Blessed Miguel Pro is a prominent example of Christian heroism in the twentieth century. The indefatigable Jesuit priest was martyred by the Mexican government in 1927 for performing his priestly duties.
Born on January 13, 1891, Miguel Pro Juarez was the eldest son of Miguel Pro and Josefa Juarez. His birthplace, the humble central Mexican village of Guadalupe, was especially fitting in view of his intense, lifelong devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe, Patroness of the Americas.
Miguelito, as his doting family called him, was, from an early age, intensely spiritual and equally intense in his mischievousness. From the time he could speak he had the reputation of being a motor-mouth, frequently exasperating his family with his humor and practical jokes, a trait which remained with him into adult-hood.
As a child he had an unbridled precociousness that sometimes went too far, tossing him into near-death accidents and illnesses. On regaining consciousness after one of these episodes, young Miguel opened his eyes and blurted out to his frantic parents, “I want some cocol” (a colloquial term for his favorite sweet bread). Cocol became his nickname, which he would later adopt as a code name during his clandestine priestly ministry. . . . (continue reading)
“Amish Haircut Attacks.” One might assume it is the name selected by an imaginative garage band or perhaps it’s a lost-in-translation title of a Pennsylvania-German language B movie. But one would be mistaken. In fact, the “Amish Haircut Attacks” in question were a real and quite bizarre series of depredations involving “forcefully cutting the beards and hair of Amish men and women.”
Several members of the group carried out the attacks in September and October by forcefully cutting the beards and hair of Amish men and women, authorities have said. Cutting the hair is a highly offensive act to the Amish, who believe the Bible instructs women to let their hair grow long and men to grow beards and stop shaving once they marry.
The attacks struck at the core of the Amish identity and tested their principles. They strongly believe that they must be forgiving in order for God to forgive them, which often means handing out their own punishment and not reporting crimes to law enforcement. . . .
Aside from the Associated Press article’s clumsy and potentially misleading word order (Amish women don’t have beards), another weird element of this sad story is that the surname of one of the principle suspects is, get this, Mullet.
—The door to the vault must have accidentally been left open by the cleaning woman.
—The guard must bend over to tie his shoes and somehow he gets all the shoelaces tied together. He can’t get them apart, so he takes out his gun and shoots all his bullets at the knot. But he misses. Then he just lies down on the floor and goes to sleep.
—Most of the customers in the bank must happen to be wearing Nixon masks, so when we come in wearing our Nixon masks it doesn’t alarm anyone.
—There must be an empty parking space right out in front. If it has a meter, there must be time left on it, because our outfits don’t have pockets for change.
—The monkeys must grab the bags of money and not just shriek and go running all over the place, like they did in the practice run.
—The security cameras must be the early, old-timey kind that don’t actually take pictures.
—When the big clock in the lobby strikes two, everyone must stop and stare at it for at least ten minutes.
—The bank alarm must have mistakenly been set to “Quiet.” Or “Ebb tide.”
—The gold bars must be made out of a lighter kind of gold that’s just as valuable but easier to carry. . . . (continue reading)
The Catholic Encyclopedia explains that All Saints Day is a “solemnity celebrated on the first of November.”
It is instituted to honor all the saints, known and unknown, and, according to Urban IV, to supply any deficiencies in the faithful’s celebration of saints’ feasts during the year.
In the early days the Christians were accustomed to solemnize the anniversary of a martyr’s death for Christ at the place of martyrdom. In the fourth century, neighboring dioceses began to interchange feasts, to transfer relics, to divide them, and to join in a common feast; as is shown by the invitation of St. Basil of Caesarea (397) to the bishops of the province of Pontus.
Frequently groups of martyrs suffered on the same day, which naturally led to a joint commemoration. In the persecution of Diocletian the number of martyrs became so great that a separate day could not be assigned to each. But the Church, feeling that every martyr should be venerated, appointed a common day for all.
The first trace of this we find in Antioch on the Sunday after Pentecost. We also find mention of a common day in a sermon of St. Ephrem the Syrian (373), and in the 74th homily of St. John Chrysostom (407).
At first only martyrs and St. John the Baptist were honored by a special day. Other saints were added gradually, and increased in number when a regular process of canonization was established; still, as early as 411 there is in the Chaldean Calendar a “Commemoratio Confessorum” for the Friday after Easter.
