Tag Archives: newark

Sodo-Synod Survey Says… We Ain’t Catholic!

*Updated to correct the Barnhardt quote.

One of my hometown papers (that’s an archaic broadside people used to read to gather information) ran a lovely piece today about the Synodal Survey Soundings of the Sodo-Synodal Synod on Synoding.

First lines usually set the tone and this one was no joke.

“Reach out to the marginalized, ordain women, engage the youth.”

I don’t like to waste time – mine or yours. Let’s cut through the bullshit. I’ll re-write it for you.

“We haven’t been inside a Catholic church, let alone practiced a scintilla of the faith since water was poured on our heads in infancy. Why isn’t the Church, like, more with the times, yo?”

In other words, the synod-goers want a Catholic Church that ISN’T Catholic. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Cathedral Basilica of the Sacred Heart, Newark, NJ

They want women’s orders, lay-run everything, abortion, contraception, sex, sex, sex, free stuff, more sex only as bizarre as possible this time, and general faggotry busting out all over. Thank you, no. These things are not Catholic. And I won’t apologize for saying it, nor for my tone in saying it. To quote Ann Barnhardt, “I want my Church back, you sonofabitch!”

Let’s see. They want to think of themselves as Catholic but not actually be Catholic. I think we call that the Protestant heresy.

Did someone say antichurch?

It sounded like someone said antichurch?

God in heaven, have mercy on us!

*The original version of this post misquoted Miss B. as “Give me back my Church, you sonofabitch,” instead of the correct version: “I want my Church back, you sonofabitch.” Apologies to Miss B.

Another Picture and Another Thousand Words

Yesterday I wrote of more goings-on in the Archdiocese of Newark.

Today, a picture to illustrate something beautiful in that same place.

High Altar, St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Oratory (ICKSP), West Orange, NJ

The Mother of Good Counsel WILL Give to Us Who Ask Her Good Counsel

Following up on yesterday’s expose of all things queer in Tobin’s Newark, I’d like to take a moment to share another picture. The above photo is the interior of Our Lady of Good Counsel Catholic Church in Newark. never mind the Cranmer table out front (“consecrated by the hands of Teddy McCarrick no less, I was there).

High above that baldacchino is a beautiful fresco depicting a dignified, humble Virgin holding her infant Son. The Son clings to the Mother’s face for His life. He needs her because He has made Himself to need her.

On the altar below is the tabernacle wherein that Son resides. On Calvary, He bequeathed the Mother to us. We also need her.

Remember that Our Lord is present in that beautiful tabernacle just yards from where Satan incites demonic prancing and undulating. Think of how it grieves Him – the ingratitude in men’s hearts – for His sacrifice. Think of how He waits lovingly, patiently for those of us who love Him to fall on our knees before Him – Him actually present in all the tabernacles of the world – to tell Him we’re sorry and we love Him.

Then think of His Blessed Mother.

Blessed Emerich tells us that after Our Lord’s Sacred Body was taken down from the cross, His Blessed Mother lovingly removed the crown of thorns, picking each fragment out of His skull with her own fingers.

Now think of that moment – that intimate, gut-wrenching moment. Ponder how she, whom He loves so much that He allowed her to suffer with Him for us, feels.

The battle lines were drawn. Satan thinks he can win. He thinks he can dance right up to the walls of the church and then step inside to spit on Our Lord.

What a fool.

Place your trust in the Blessed Mother.

Do it now.

Pray your rosary, commit to all fifteen decades every day. Honor her. Love her. Men, beg her to cloak you and your wives and children in her mantle of purity. Women, beg her to reflect her modesty and humility on you. Children, love your mother.

And then stand back because she won’t let Her Boy be abused much longer.

The Passion, Art, and Moms

I have been in the Fatherland going on a week now. I am here to visit and spend time with my mom who is in the hospital.

It is also now the Sacred Paschal Triduum. I have been able to slip out of the room to make my way to a piecemeal collection of beautiful Catholic churches in order to observe the liturgy of the Church during these holiest of days.

Yesterday – Holy Thursday – I started out the day looking for a place to confess my sins. I mean, I could confess them anywhere and to anyone but I kind of wanted to do it to an ordained priest. Something about actual absolution and all… Here’s the thing. I am in the habit of going roughly once a week. But as we enter into these three days, surprisingly, confessions are rather limited. I don’t know if it’s that the priests are all of a sudden really, really busy or what. But I was able to find a scheduled round of confessions at St. Michael’s, a church tucked away at the lower end of Broadway near Bloomfield Ave. in the North Ward. Those familiar with the area will know exactly what this looks like. I can’t adequately describe it. OK, I could adequately describe it and I will one day but it would take pages. For now, I would like the artwork of the church tell the story. You see, most churches in this part of the world look like this one. Old, traditional, built on the donations of the mostly poor immigrant Catholics who brought to these shores their Old World style and peculiarities.

The thing is that in the art I was reminded of the story. The story here is the love of a mother for her Son and the love of the Son for the whole human race including you and me. Let’s start…

Here we see the Last Supper. Appropriate since this was taken on Holy Thursday. Note the detail and use of brilliant color.

Now let’s look at the Woman and her Son.

Not quite what you were expecting? I know, it’s Easter-time, not Christmas. But take a look at what was hanging on the wall just next to this particular window.

From His infancy to His death He was always close to His mother. It was in her arms that He rested in life and in death. Imagine her joy and her sorrow. I want that when my children read this in years to come they recognize something my parents taught me – that devotion to Our Lord comes through devotion to His mother. As He was pleased to rest in her arms we must turn to her in prayer and always be devoted to the Mother He gave us from the cross.

Here now, some other pieces on which to meditate…

And finally…

He is STILL with us, alive and awaiting YOU.