I’m chuckling to myself. My father smoked a pipe packed with Prince Albert from his late teens until he died at age 80. He even resembled Prince Albert. But I digress. Dad was an actuary and insisted based upon fed gov studies from the late 1960’s that pipe smokers had a higher life expectancy than non-smokers. For the record, the same studies he cited put cigar smokers at even odds and cigarette smokers came in lower. This was all in the aggregate and the differences in life expectancy were all within a few years of each other. But the numbers don’t lie, he’d say. I am not encouraging anyone to take up smoking, so were clear; but I do enjoy sucking smoky goodness into my lungs and breathing it out.
I remember buying a pipe when I was 18. I guess a predilection for tobacco runs in the genes. I proudly showed my dad who proudly took the pipe out of my hand and removed the filter.
“Now you can smoke like a man,” he said.
I just never got the hang of it, though, and I reverted to Marlboros. Here we are 27 years later and I still think I’ll give it another go – despite the fact that stuff is harder to come by than honest journalism in Ferndale. As a kid I could go into the pharmacy and it was right behind the counter. Now you’d think it was fentanyl.
And in case you’re wondering why I mentioned Lent? It’s because I’m also using it to step down off of tobacco for Lent. I’m trying, folks. This time, though, I may leave the filter in.
Many of you know by now that I spent a good part of my adult life teaching the Catholic faith. I did so primarily to high school students but also taught a few elementary grades here and there as needed. When I was a vice principal at a large Catholic grammar school we had an outbreak of the flu. The principal insisted we keep the school open so we wouldn’t “lose the days” despite 60% of the faculty being out sick. As I have a pretty strong immune system and I was the guy responsible for placing subs, I eventually had to place myself into a second grade classroom. More than half the students were home sick. Nonetheless, it was fun working with that group. My point in all this is that I had a career in teaching. I love teaching, especially teaching the Catholic faith. I homeschool my kids full time now because I can humbly say that no one is going to do a better job at this than me and because this is the single most important thing I can do for my kids in these insane days. It’s a sacrifice for sure. We’ll talk about that in another post. But I do it because of love on many fronts.
Tonight, the son of a friend of mine called and asked if I could help him with a theology paper. He come to the house with his laptop and notes. The topic was the Eucharist. A ten page paper is due this week. For me, it was like I never left the classroom. Only this time, I was in my kitchen. I even made an order of one of my favorite Jersey side dishes – disco fries – for the lad and I to munch on while blockquoting selections from Justin Martyr and Adrian Fortescue. Side note: disco fries can be ordered in any Jersey diner. They consist of steak fries covered in mozzarella and gravy. It’s kind of a poor man’s poutine. Needless to say, I think this young man is going to do very well.
I tell this story because I am thankful for the opportunity to be able to pass on what I have received. I don’t always see that where my own kids are concerned because of the familiarity aspect. And trust me, I’m not going back to a classroom anytime soon. For so many reasons, I don’t see it happening. Come to think of it, the second the bosses heard my thoughts on the antipapacy, they’d surely axe me.
So between this blog and the random child of a friend who needs help with a paper I will content myself.
This thought has been on my mind most of the week.
I’m trying to figure out the best way to ask my pastor how he intends to lead me “back into the Novus Ordo” when I don’t want to go. More to the point, I’m wondering how he intends to answer that question about me and my fellow parishioners when the bishop is forced to ask him.
Pray for your priests. Pray especially for trad priests. Satan will use their desire to be virtuous – particularly in the practice of obedience – as a cudgel with which to bludgeon them. I think of the vestments in the ancient Mass – how the priest crosses his stole in front and tucks it under his cincture. That same pastor I mentioned above once told me about the symbolism. “The priest,” he said, “is bound to the Mass.” Pray Our Lord, Who was bound and led to His cross, strengthen them.
“…Thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and lead thee whither thou wouldst not.”
Jn. 21:18
From the St. Joseph Edition, Baltimore Catechism. I include the picture because of the inset picture of Our Lord offering His Sacrifice through the person of His priest. The text is, bizarrely, from one of the interim missals used sometime between 1965-1970.
