Tonight, dear friends, I traveled to the Fatherland – Nova Caesaria.
This morning I went to Mass for the Fourth Day in the Christmas Octave and the Feast of the Holy Innocents. These were the baby boys slaughtered ruthlessly by Herod out of blind rage and jealousy. They are called Martyrs by the Church. We sang the Coventry Carol after the Leonine prayers. Rachel weeps…
In my travels, I glanced out the window and from about 700 feet I noticed, in the dark, a most familiar sight as we were landing. It is the cemetery wherein my twin sister is buried along with two brothers who died at the same time, as children. There are others in the plot. Two other brothers who died as adults, and my dad. But there are also a niece and a great-nephew (practically babies). There’s also a rando in there. Don’t ask.
That dark polygon is the cemetery at night.
The death of a child certainly teaches one many lessons about the faith. Perhaps one day I will share some of those lessons. But for now, on this fourth day of Christmas, I was happy that God saw fit to fly me over the twin’s grave. I waved from the air. Tomorrow I shall go lay flowers and wish her a Merry Christmas in person.
Boy this week keeps getting better! In the blurb in my missal this morning I read the following:
“St. John is the virgin Apostle, crowned with the halo of those who know how to conquer their flesh; for this reason, he became ‘the disciple whom Jesus loved.’ Thanks to his angelic purity, he imbibed that wholesome wisdom of which the Epistle of the Mass speaks and which has given to him the halo of the Doctors. Finally he received the crown of the Martyrs, since he barely escaped a violent death…”
There you have it, folks. He knew how to conquer the flesh and Jesus loved him.
I suspect not a few of us in this movement still need to work on this. We need to work on it as if our lives depended upon it because they actually do. Our whole life must be about subjugating the appetites to the will of God, starting with the appetites of the flesh – be they food, drink, or anger, or lust. Learn from St. John.
Fr. Dave Nix had a piece last week wherein he offered the advice of St. Alphonsus Liguori that frequently making the sign of the cross is an invaluable aid. I began incorporating this practice in my daily life, especially when passing the crucifixes hanging in my house, and noticed an immediate difference. One cannot help but be drawn to pause for a moment and dwell on the mystery of the Trinity and the power of the Cross.
I leave you with a meme. Completely unrelated, I know, but a friend sent this along to me and I just love it. With a nod to Miss B. who faithfully shares all the best memes every week. What would we do without her?
I have always found these days after Christmas to be among the most peaceful of the year. I heard it described once as the week where we lose all track of time. I like to continue the celebration of Christmas Day throughout the week. I also like to catch up on some much needed sleep. Unfortunately for me, that rarely happens.
On Christmas Eve, I began my day at 6AM as I do most days with the first recitation of the Angelus. Some mornings I go back to bed for a while but most mornings I putz around, drinking my coffee, saying my prayers, and catching up on the news of the day before beginning any real work. On this day, I didn’t get a chance to be lazy. First it was off to Mass for the Vigil of Christmas, then breakfast, a trip to the cemetery, and some last minute shopping. In fact I wrote about these plans two nights ago. It’s all in the post.
That day ended on the highest of notes. We got to the church at 10 to get a seat for the midnight Mass. We need a new church but in the current climate, the Argentine’s wily ways seem to be putting a damper on those plans. Nonetheless, four hours and fifteen minutes later, we headed home and this dog got to lie down and sleep until…
6:30 Christmas morning: my teenage daughter, who should know better, bounded into my bedroom excitedly saying something about opening presents and blah blah blah. She could have at least brought me some coffee. The fun of the morning and the presents over, my wife and I spent the day doing something we do best and which has always bonded us together. We entertained. We prepared a sit-down dinner for 30. I’d go over the menu but it’s really not important. OK, it was beef tenderloin, crab cakes, mushroom and sherry bisque. Simple fare.
My point in all this is that I did not get to bed that night until 1:30. I need sleep. And I got some, not all, but some of the slumber I desired. I said once long ago that God knows what we want and occasionally, if we let Him, He denies us those things to help us shorten our Purgatory. For me it’s sleep. I really enjoy a good snooze. Since becoming a dad lo these many years ago now I have gotten less and less of it. I understand there’s plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead. As long as I still have coffee, I can win this battle.
This morning – the feast of St. Stephen, Second Day in the Octave of Christmas, I slept a little extra. Praised be Jesus Christ!
