tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34506268693034714582024-03-07T02:51:27.080-05:00The Spirit's Swordquod scripsi scripsiBearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.comBlogger2416125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-17821702839500900612024-02-20T08:56:00.002-05:002024-02-20T08:56:46.897-05:00Prayer Request<p> I know it's been a while, but...</p><p><br /></p><p>I found out last night my brother is in the hospital. He passed out and fell yesterday, breaking his ankle. Turns out he passed out because he was anemic and further tests revealed the presence of cancer in his rectum, liver and lungs. They are running further tests today to see what sort of treatment, if any, is viable.</p><p>In your charity, please pray for my brother.<br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-8593535550509899732023-05-13T11:58:00.002-04:002023-05-13T11:58:27.887-04:00Just because<p> <span style="font-family: georgia;">I haven't been too active here of late, for, well, years, really, but I haven't posted in a month. I offer neither excuses nor explanations. It is what it is. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have been working on various things- writing little snippets of history, working in my woodshop when I can, doing sudoku, running coffee Sundays, singing, raising my kids, working. The usual.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">For now, here's a picture of a beautiful crucifix from Our Lady Immaculate in Guelph. Took it while I was out driving around with the family a few weeks back.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcQ0Xn_XOE4-UMBNh1o1VTCc1qRQVT4fpcRjMxXpqPEoNBKM72kq0GMQxV5ALL1jvBECFbK9qzQ0PySdnu-oDdDs2qdy1YZrb20UT-Kwc6Jt8loyowIXrc49UBBmiU5mXA9QgfOOQJzwC0LEo4gyJFE5qvglG-fl6f-5d_yEgAh4Z9wUmd5iIR5N6XA/s1280/guelph%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcQ0Xn_XOE4-UMBNh1o1VTCc1qRQVT4fpcRjMxXpqPEoNBKM72kq0GMQxV5ALL1jvBECFbK9qzQ0PySdnu-oDdDs2qdy1YZrb20UT-Kwc6Jt8loyowIXrc49UBBmiU5mXA9QgfOOQJzwC0LEo4gyJFE5qvglG-fl6f-5d_yEgAh4Z9wUmd5iIR5N6XA/w300-h400/guelph%201.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-17105100923903048982023-04-10T22:00:00.002-04:002023-04-19T20:27:31.882-04:00Update<p>I mentioned my mother in law had been vomitting regularly a few posts down. The home in which she lives has informed us she is doing better now. Thank you for your prayers. </p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-63577570822312944352023-04-09T07:40:00.003-04:002023-04-09T07:40:22.167-04:00Scimus Christum surrexisse a mortuis vere<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/Vfcp19WpXxU" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div>Happy Easter, all.</div>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-67237979440656500642023-04-06T11:54:00.002-04:002023-04-06T11:54:06.908-04:00Music for Holy Thursday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="349" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xpzdB0G3TJU" width="420" youtube-src-id="xpzdB0G3TJU"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-20846337918490549192023-04-05T10:39:00.003-04:002023-04-05T10:39:22.957-04:00prayer request<p> My 97 year old mother in law has been vomiting in the mornings in her long term care home for the last few days. So far, it has cleared up by the afternoons. The doctors have been treating it with gravol and lighter food. Please pray for her at this time.<br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-64450138385594081052023-04-02T21:37:00.002-04:002023-04-02T21:37:18.715-04:00Palm Sunday<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaEFX4D6ZdEseMvb3hjcVrlxDW4jUcsZ7RT5ku74K1o13D9YAPDnzaM74Sya2uZB36eOx51oovokZWR5Rp_vRWsGNp2YF48Hna_ax5s-vvzcM-Nl4NRR-2eRBotN2EmJdPPgURuIW62bhTrzXDfSVofWU-Z6P7fNkk0xw3dZEiDtJVR5fWRDVq7_yl-A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="638" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaEFX4D6ZdEseMvb3hjcVrlxDW4jUcsZ7RT5ku74K1o13D9YAPDnzaM74Sya2uZB36eOx51oovokZWR5Rp_vRWsGNp2YF48Hna_ax5s-vvzcM-Nl4NRR-2eRBotN2EmJdPPgURuIW62bhTrzXDfSVofWU-Z6P7fNkk0xw3dZEiDtJVR5fWRDVq7_yl-A" width="255" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-81049312688380233452023-03-29T15:43:00.001-04:002023-03-29T15:43:04.798-04:00Prayers<p> Pope Francis has been admitted to hospital with heart and respiratory issues.<br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-21265202600681600592023-03-26T17:47:00.001-04:002023-03-26T17:47:10.690-04:00Just for fun<p> Tee, and if I may be so bold, hee.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2vznYTPRetYvBhl91HRHbxunLLiqm_V-rcy2BQ0tcs02ZVbnXu199qzk7K0FcF6Yb799YMn7m_mKMzlmXm-M9a0MIoYhQyPVwp6ma4t78Gz7oVLu1y46OHTLtYg6sEMvpvlgNXWxEceLl9Q-HMOt6i-iGzuAzh22jKpLVMkaB_cf3pzlQoNp93IpIA/s937/337441793_162971043293530_2431276390291345364_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="937" data-original-width="769" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2vznYTPRetYvBhl91HRHbxunLLiqm_V-rcy2BQ0tcs02ZVbnXu199qzk7K0FcF6Yb799YMn7m_mKMzlmXm-M9a0MIoYhQyPVwp6ma4t78Gz7oVLu1y46OHTLtYg6sEMvpvlgNXWxEceLl9Q-HMOt6i-iGzuAzh22jKpLVMkaB_cf3pzlQoNp93IpIA/w329-h400/337441793_162971043293530_2431276390291345364_n.jpg" width="329" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-3943525100785543262023-03-17T06:44:00.009-04:002023-03-23T22:54:49.387-04:00Today in the history of Irish Catholic Toronto.