In the West Boniface IV, 13 May, 609, or 610, consecrated the Pantheon in Rome to the Blessed Virgin and all the martyrs, ordering an anniversary. Gregory III (731-741) consecrated a chapel in the Basilica of St. Peter to all the saints and fixed the anniversary for 1 November.
A basilica of the Apostles already existed in Rome, and its dedication was annually remembered on 1 May. Gregory IV (827-844) extended the celebration on 1 November to the entire Church. The vigil seems to have been held as early as the feast itself. The octave was added by Sixtus IV (1471-84). (source)
Here’s the audio of the talk on moral relativism I gave awhile back for the Diocese of Madison, Wisconsin, before a Catholic audience of approximately 500. It was held at the diocesan center’s super-plush auditorium. It’s always a pleasure to speak in such a nice venue.
I vividly recall my father warning me not to watch “The Exorcist” movie when it came out in 1973. Not that I was old enough, at just 13, to trundle down to the cinema and see it, but he wanted me to avoid it when I got old enough to go to movies on my own and without parental supervision.
My father hadn’t even seen the movie himself, but he had read the novel by the same title upon which the movie was based, and he told me that the book was truly frightening. He didn’t want my imagination to have to cope with the residue of horrifying mental images he said the book had permanently lodged in his mind.
Roger that, Dad. I followed your advice to the letter. Thank you. Nearly 40 years later, I can report to you that I not only never saw the movie, I never read the book, and I’m glad of it.
I did, however, make the mistake of reading Malachi Martin’s Hostage to the Devil — or, at least, three quarters of it, before I had to put it down.
Martin’s true-story accounts of demonic possession were simply too disturbing for me to continue reading. This is in part due to the fact that, like many people, I just don’t want or need scenes from such accounts playing themselves out in my imagination at the wrong moments, such as when I am trying to get to sleep in an unfamiliar house or hotel when I am traveling.
Back to The Exorcist. Of course, I know the general plot line and am aware, unfortunately, of major shock scenes in the movie, mainly because of how talked-about it was when it first debuted. Kind of like how, years before I ever saw “The Godfather,” I knew all about the infamous “horse head” scene because everyone was talking about it.
Weird. As an adult, when I did finally see “The Godfather” and it came to that scene, it was as if I had already seen it because of how familiar it was in popular culture. I figure that this is how I came to know a good deal about The Exorcist, not by reading the book or seeing the movie, but by osmosis.
When the movie came out, as I recall, the television evening news was awash in man-bites-dog reports about how freaked out people were by the movie. I saw plenty of interviews with folks coming out of the theaters, having just seen “The Exorcist,” who were truly terrorized. That was enough, in itself, to dissuade me from wanting to go and do likewise.
A few years ago, I was chatting about this movie genre with my friend Héctor Molina, who had recently seen “The Exorcism of Emily Rose.” It didn’t really bother him. In fact, he mentioned how fascinated he was with the theme of God’s grace and redemption in that movie. But for me, there was no chance I’d see it because, as I explained to Héctor, given how advanced the movie industry has become in the science of special effects and CGI technology, I am quite confident that what I avoided seeing in “The Exorcist” would probably be there in chilling abundance in “Emily Rose.” He saw my point and added that a few others who were with him watching the movie were quite scared by it.
And all of that is my roundabout way of getting to the point of this post. I just read a brief news bit written by William Peter Blatty, author of The Exorcist, who, to my surprise, reveals that he hadn’t had the slightest intention of frightening anyone with his work. In fact, he had something altogether different in mind. I’ll let him explain to you what that was.
But for me, at least, I not only will continue to follow my father’s wise advice, I pass it along to you.
Saint Paul said it better:
“[W]hatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8).
That’s what I want for my mind. And for yours.
In Matthew 19:14, the Lord says to His meddlesome disciples, “
All he is saying is give pizza chants.
How does a formerly pro-life Catholic college girl morph into a pro-abortion zealot who identifies the roots of her transformation as including attending the National March for Life?
You read that right.
As implausible as it might sound, Kate Childs Graham says that this happened to her, and the results are not pretty. In her recent (2009) article “I Am a Pro-choice Catholic,” which appears in that notorious bastion of contumacy, The National Catholic Reporter, Ms. Childs Graham reveals:
“I wasn’t always a pro-choice Catholic. During college I attended the annual March for Life on more than one occasion. The first time my friends and I traveled to the event from Indianapolis, Ind., was with a bus full of high school students — most, seemingly, only going for the trip to Washington, D.C., with their friends, sans parental supervision. Needless to say, it was a noisy bus ride. After I transferred to Catholic University, I volunteered for the Mass for Life two years in a row, helping to herd all of those high school students into every crevice of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.”
