Tag Archives: TLM

You Forgot Something, Jack

I am not on Twitter. However, since Elon took over, the ability of non-users to actually view tweets has returned. Frank Walker at Canon212 posted a link to a tweet earlier from Jack Posobiec of Human Events. Here is that tweet.

Hugging one’s children and praying are always excellent ideas.

Let me add one more piece of advice if I may…

Go To CONFESSION.

That’s a capital idea no matter what else is going on in the world; but especially now.

Reason NUMBER 1 to Homeschool Your Kids

I’ve jokingly written titles in the past related to why I homeschool my kids and why you should homeschool as well. But this time it is no joke. Listen carefully and take heed. Some of you may disagree and others may not like what I will say. I thank you for your interest. Nonetheless, here is the story.

I committed my life to teaching others when I was younger. I committed my life to teaching the Catholic faith. I was not a “traddy” then. I was just me – a Catholic man who was raised to go to daily Mass and to live the faith.

I had been homeschooled by pioneering parents. I am the fourteenth in my family. There are two more after me – my twin sister died in childhood and our youngest sister. One day in 1989, while watching an episode about homeschooling on Donahue of all things, my mother, the every loving and ever street smart New Yorker who never feared anything, stated that she herself was going to teach my younger sister and me. My father, no coward himself, protested. “You can’t do that! What if doesn’t work out?!” She replied, “I wasn’t supposed to have 16 children either. And if it doesn’t work out, so what? Is there really a school on earth that won’t take them back?”

And so in September of 1989 in Newark, NJ, I began my education in earnest. We used a program (Seton Home Study) and I quickly adapted to this new life. I loved it. I learned that there was so much more to learn than I’d ever realized. And I learned most importantly that I loved learning and I really loved teaching. You see, I became autodidactic. I began to teach myself. I picked up my books and I learned at my own pace – with a mother and father to guide me – and I devoured the truths of the faith and I fell in love.

Years later, after college and graduate school – we’re no dummies, us homeschoolers – and after a brief stop off in the world of TV production, I fell into a quite natural career as a Catholic school teacher. I laughed the first day I walked into a high school classroom because I had never been in one before. And again I fell in love. I had been given a chance by God to share what I had learned with a new generation. I loved my students. I loved the faith. God was very good to me.

I rose through ranks. I served as an administrator in a few different Catholic schools.

And then things changed.

Fifteen years and the Coof lockdowns both taught me a lesson.

Let me address the latter first. I will try to refrain from being graphic but I can’t make any promises. In July of 2020 my older brother committed suicide. He was older by 13 years. When he was young, my parents were still trusting that the Catholic schools would teach him the difference between right and wrong and that murder – even of yourself – was a mortal sin and what mortal sin even was. There were many factors. He was a classic “social animal”. The lockdowns hurt him tremendously and I come one step shy of hatred for all those who imposed that nightmare on the world. I hope they don’t have a clue the evil they unleashed. He was also a product of his generation. By his early 50’s, he had been in the “care” of a psychologist who thought that prescribing antidepressants for years was a good idea. There is a special place in hell for people like that.

The pain… I still cry for him. He was my big brother. I hope and pray God has mercy and overlooks. The pain for my mother that night. At 82, no woman should have to hear those things. The pain for his wife. I still imagine what it was like to find her husband hanging in the garage like that. The pain for his kids to lose their dad like that. And I cast my abject sorrow to God and to the Blessed Mother.

That was but one reason why I knew I had to take my own kids unto myself.

But I also realized something else.

It was around that time that I began to notice intensely that it only takes one kid to ruin one other. With my brother it was likely a combination of things but the school environment did not help. And I could see this clearly from my own years of teaching. Sure, the misguided and malformed teachers of his day didn’t help. They not only failed to teach him right. They actually taught him wrong.

But let us consider the other students. I saw it. You see it too. And it doesn’t take but two minutes of honest soul searching to know what I’m talking about.