Today we celebrated the feast day of St. Scholastica, the twin sister of St. Benedict. I have a great devotion to St. Benedict and also to St. Scholastica. I myself have a twin sister. I guess you might say it’s a twin thing. Side note: I have a friend who is a priest with a traditional order Society of Apostolic Life who happens to have an identical twin brother. Fr. once remarked in my presence (clearly forgetting that I am a fraternal twin) that “fraternal twins are freaks of nature” and that identical twins are somehow the “more natural” variety. This is pure nonsense. I began my life from two distinct cells that were created just for my existence; not split off from someone else’s earmarked ovum. I jest, of course, but being one half of a boy-girl fraternal twin set has always given me a sense of unusual pride. My twin sister died when we were children but that doesn’t negate the relationship. If anything, I’d say it makes for a stronger bond. I was created at the same moment (more or less) with someone who went before the throne of Almighty God long before me. Presumably she prays for me. I have always known that I was somehow protected and I do not take it for granted.
And what is that twin bond of which they speak? It is hard to describe to singletons; but it is very real. I have heard stories from my early childhood, for instance, of how she was the “brains” of the operation and I was the “brawn”. She would hatch plots to, say, get us out of our playpen, do some kind of twin mind-meld with me, and then I would carry out the heavy lifting which usually resulted in a pinched finger or two. She could see how things needed to be done and I could do those things. We worked well together. I have the scars to prove it.
People ask me what it’s like to be a “twinless twin”. That’s the term for the infinitesimally small percentage of people worldwide like me. All I can say is that the bond doesn’t die. I still talk to her daily. And all of the behavior traits that I developed in the womb are still imbedded in me to this day. For instance, having started my existence with a roommate I find it incredibly painful being alone. I love having people around me pretty much all the time. I thrive on it. I also continue to work best in situations where I am given very clear instructions on what to do and then I do it. Ikea furniture? I’m your guy. Recipes? I can follow like the best of them. This isn’t to say that I lack imagination. I am an accomplished pianist, for instance, but I would be the worst jazz pianist ever because there’s no set script. I also had to learn early on to adapt myself to things that did not come naturally to me. For instance, I, the “quiet twin”, am a proficient public speaker. But at the end of the day I am a wandering man of sorts. I will probably always have a sense of intrigue as to what my life would be like if things had gone differently and yet I have hope that I may get to find that out eventually.
All this by way of coming back around to St. Scholastica. Benedict’s twin founded the order of Benedictine Nuns. She loved her brother and I have read that the devotion was mutual. The poignant story recounting the last time they saw each other on earth comes to us from St. Gregory the Great. The story goes that Benedict had gone to visit his sister in her monastery. They spent the day reveling in each other’s company. I imagine they shared much laughter over things that the people around them couldn’t possibly understand. As the day drew to a close Scholastica begged her brother to stay longer. Benedict was adamant. A monk should be in his cell at night. It was the rule. It was HIS rule. Scholastica, ever filled with supernatural charity – with deepest and true love – placed her head in her hands and began to pray and to weep. A storm of immense magnitude arose and Benedict, unable to leave, blurted, “Sister, what have you done?!” As I have always heard it, her response was simply, “You wouldn’t listen to my request so I asked God.”
Benedict remained through the night and the two said their goodbyes. Several days later, Benedict had a vision wherein he saw the soul of his beloved twin sister ascending to heaven in the form of a dove. In the collect at today’s Mass, we read the following:
O God, Who, to show us the way of innocence, caused the soul of Your Virgin, blessed Scholastica, to fly up to heaven in the likeness of a dove, grant us, through her merits and prayers, to live innocently so that we may be found worthy to reach everlasting joys.
Benedict sent for her body and had it placed in the tomb that had been prepared for him; and for a time, Benedict was a twinless twin.
Their bodies repose together awaiting the general judgment. Their souls are in heaven together for eternity.