One must wonder if Ms. Childs Graham herself was one of those young people who made the journey to Washington, not to protest the evil of legalized abortion, but simply because she wanted the freedom of a little road trip, “sans parental supervision.”
She claims that, “Each time I attended the March for Life, I felt overwhelmingly conflicted. On one hand, it was moving to be among so many people, all energized by their faith . . .” (continue reading)
What would happen if a pair of Mormon missionaries showed up on the doorstep of a dedicated Jehovah’s Witness? This humorous but insightful fictional dialogue is what it might sound like.
Elder Hawkins grinned as he approached the door. He and Sister Sarah had placed the Book of Mormon in four homes already this morning, and it wasn’t yet noon. He rang the doorbell and stepped back. A tall, balding man wearing a large smile opened the door. Elder Hawkins saw the Watchtower magazine in the man’s hand and his grin vanished.
(By David Washburn, This Rock Magazine, 1992)
“Come in, come in,” the man bellowed. “Don’t just stand there. Come in and let’s get acquainted.”
Hawkins ushered Sister Sarah in and followed. They sat on a couch that the man indicated. “Hello. I’m Elder Hawkins, and this is Sister Sarah. We’re from the Church of– ”
“I know. I can read your little name tags. Tell me, what do you think of the situation in the Middle East? Do you think it’s leading anywhere?”
Hawkins shrugged. “Actually, Mr.– ?”
“Call me Jack. Jack Overton’s my name.”
“Jack, then. We’re here to ask a few questions. Do you believe family is important in today’s society?”
“Sure do,” Jack nodded. “That’s why me and my family are preparing ourselves to live forever in paradise on Earth. Are you?”
Hawkins blinked. “I hadn’t really thought about –”
“You need to.”
“Tell me, Jack. Do you believe that today’s society is trying to tear down the fabric of the family?”
“They’re tearing everything down. It’s no accident that blood transfusions transmit AIDS, you know.”
“Blood transfusions. Tell me this, Jack. Do you believe that life goes on after death?”
“No. When you die, consciousness ceases. The only way to come back is if Jehovah raises you again to live in paradise on Earth.”
“Oh, then you do believe we can return and live with Heavenly Father.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t change the subject. Do you believe it or not?”
Jack considered. “Well, not exactly with him, but we can return here.”
“And be exalted to live with Heavenly Father.”
Jack shrugged. “If you insist on putting it that way. But not everybody will get to.”
Hawkins took a breath. “You mean some people will go to hell.”
“Hell no, I don’t mean hell! There’s no such thing.”
Hawkins smiled. “So all can return and live with Heavenly Father.”
“I’d still like to know what that means, but the answer is no. The ones who reject the truth go to oblivion. After they get their second chance, if they still reject it, they stay in oblivion.”
“Don’t you read your Bible? At the Last Judgment, where it says ‘the books were opened.’ That means …”
“Oh, you mean when our Brother Jesus returns.”
“He’s already here.”
Hawkins flinched. “Where?”
“Here. On Earth.”
Hawkins smiled at Sister Sarah. “Really? Where does he live?”
“Don’t be silly. You can’t see him. He’s invisible, just like he was when his spirit rose from the dead.”
“When his spirit– Tell me this. Do you believe that God gave the Scriptures, insofar as they are correctly translated, to teach us how we can live with Heavenly Father?”
“Oh, yes. And we have the correct translation. It’s called the New World Translation. ”
“You have Joseph Smith’s inspired translation?”
“Sister Sarah is good at explaining prophecy. Go ahead, Sister.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Heavenly Father gave us the Scriptures through prophets who spoke for him. But the Bible wasn’t enough.”
“It’s enough,” Jack said, “But it’s hard to understand without Watchtower study materials to interpret it.”
“It isn’t enough,” Sarah said. “There’s another Testament of Jesus Christ.”
“Why do I want another one when the two I already have tell me all I need to know?”
Sarah frowned. “Because God gave it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he wanted to, I guess. It’s called the Book of Mormon.”
“It was written by a moron?”
“No, Moroni gave it to Joseph Smith.”
Jack blinked. “The city councilman?”
“No, the prophet.”
“I hear Councilman Smith makes lots of profits, that’s for sure.”
“Not profit, prophet.” She gathered herself and tried again. “When he was fourteen, Joseph Smith had a vision of two personages. One pointed to the other and said, ‘This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.’ Who do you suppose that was?”