First of all, I want to tell you that in fifteen years I literally witnessed kids get dumber before my eyes. I started teaching The Screwtape Letters one year. The high school juniors in my care could understand and discuss it with me. Six years later I had to walk them through, line by line. Something had changed. I witnessed a seismic shift from a handful of kids on “medication” to treat a disorder we used to call hyperactivity in boys to almost universal acceptance that every child – boy and girl – was also disordered and needed brain-altering drugs to remain calm. Throw a year or more of “online learning” into the mix and boy would that be fun… But I saw it very clearly at the end. Social media – the devil’s playground – and anti-hyperactivity drugs – the devil’s candy – were clearly taking their toll.

It only takes one disgruntled kid who’s parents don’t know or don’t care that they’re on Tik Tok and the whole classroom is toast. This isn’t to say that every student is weak. But think about it. You’re supposed to turn over control of your kids’ formation as human beings for 8-12 hours a day to an adult you do not know and 20 other kids who’s families you do not know. That’s a lot of time and a lot of other influences. Think about it. And think about how even one deviation from how you would deem it appropriate to form your kids, in the hands of another, can change the future of the world for good or for ill.

Your children are the most precious gifts God gives you. They are your charge from Him to raise up to Him. Turn them over to others or do it yourself. The choice is yours. And don’t think you can’t do it either. He gives the grace to do what He asks of you and He never disappoints.

It isn’t easy. We struggle daily with the attacks of the devil – especially the sin of sloth – but we pull ourselves together. And I always know both as a former teacher and a present father that no matter what, they are always learning more from me on days when we do nothing at all than they would in the outside schools on days when they discuss sex, trannies, and equity or in the so-called better schools where the other kids’ discontent rubs off on them.

They are my responsibility. I will care for them. I will teach them or I will die trying.

And in the end, if my children learn nothing more than that their father loved them enough to suffer the humiliation that comes with sacrificing career, prestige, and human respect in order to insure that they learn to know, love, and serve God, then I will have done my job.

An Old Mass and a New Christian!

My travels have once again taken me to the northern corner of the Commonwealth of Virginia. Today I am here for the baptism of a little boy born last month. His parents are friends and they have asked me and my wife to be his godparents. It is an honor, but more importantly it is a duty we do not take lightly.

So this morning I set out in search of my beloved Ancient Mass in the venerable Gregorian rite that I might offer my sacrifice especially today for him.

Owing to my location, finding the TLM is no easy task. I should say, finding the Mass is easy. There are only a handful of locations allowed by the bishop. Finding the time of the Mass is another story. For some reason, the diocese has decided that Cardinal Roche has authority even to forbid local parishes from publicizing the Mass times (only for the TLM) anywhere. No bulletin, no website, no social media. I wonder if His Eminence were to tell them how to lace their shoes, if they would consent…

Through back channels, I found a Mass.

Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church, Birmingham, AL (unrelated to post topic)

And here is how you know you have found a Latin Mass being said when you aren’t supposed to know.

When you drive past a small-ish parking lot packed with at least ten Ford Transit vans, five Ford Econoline 15 passenger vans, a slew of bumper stickers, and at least one vanity license plate that says something like “JUDICAME” or “INTROIBO” or “16KIDZ”; you’ve definitely found it.

Interestingly I think the priest was a Dominican friar and not a diocesan priest. The lack of a biretta (replaced with a hood) and the fact that he had clearly prepared the water, wine, etc. before the Mass were my giveaways. I follow along in the Missal, praying every word. I’m usually very good at pacing myself with the priest at the altar. However, this man seemed to fly through the offertory. Also of note, the good folks of this place really seem to like their dialogue Masses. I am not accustomed to reciting anything during the Mass apart from the Leonine prayers. On the plus side, their Latin is flawless. God bless us all.

And so now it is on to the Novie parish for the baptism and the welcoming to new life of my godson. Please keep little Joseph in your prayers. The Church he is about to enter is everywhere in disarray yet Our Lord Jesus Christ rules, conquers, and prevails! Pray for me also as the church building I am about to enter resembles a spaceship. Should it lift off during the sacrament, well, RIP me, right?

St Joseph, protector of the Church, pray for us!

The Twig Boy and the Man Among Men

Sometimes I struggle to come up with a topic for my daily posting.