And where’s that French connection of which I spoke?
Ah yes! I went to confession this morning at a church I do not usually attend. On my way out I stopped to look at the Stations of the Cross and noticed they were in the lingua Franca. Seems the church was originally staffed by Vincentian Fathers.
Here are some of the pictures I took. Let’s see what fun things the rest of the week brings and until next time, I pray the peace of the Newborn King be with you.
“In the child Jesus, The defenselessness of God is apparent. He comes without weapons, because he does not want to conquer us from outside but desires to win and transform us from within. If anything can conquer man’s vainglory, his violence, his greed, it is the vulnerability of the child. God assumed this vulnerability in order to conquer us and lead us to Himself.”
Then-Cardinal Ratzinger, as quoted in a collection of essays on religious artwork (which name escapes me)
I ask in hindsight, how did we expect Him to come among us? He desires to capture our hearts and for us to fall in love with Him. When my first child was born, I called my sister to share the joyous news. Her words still sit with me very deeply. “Did you ever imagine you could be so in love with someone so instantly?” The truth is that it took even me by surprise. But God, in His wonderful Providence, created us to love the little child immediately and to love that child with a ferocity that would cause a man to lay down his life for that baby without question. This is why He came among us as a Babe in the manger, defenseless. He already loves us. He wants us to share in that love and to be in love with Him.
Take in the wonder of this most holy night when God appeared among man, guarded by humble shepherds and lauded by His holy angels. In the piercing cold in Bethlehem, He Who Is showed us His tiny, precious face. Yes, that face would one day be marred by our sins. But I’m this moment, be in love.
Merry Christmas to all!
Incarnate Word, Son of God and Son of Mary, have mercy on us poor sinners who kneel before Thy crib!
We are now on the cusp of the Vigil of Christmas. We have made it, ready or not, through the four weeks of Advent – waiting, praying, watching for Our Lord’s coming.
In the morning, my teenage son and I will wake up early and do a few very important things. First, we will go to Mass. If you are reading this, please pay heed to these words. Although the daily Mass is not obligatory for anyone, I cannot imagine why anyone – let alone any man with a wife and children – wouldn’t move heaven and earth to avail himself of this greatest treasure. Remember, He came among us as a Babe specifically to die for us as a Man, to ransom us from our sins. Every day He gives us to come to His altar, His Calvary, to worship Him.
We’ll probably go for a little breakfast. Have to nourish ourselves for the day ahead.
Then we will head to the cemetery to visit the grave of a man we never knew.
After I moved here I discovered the story of a police officer who died in the line of duty. He was ambushed and murdered by the notorious gang, the Texas Seven, on Christmas Eve. He had been eating dinner at an Olive Garden with his young son when he responded to the radio call of a robbery in progress. He was nearby. He said goodbye to his boy and headed to his demise. My boy and I have taken to visiting his grave on Christmas Eve, his anniversary, laying down some flowers, and offering prayers for his soul. It reminds us both of the fragility of life which reminds us of something I find myself saying to him (and anyone else who will listen): Stay confessed!
A family gathering with my wife’s mother’s side of the family and then…
Midnight Mass. At midnight!
There’s still plenty to do before then. Presently, my daughter and I are watching yet another Hallmark Christmas movie. It’s become our thing. Again I say, if you give me two hours of gratuitous beauty shots of a farmhouse in Connecticut covered in snow, I’ll watch.
And just this minute, as I was writing these lines, trying to come up with something eloquent at this late hour, after a day of errands, a bit of fasting, and a healthy amount of prayer, just trying to unwind amid the relative peace of these final hours of Advent; I got some wonderful news.
A new baby just arrived! My nephew – he of whom I sometimes write – he and his wife just welcomed their second child (both boys) at a few minutes to midnight on the East Coast. Apparently, God thinks the world should go on for now. God bless the young boy and his family.
Over the past few years, as I have become more entrenched in the Traditional Latin Mass, I have made the suggestion on more than one occasion to not a few friends and family members that they also “give it a go”, as the Brits say.
“Come with me to Latin Mass,” I have offered. “Come and see what I have found!” It is truly a beautiful thing to discover one’s heritage. Realizing that this heritage was stripped from you unceremoniously by malicious actors, well that’s just another sad dimension in the very sad recent history of the Church. But the least I can do, I figure, is to encourage others to do what I have been given the grace to do – that is, to discover anew the ancient treasure of my Rite.
