I didn't in all this computer process cr*p didn't lose access to sites. So, one of my favorites is "CRISIS" which published the Holy Father's address to the College of Cardinals, Curia and the Governate. Here's the address:
I got through about half in which Papa reminds us all about the precipice humanity currently teeters at, and then moves onto the larger issue of what's Church got to do with it, got to do with it? This quote from the address stopped me dead in my tracks-

The Church represents the memory of what it means to be human in the face of a civilization of forgetfulness, which knows only itself and its own criteria.
 In my most truest and sometimes cynical moments I reduce the Church to the "splainer" of what we hope or fear is in store for us when we die. (Death comes before taxes, remember?)
The Catholic Church knows from death. Andrew Lloyd Webber and others may have made maudlin money aka "filthy lucre" off that adage that our hero and savior also knew from death and stared it down for three agonizing hours while never stopping to love ALL of us who mostly and mutely watched, like dumb rubber-neckers passed a nasty crash. Oh, and then what did He do before changing the Universe that first Easter morn? Oh yeah, went down to Georgia, I meant Hell, probably whispered in Lucifer's ear "We still love ya, bro', but you're still goin' down!" before gathering Abel, Moses, Abraham and the lot of 'em and transporting them through the pearlies.
"And became incarnate...." At once human and divine. And we aren't a hunnert percent sure that He passed His Word (He IS-The WORD!) onto to Simon Cephas? "Here's the keys, Rock, take care of Her best you can 'cause it's gonna run forever, dings or no dings, same here as in heaven. Do some good with Her, Pete, really."
We are a craven bunch, we humans. Within the skin and facade that holds the nastiness of pus, blood, waste, disease and decay still lies hearts that love and hurt, minds that know what is right to do and yet are self-disabled sometimes when choosing by themselves, and souls, some of whom can look in a mirror, and some who cannot. "Lord, to whom shall we go?" Indeed.
O come, O come.

O sweet mystery of life...."born to give us second birth."
If you 36 are among some of my buds at CMAA, yes you're right. Incoherent. rambling, pointless. And contrary to what my public persona jokes, I really don't enjoy being an enigma. I do like joking and messing with you, sometimes.
But when I forget, The Church will remember for me, remind me, remand me to her bosom, and help redeem me, so help me God.

I'll spill the beans about musical Christmas here in CenCA next time around.

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