Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad

I’ll preface this by saying that I truly like Fr. Altman. I’ve been privileged to meet him on a couple of occasions and he is as genuine in person as he seems online. That being said, praying for a “Catholic pope” is a bit like praying for a blue ocean or a hot fire. Nonetheless, keep praying.

Saturday was the traditional date of the feast of Our Lady of Good Counsel (church bough not usually celebrated anymore and definitely not when the day happens to be Easter Saturday).

Blessed Mother under this title seems most appropriate to our needs at the moment as we pray for a Catholic pope. She has been called the “Madonna of the popes” for the particular devotion many popes have had to her.

Our Lady of Good Counsel, pray for us!

You’ve probably seen this by now and is anyone surprised?

Look, we already knew Brigitte Macron was going to be there. Who are the other 39?

So, my fellow sedevacantists, anyone else getting up at the ass crack of dawn to watch this man go into the ground (closer to hell) underneath the satanic “cross” and the “simple and humble” etching of “Franciscus”?

I pray he makes it to heaven, honest I do.

We may be in for a bumpy ride…

I just returned from a busy ones trip to New Orleans. The city, to be sure, is perhaps one of the most diabolically inclined places on earth. I know this with certainty because I ended up checking into the only hotel in the French Quarter that did not have a bar.

Kidding aside, I caught an early break from work and decided to head back to the airport. As I was leaving the venue, I asked the Blessed Mother to find me a place for confession. Regular readers know that when I ask her for anything like this, she delivers in spades. looking online, I found a church three blocks from me that offered confession from 11:50 to 12:10. I have expected it to conclude with, “alternating Wednesdays on the surface of the moon.”

But upon entering the church, I knew this was the right place. Very first thing to catch my eye was a giant statue of my girl, St. Rita. While it is true that the priest who heard my confession was wearing shorts, not much else was amiss. Sidenote, I know he was wearing shorts because rather than the six beautiful old school confessionals in the name of the church, I had to make my confession in a reconciliation room in the vestibule. When I entered that room, I was confronted with a screen. I knelt on the penitent side, but could see the legs of the priest sticking out from the other side of the screen. 

I thought I would leave you with some beautiful images from this church – Saint Joseph’s in New Orleans, in the shadow of the Superdome.

A friend of mine texted that question yesterday. I cannot imagine a reason why the people around him would find that a necessary option.

However…

Something is odd for sure.