“This is all nice, but we really should be talking about Armageddon.”
Hawkins said, “Yes. The final battle when Jesus returns.”
“I told you, he’s already here. He returned in 1914 and established the millennial kingdom.”
Sarah stared. “But that’s supposed to be when all the Jews return to Palestine and all the Mormons return to Missouri.”
JACK laughed. “I don’t know where your misery comes into it, but Jesus returned invisibly in 1914. He’s in the process of driving out the devil’s minions. The devil is the author of the Trinity doctrine.”
Hawkins said, “You don’t believe in a Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?”
“I do, but they’re not all gods.”
“Of course they are. There are lots of gods. The Father has a glorified body, so does the Son. He took up his exalted body and returned to Heavenly Father after he died on the cross.”
“It wasn’t a cross. It was an upright stake.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jack sighed. “At any rate, his death and spiritual resurrection gave us the prospect of eternal life on a restored Earth.”
“Spiritual resurrection? What do you mean?”
“He didn’t rise bodily. When he appeared to the disciples, he used different bodies as he pleased.”
Hawkins shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. He laid down his life and took it up again, just like Heavenly Father did in ages past.”
“You’re saying Jehovah died and rose, too?”
“Not Jehovah, the Father.”
“Isn’t the Father Jehovah?”
“No, he’s Adam.”
“Adam, the first man in the Bible.”
“Not at all. Brigham Young told us–”
“Brigham Young. He was the spiritual successor to Joseph Smith.”
“The city councilman?”
Hawkins slapped the arm of the couch. “Will you stop that? I want to tell you what God revealed to us through his prophet, Joseph Smith!”
Jack leaned back. “Don’t get so excited. Tell away.”
HAWKINS took a deep breath. “Now, the Angel Moroni appeared to Joseph and told him where he could find some golden plates containing a book that told of an ancient American civilization. He found them and translated them. They were written in Reformed Egyptian.”
“What’s Reformed Egyptian?”
“A language that nobody knows.”
“Did your Joseph know it?”
“But he translated it.”
Jack scratched his head. “Where are these plates now?”
“The angel took them back to heaven.”
Jack smiled. “That’s too bad. It would have been nice to have a New World Translation of the Christian Reformed Egyptian Scriptures.”
“Why? Joseph Smith translated them perfectly under God’s inspiration.”
“How do you know that?”
“I prayed to Heavenly Father and he showed me.”
“How did he show you?”
“When something is true, don’t you feel it? Isn’t that feeling you get how you know it’s true?”
“Oh, yes. That’s how I know my Watchtower is true and this isn’t.”
“You’re wrong. I feel that we’re the true church.”
“Your feeling is wrong. I feel that we’re the right one.”
“Your feeling is wrong.”
“Is not.” Jack stood. “I’m thirsty. Would you like some coffee?”
“We never pollute our bodies with coffee unless our church owns the company. Do you have any tomato juice?”
“I never buy tomato juice. It looks too much like blood, and the Scripture says you’re not supposed to eat blood. It’s no accident that blood transfusions transmit AIDS, you know.”
Hawkins stood. “Tell you what. We need to be going. Just let me leave you with a thought. If you became convinced that these things are true, would you be baptized in the Mormon Church?”
“I’ve already been baptized into Jehovah’s kingdom. Have you?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s too bad. You need to be baptized into his kingdom and then sell books and magazines so you can avoid oblivion. But don’t worry. He’ll give you a second chance when the books are opened, anyway.”
Hawkins shook his head and opened the door for Sister Sarah. “Goodbye, Jack. Thanks for talking to us.”
“Same to you,” Jack said as he followed them to the door. “By the way, if you’re going door-to-door, watch out for the lady two doors down. She’s a Christian Scientist. Now there’s a strange religion.”
Hawkins glanced at Sister Sarah. “Thanks for the tip. We all need to be on guard against religious fruitcakes, don’t we?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, don’t we all.”
Source: This Rock Magazine
David Washburn freelances from Powell, Wyoming. Reprinted with permission from The Door, P.O. Box 530, Yreka, CA 96097
Transformers, Legos, Rubik’s Cubes, pogs, and Matchbox cars? Remember them? My wife and I were raising our older kids in the 80s and, boy oh boy, did we buy a passel of these toys for them over the course of that decade. I can only imagine what kind of price they might fetch now if we had saved some of them in the original packaging.