<p>Today is the 165th anniversary of the murder of Matthew Sheedy. He wouldn't die until the next day, but the fatal blow was struck on this day.</p><br />I have been doing some research into his murder, not to solve it, for that is impossible, but as a window into the Toronto of the past. There isn't much information about Sheedy himself- his date of birth, marriage, baptism of his two children. On his marriage certificate, his signature and that of his wife look to be the same handwriting as the priest who married them, so he was almost certainly illiterate, which fits, as it was illegal for Irish Catholics to be educated in Ireland until about 1850. The testimony at the inquest into his death was as confused as could be, and probably deliberately. <br /><br />Matthew Sheedy was all of twenty-three years old at the time of his death and left behind a wife and an infant son, Paddy and a daughter, whose name I've misplaced. He was in the area of St Lawrence Hall and St James Cathedral (which was mostly rebuilt by this time after its immediate predecessor was destroyed in the 1849 fire which also destroyed much of the old city) that day. This was the very heart of Orange, Protestant Toronto. This was not a place a Catholic would wish to be on most days, but this was not most days. It was St Patrick's Day, and Sheedy was there in a parade with a couple thousand other of his co-religionists and countrymen.<div><br />Sheedy and his fellows had gathered around St Lawrence Hall to hear the most famous Irish Canadian of the time and future Father of Confederation Thomas D'Arcy McGee give a speech in honour of the day. The day had already seen some violence: a police officer had been beaten earlier by some of the members of the parade for wearing an Orange ribbon and flower on a day that was dedicated to the Green.<br /><br />The presence of the Orange on the officer was a signal of one of the problems of that time: The police department- and the fire department as well, though they don't figure in this story- and most of the city council were dominated by the Orange Lodge. Catholics had long been complaining that they could find neither protection nor justice from the authorities in Toronto, but their complaints were ignored, as the Catholics on the whole were regarded as a criminal element. The top magistrate in Toronto at the time wrote that the Irish Catholics were nothing but drunkards and thieves, and a future Mayor of Toronto would describe them as 'traitors all.' The Fireman's Riot and the Clown Riot of 1855 (A story for another time) had shown the general population of Toronto that the Orange Lodge was unwilling and unable to hold itself accountable to the law, and in the aftermath of those two riots the process of police reform had begun, but, on this day, no real change had yet occurred. The current chief constable, Samuel Sherwood, had been involved in a murder in the 1840's, but had used his connections in the Lodge to get off, and then used his connections again to get his position.<br /><br />The real trouble on this day began shortly after McGee began his speech. An Orangeman who was a carter coming north from St Lawrence Market whipped his horses and attempted to drive through the crowd gathered on the streets to hear McGee. He was turned back by a shower of stones and mud thrown at the horse and cart by the crowd, but the commotion in the streets drew out many nearby shop owners and workers, who, not coincidentally, were also members of the Orange Lodge, and many of them were brandishing weapons. A councilman, tavern owner and strident Orangeman by the name of William Lennox was returning from the butcher shops at the North Market and, hearing of the violence shouted he would not sleep that night until he had waded knee-deep in Papist blood. A riot began, and localized brawls and fights were soon occurring up and down the streets. Lennox was chased into the stable yard of his tavern on Colborne street, where he produced some pistols and began threatening to shoot any papist who dared draw near him. The Deputy Chief took the pistols from him, but the crowd surged at him again, he and his wife took refuge in a nearby wagon. He seized the yoke tree from the wagon and threatened to club any who came close to him. His stablehands, hearing the commotion, rushed into the fray with the tools of their trade on hand. Lennox still took several blows before order was restored.