One of the things that I have always loved about the Catholic faith, going way back to my childhood when my mom decided to try her hand at homeschooling as I was going into the 7th grade, is the glorious company of the saints. The early martyrs, especially, captivate me. It is an inspiration to consider their lives and realize that we have, in them, proof that we sinful men, by the grace of God, can indeed achieve the Beatific Vision. They are heroes in the truest sense. I revel in their humanity, a nature shared with each of us and with Our Lord. Above all I love that they live now to intercede for us. And I really love the sense of humor embedded in the sensus fidelium. St. Lawrence, anyone? The man gives his life for Christ by being slow roasted and becomes patron saint of… cooks.
Dig Those Chompers!
Along those lines we encounter a marvelous saint to whom I have frequently had recourse. This morning I took my daughter to the dentist. She was concerned about an erupting molar. Was it a wisdom tooth? At 13 she is a little young for those but it’s not impossible. After taking X-rays, the dentist sat her in the chair and looked inside her mouth. “Flawless,” he said, or something to that effect. “I can tell you brush often.” It is true. She takes good care of her teeth. “Wait until you meet her brother in a few weeks,” I said. Boys… After checking out of the dentist’s office, I headed off to Mass. A little rushed because of traffic, I slipped into the back of the church and grabbed a seat next to my mother-in-law. As Father ascended the altar steps, I flipped through my missal. By the way, Feds, that’s m-i-s-s-a-l. It’s a prayer book. Anyway, I came across today’s saint – Cyril of Alexandria. Cyril was a bishop and Doctor of the Church who defended the Blessed Mother’s Divine Maternity against the Nestorians.
The Shrine of the Miraculous Medal, Philadelphia, PA (courtesy: St. Luke’s Gallery)
But burried down beneath the Introit was a note that today is also the commemoration of my girl, St. Apollonia! Apollonia was beaten by the persecutors of the faith; beaten to the extent her teeth were either all knocked out or literally plucked out with pliers. A fire was lit to threaten her and break her spirit. Apollonia, knowing she would never renounce her faith – the Traditional Catholic faith – jumped into the fire and gave her life to Christ. All this happened in the year 249. She is the patron of dentists. Ha ha. Manys-a-time I have invoked her prayers during a root canal.
Side note: one might wonder why the “reformed” Roman Calendar of NuChurch eliminated the public celebration of so many of these ancient martyrs. It’s almost as if they don’t want us to learn from their example or something.
Don’t You Just Hate Being Left Out?
And then there’s Gary V. He must be beside himself that Mike Matt and the Fatima Center were both specifically named in that FBI memo yesterday and he was not. Poor Gar’. First Clairol stopped making Nordic Blonde #10B and now this. That’s gotta’ smart, man.
Once again, much thanks to my friend Andrew at St. Luke’s Gallery for sharing beautiful and inspiring art.
As if worrying about the lady who rode to Mass on a horse because, “hey, it’s Texas and why not?” wasn’t enough; now I have to try to figure out who the mole is.
Well, I know it’s not my mother-in-law.
I know it’s not the priests.
Pretty sure it’s not the choir director.
From the people who engineered the papal “resignation” and “2013 conclave”, now we get an SLPC-inspired literal infiltration of our TLM parishes.
Collection of Sacred Relics, National Shrine of St. Rita of Cascia, Philadelphia, PA (courtesy, St. Luke’s Gallery)
Remember murder hornets? I suspect this is another distraction like that. But to be on the safe side, remember that loose lips sink ships.
Good thing our Masses are not dialogue Masses.
St John Nepomucene with your finger pressed against your lips reminding us to be quiet, pray for us.
Also, I’m pretty sure I’ve been on at least one watchlist for years now, so whatever… Bring it.
Folks, I got off all that social media nonsense a while ago. Sorry but I'm not on Twitbook, Facepalm, YouHu, WingWang or any of the others. Maybe an event will happen to make me change my mind like Peter and Paul coming down with flaming swords and commanding it be so. Until then, read the blog and if you feel a comment is in order or you feel like sharing a tip or suggestion for a topic, email me at harvey@harveymillican.com.
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 