And… sometimes a picture really can tell a thousand words.

My oldest brother died of pancreatic cancer seven years ago. He was severely wasted at the end of that terrible three month battle. The last time I spoke to him via FaceTime call just the day before his demise, he said to me, “I love you. The time has come. If I lose any more muscle mass I may come close to resembling a gun control activist.”

In all seriousness – and I do not know this Hogg character from a hole in the ground – there is something seriously amiss about the current generation of 20-something young men. I do not know if he has an aversion to heavy lifting (not just weights, I’m talking about just lifting anything from a suitcase to a backpack) or if he actually has a wasting disease. Maybe it is the latter. If that is the case I will pray for him. If he just doesn’t feel like being a man, I will also pray for him. Hey pal, God gave you that Y Chromosome for a reason. Ultimately, it was supposed to have triggered your pituitary gland to direct your gonads to release massive amounts of testosterone into your bloodstream so you could, you know, develop into a man.

So he wants to take my guns?

I’ll arm wrestle you for them!

That’s what I thought, Twiggy.

Hahahahahaha.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

OK, on to more serious news for the night. I re-read the article posted on Mark Dougherty’s blog, Non Veni Pacem, yesterday regarding St. Joseph. This may have been one of the best blog posts I have ever read. Kudos to the blog’s author, Laramie Hirsch, who did a phenomenal job outlining the case for why St. Joseph is indeed the saint for our times and why men need to increase their devotion to him. I texted with a friend from the parish tonight that I find it funny that I never had a remote devotion to St. Joseph until about a year ago and then, as if out of the blue, I felt a need to try to develop one.

And how does one develop a devotion to a great saint? Well, as I’ve learned over the years, you pray hard and then you do what you can. Case in point: if you want to do more pull-ups, then do more pull-ups. You’re never going to hit the Marine Corps PT Test goal if you cannot do one and you cannot do one if you do not try.

St. Joseph is a great saint. If you want to foster a devotion to him, pray about it. Then, turn to him. Talk to him. Ask his intercession. Ask him to guide you. Ask him to pray that you become more like him as a husband and father. Sometimes devotions to particular saints are a gift from God. Sometimes we have to ask for that gift. Always, we have to work at it. And for heaven’s sake, if your biceps resemble smore’s skewers pick up a couple of dumbbells and start curling, lad. There’s no shame except when you didn’t try.

St. Joseph, help me to be the man God has called me to be. At today’s Mass, the communion verse for St. Peter Canisius, came from the Mass “In Medio of a Doctor” and it is one of my favorites as I hope it may be said of me one day:

“The faithful and wise servant, whom his lord setteth over his family: to give them their measure of wheat in due season.”

St. Joseph, model of husbands and fathers, pray for us!

Our Lady of Good Counsel: The Flying Portrait of Heaven’s Queen

Many of you may have noted that I grew up in Newark, NJ and that my home parish all that time was the magnificent neo-Gothic Our Lady of Good Counsel parish.

Today, April 26th, is the traditional feast day of Our Lady of Good Counsel this is one of those that appears in the hand missal under “Feasts celebrated in certain places” (or something to that effect… I don’t have my missal handy as I write this). I would like to share a link to the story of this miraculous image of the Blessed Mother and entreat everyone to consider asking the Fairest of our Race to intercede for us all under this title.

Read the story of the miraculous flight of the Mother of Good Counsel here.

Although I have not seen the image with my own eyes, a priest who did once showed me a beautiful picture he snapped of it. He described the free-standing fresco as being thinner than a sheet of paper. I am captivated by this story.

Our Lady of Good Counsel, Newark, NJ

Even more so, though, I am captivated by the idea of the Seat of Wisdom offering to us her loving counsel. How often in life – especially in these last years – do we have need of her advice? How often do we have recourse to the love shared between Mother and Son as He Himself clings to her neck in absolute trust? How much more, going forward, will we need to cast ourselves before the two of Them and pray that for that counsel?