<br /><br />Sheedy's whereabouts and movements immediately before, during and after his fatal wounding are difficult to trace. Sheedy's wife Joanne would testify (oddly, she was among the very last to testify at the inquest) she and Matthew had been listening to McGee's speech the trouble broke out. They were standing a little to the West of St. Lawrence Hall, close to St James' Cathedral and away from the fighting when a friend of Matthew's approached and told them Matthew's brother-in-law was in the thick of the fighting down the laneway near Lennox's. According to Joanne, Matthew left to get his brother-in-law away from there. That was all she knew until some time later when she was told her husband was wounded and lying in the back of Millar's store. Between those two moments, there is much confusion and contradiction. The Deputy Chief would testify that he thought Sheedy had protected his back from the crowd while he was taking the pistols from Lennox. Some Orangemen testified they thought they saw Sheedy amongst the rioters, urging them on. His fellow Irish Catholics testified he tried to calm down the rioters and urged them to restore order. It is, therefore difficult to accurately place Sheedy between the time he left his wife, and when he entered the shop of a druggist by the name of Millar, and asked Millar to bind his wounds. Millar found he had been stabbed in the groin, and sent for a doctor. The doctor sent for a carriage, Sheedy was rushed to the hospital. Some witnesses were found, and at least one gave a description and identified the attacker, and an Orangeman identified was taken into custody.<br /><br />That night, various Irish groups gathered across the city to have a feast in honour of St Patrick. One group of prominent Irish Catholics were dining at the National Hotel, who upon hearing that a group of prominent Irish Protestants were having a similar feast at a nearby hotel sent a token of friendship to the Protestants, and claimed that though they may differ in Creed, an Irish heart still beat within them all. The Catholics invited the Protestants to come and dine with them at the National Hotel. It was a rather rare gesture at the time, but it was well received by the Protestants, among whom was the founder of the Grand Orange Lodge in Canada himself, Ogle R. Gowan. The Protestants sent back a message accepting the token, and in appreciation of the friendship. Several of them, including Gowan, went to deliver the message personally.<br /><br />The message was never delivered. The leading Protestants found the National Hotel surrounded by a mob of Orangemen. Ever since the riot earlier in the day, word had spread amongst the Orangeman that one of their leaders, Lennox, had been beaten and another one of their number had been arrested. Orangemen started gathering at Lennox's tavern to inquire after his health and their anger grew at the treatment of their fellow members. Around 10 or 11 o'clock that evening they rushed out of Lennox's tavern and surrounded the nearby National Hotel. Someone spotted Thomas D'Arcy McGee, who had been among the guests at the National, preparing to leave in a carriage. A cry went up amongst the Protestants 'Get the Griffintown Papist!' (Griffintown being an Irish enclave in Montreal, notorious amongst Toronto Protestants as being all they despised amongst the Irish Catholics, and of which McGee was the parliamentary representative) and they chased the carriage as it left, forcing the driver to whip the horses and to flee with McGee for their lives. Back at the Hotel, bricks and stones were being thrown at the Hotel, and by now all the windows had been shattered. Other members of the mob had brought pistols and were firing shots into the hotel. <br /><br />The prominent Orangemen who arrived from the Albion Hotel called upon their Lodge brothers to cease and remember their oaths to uphold British Law and the Queen's peace. Their words had no effect. They called upon the police officers to break up the mob and protect those inside. That also had no effect. Many of the police actually took part in the riot. Then several of the prominent Orange men slipped through the crowd and vaulted themselves through the broken windows into the hotel. They found the Catholic men there inside, some seeking cover, others pelting the crowd back. The Protestants somehow convinced the Catholics to accept their protection, and Gowan and the others lead the Catholics out of the hotel, personally shielding them from the mob, and quite possibly saving their lives. Despite the large police presence, no one was ever charged or even taken into custody for the attack on the National Hotel.<br /><br />The next day, Matthew Sheedy died from his wound. The wound had pierced one of his large intestines, which had leaked 'feculant matter' into his bloodstream. He died in agony. Among his last words, he told a friend that the worst part about his dying was that his killer had stolen him from Paddy. Over three thousand would attend his funeral a few days later, and accompany his cortege all the way up Yonge Street to the cemetery at Yonge and St Clair, one of the largest funeral processions in Toronto history.</div><div><br />An inquest was called into Sheedy's murder, and a coroner's jury was selected- every member of which was a Protestant, and many of them Orangemen. The Catholics protested that a jury so composed would never be able to impartially enact justice for a Catholic. The members of the jury were offended at the charge. And so several long weeks of testimony began.