I think God was preventing me from getting myself any more upset than I already was this week. I joked with Travel Man that Obamacare made me sick because I had a fever Monday through Thursday at about noon.
Turns out, I missed Masses and the Mission all week, and according to my friends who went, it was a blessing. Content wasn’t bad, but the Q&A sessions went in all kinds of directions, to the point that one exasperated woman stood up and asked, “Why are you even Catholic, then?”
I fantasize about Father Corapi being our Mission Leader for Lent. Or Father Groeschel. Some sort of priest who wears a habit or his clerics or something identifying him as a religious. Someone who still crosses himself when he passes a Catholic church and doesn’t make snorting noises about the magisterium or say that Luke wrote St. John’s Gospel or ad lib some of the prayers at Mass.
But in the meantime, I’ll be in thanksgiving for our pastor, who told me today that he can’t break Lenten fast on Sundays because he “feels like it’s cheating.” Who speaks out against cohabitation, contraception, fornication, masturbation, abortion, euthanasia, and who sings the Agnus Dei during his weekday Masses.