You see, I am a ROMAN Catholic. My father was a Roman Catholic and his father before him. My father’s mother, on the other hand, was an Anglican who converted to marry my grandfather. To her credit, when my grandfather’s drinking became too problematic to deal with effectively, and she (my grandmother) civilly divorced my grandfather; both of them continued to live (though apart) as though they were man and wife. That was in the early 1940’s. My dad was seven years-old and these things simply were not done. To her further credit, my grandmother embraced the Catholic faith. She sent my dad to a Benedictine prep school in New Jersey where he learned not only to love the faith but to sacrifice everything for his family and to do so chiefly through the daily attendance at the Holy Sacrifice. He married at the age of 21, fathered sixteen children, and gave to me, his youngest son, the gift of that devotion to daily Mass. This wouldn’t be possibly had it not been for the faith of Florence Nightingale Millican. I’m laying it on the line, folks. That was her actual name. Please pray for the repose of her soul.
So she is just one of many people to thank for the safety I now enjoy in the traditions of the Church – my Church, the ROMAN Church.
St. Lawrence Catholic Chapel (FSSP), Harrisburg, PA
There are others. It’s Christmas time so I will name them. An old friend from college named Michael Hichborn has been putting out videos and articles for years. He sure helped (though I don’t know if he knows it). I’d read his posts on Facebook back in the day and, curiosity being what it is, I would search the internet for what he was talking about. Another voice in the wilderness was Taylor Marshall. In the summer of 2018 I was working as a courier, taking long drives from Dallas to Lubbock or Houston or Memphis. Someone turned me on to his content and I’d listen to his videos while I drove. I have to say that he has the capacity to be a great teacher, something I respect because I am also a teacher. Though I do not always agree with some of the more click-batey titles of his content, I appreciate what he does and I thank him here for helping me to see the Truth. Then there is my nephew. He’s also my godson. Around the same time I was discovering tradition, he was about a half-step ahead of me owing to his wife. We’d talk with each other on the phone and the conversations couldn’t help but lead me to where I am. Thank God for him! I know it should be the other way around – the godfather coaching the godson, but he has more than lived up to his end of the spiritual bargain. My mother-in-law and brother-in-law, too, played a tremendous role in my life. Knowing people who truly lived the Catholic faith the way I knew I wanted to live it, who went to daily Mass, this was a huge help.
So when I invite others I am sometimes shocked at the standard reply I get. It always seems to be the same thing. Granted, there are the handful who say, “Sure! I’ll check it out!” and actually mean it. But the majority of the time I hear this. “Yeah… Sorry. Latin Mass just isn’t my thing.”
To these people I want to say the following: If you are Roman Catholic – as in, not Byzantine of any stripe – then Latin Mass absolutely IS your thing. It is the Mass of your fathers and grandmothers. It is the tradition of your faith. It IS your heritage. Latin Mass is what the saints heard every day. When Benedict XVI (still reigning by the way) introduced the language of “ordinary form” and “extraordinary form” in 2007, I think I know what he was attempting to do. But I also think he got the terms reversed. The default (ordinary form) ought to be the one that was in use going back to at least the 6th century and likely well before that.
I recently had a debate of sorts with another nephew who is getting married in the next year. He asked if Novus Ordo was valid. I said what I’ve said many times before. I believe it’s valid but horrible. It is not edifying. It is not beautiful. It is certainly not ancient nor is it traditional. And that is why I believe Our Lord is none too thrilled to be called down on the altar table. But to that same nephew I asked the following question: “Why don’t you come to my parish and check out the TLM? Again the response, “It’s just not my thing.” Look, dude, if you were having this conversation with me sixty years ago, that statement would sound ten times more retarded than it does in this moment; and believe me, it sounds pretty gay.
So, to all my trad friends, I issue this challenge. In the coming year of grace, try to get at least five people to come to a TLM with you. Pray for me and I will pray for you. Pray for our priests. They are high value targets to Satan and they need our support. Pray for the friend or sibling or parent or child who is on the fence and says “it’s not my thing” like this is an option between pleated and flat-front pants. We’re talking about the eternal Sacrifice here. It IS that important.
It is your thing and it is my thing. But more than that, it is Christ’s thing. We owe it to Him to make this happen.
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 