Non Veni Pacem posted a beautiful reflection today on our need for devotion to St. Joseph. I wholeheartedly concur. I have often wondered why, in the past few years, I have felt Our Lord calling me to increase in devotion to Joseph. I had never had a particular devotion to the Most Chaste Spouse but now I am drawing closer to him. It is obvious to me now that I must be totally and truly devoted to the three. If Satan wants to destroy the family, I must strive as hard as I can to imitate the Holy Family – Blessed Mother of Good Counsel, St. Joseph the strong protector to whom God became subject, and of course Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe!

Lord Jesus, Son of Mary, foster-son of Joseph, have mercy on us!

Our Lady of Good Counsel, pray for us!

St. Joseph, pray for us!

Impossible Goings-on

I can’t let too much time go by without a mention of my favorite saint – St. Rita of Cascia, patron saint of impossible causes.

One of these days, I’m going to re-tool this blog to include a separate menu with links to a page dedicated to Rita. Perhaps someone of a caliber of to assist in such a matter could help out. Perhaps a super nerd of sorts. We could randomly call him, I don’t know, Supernerd or something like that.

Anyway, on the Rita front, I can happily report that several of my blog friends have written lately to share that intentions have been fulfilled by God. Few things I can ever write will bring me as much joy as sharing these words. I continue to pray for all those intentions that have been sent my way and ask you to do the same for my intentions, at least one of which has recently been realized.

So, a new nine day round starts soon. Send me any intentions and they will go into the novena. It is my pleasure to do this.

St. Rita, pray for us!

Saturday Night is Alright for (a Break in the) Fighting

Over the past few days I have been writing about the squabbles amongst traditionalists viz. the FSSP and the SSPX.

Tonight, I believe a break is in order.

Sometimes the good Lord sees fit to inject a little bit of levity into one’s life. Take my day, for instance. I woke up at 5:30 just as I knew I would. I had asked my guardian angel last night for just such a wake up call. Rolled out of bed and dropped to my knees to begin the day with the three Hail Mary’s and my morning prayers from the Missal. After a bit of puttering around, I headed to Mass. And then it was time to deal with the car…

You see, last night my wife had gone out with the kids to do some shopping. Yours truly decided to take a well-earned nap. Actually, I more or less fell asleep watching a tornado video on Youtube. They’re so fascinating. It turns out that during my slumber I missed about six calls from my wife who was trying to inform me that the car wouldn’t start and that they were stuck. On closer examination, had I taken the calls I would have been of no assistance as I did not have the car in my possession to pick them up. No matter. Her sister brought them home and an hour later, my mother-in-law and I headed out to look at the vehicle. It turns out that the car we drove in has some weird engine guard covering its battery so jumping my car was out of the question. I locked up the car and headed home by way of Adoration.

That brings us back to this morning after Mass. A good friend came to my rescue and drove me out to the disabled car. He tested the battery. It was dead. There was a battery store in the same plaza. We replaced the battery and all was right with my world.

With a working car, we decided to drive over to another friend’s house for dinner this evening. While there, he and I discussed the trad wars over a cocktail. We are of a like mind, as I suspect many of my fellow parishioners may be (whether they will say it or not). We thanked him for an excellent meal of grilled steaks and for the friendship and headed home.

Here’s where it gets good…

On the drive home, I remembered that I had a song stuck in my head. I learned long ago that the best way to get such songs unstuck is to simply let them out. That’s when I started singing the opening lines to the Steely Dan song Peg.

“I see your picture…”

And that’s when my two teenager children decided to show me that they are, in fact, my kids. My daughter chimed in.

“Your name in lights above it…”

Son was not far behind except he opted instead to “sing” the horn section. Admit it, you do the same thing.

If you do not know the song, take my word. It’s not half bad. Blues notes, a tight rhythm, Michael McDonald singing falsetto backing vocals.

And then there’s the infamous Jay Graydon guitar solo. My daughter nailed it a capella except that she sounded like a stray cat got its tail stuck in a blender. But I repeat myself. And we broke out into uproarious laughter.. My wife didn’t know what to make of the whole affair.

Tomorrow will bring more serious news topics. But for tonight, give thanks for the spontaneous moments of joy and laughter.

St. Rita, pray for us!