<br /><br />It was confused and confusing. Most of the early testimony dealt with the actions of Lennox, with no mention of Sheedy at all. The murder weapon could not be determined. The coroner testified that he believed the wound to have been from a clasp knife. Several witnesses testified that Sheedy had been stabbed by a pitchfork, and pointed to a man who had been seen waving a pitchfork at that time. The doctor who had treated Sheedy while he was in the pub (and who was also a Protestant) testified that he had spoken to Sheedy while he lay in the pub when no one else was present, and asked him if he could identify his attacker. The doctor said Sheedy told him that the attacker was a friend (i.e., fellow Catholic), whom he refused to name and the stabbing was accidental. A reporter for a Catholic newspaper then testified he spoke to Sheedy shortly after the doctor had left while they were alone in Millar's shop and the reporter claimed Sheedy said he had been stabbed by someone he didn't know, but who closely resembled the man who had been taken into custody. More protestants came forward who said they had asked Sheedy who had stabbed him, and they all testified he replied he had been stabbed by a friend accidentally, and refused to name the friend. More Catholics came forward and testified they had asked Sheedy who had stabbed him, and they claimed he had said he had been stabbed by a Protestant he didn't know but who resembled the man who had been arrested. Oddly, to our eyes, no one, either civilian or police, asked him how he had been stabbed, or tried to recreate the circumstances of the murder. They only asked him the most direct question: who had done it.<br /><br />The one man who claimed to have witnessed the attack was found to have been drinking that day, and the protestant jury dismissed his testimony as that of an Irish drunk. Another man came to the inquest drunk, and insinuated that he knew what had really happened, but wasn't going to tell. He was thrown into jail for contempt of court, and when he returned to the inquest a few days later sober he claimed that he was only pretending to know what happened, and he really had no idea and nothing to add. The carter who had been seen driving his horses into the procession, who was also an Orangeman, wanted it to be known that he had done no such thing, and a few fellow Orangemen police officers testified that it was so, for he had been present with them and nowhere near the trouble when he started it. Meanwhile, one member of the jury insisted on asking every Irish witness a single question: were they wearing the green ribbon (symbol of Irish independence) that day? He would then dismiss the testimony of everyone who said 'yes'.<br /><br />The inquest could come to no firm conclusion. The man who had been arrested was set free, and the cause of Sheedy's death was officially listed as 'murder by person or persons unknown.' The Irish community would have none of that. Sheedy's burial record would read, under the heading 'cause of death': "Murdered by an Orangeman."<br /><br />As for the riot at the National Hotel, the only people charged for the riot were some of the Catholics from inside the hotel. A preliminary hearing found sufficient evidence to charge Lennox and a few others for their actions during the riot, but at the assizes the charges were never read and were thus dismissed without ever being tried. <br /><br />In the wake of his death and the attack on the hotel, many in the Irish community concluded they would never be protected or given justice from the police of Toronto, and they formed the Hibernian Benevolent Society, dedicated to providing protection for the Irish in Toronto, by force if necessary. The Fenians would find them fertile recruiting grounds- in fact, the founder o the Hibernians was himself a Fenian, and would die in the US following the Fenian Raids of 1866.<br /><br />But police reform was coming. It, too, was spurred on by the miscarriage of justice in Sheedy's case. Many in Toronto, not merely the Catholics were fed up with the Orange Lodge protecting its own. The calls for change which began in the wake of the 1855 riots were spurred forward, and, later in 1858, the entire police department was fired on a single day. The new department was to be more reflective of the population of Toronto as a whole, and membership in secret societies was forbidden. That didn't quite work out: many of the officers were still Orangemen in the new force, and the Catholics would be less than ten percent of the force by 1875, though they were twenty per cent of the population. But it was better than nothing.<br /><br />Sheedy's death would be a rallying cry for years to come. When the Corpus Christi Riot of 1864 occurred, the publisher of the Irish Canadian weekly newspaper would rail that the Orangemen had sought to stop a Catholic procession on the grounds of the Catholic Cathedral. "And now... we must be regulated in future, as to how and where to celebrate our religious festivals, not by our Bishops and Priests, but by the murderers of Sheedy and the sackers of the National Hotel."</div>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-9270781691459141252023-03-09T21:51:00.002-05:002023-03-10T15:08:27.914-05:00Reflections on Coffee Sundays.<p> My Knights and I along with our sisters in the Daughters of Isabella have been running coffee Sundays almost every month since the restrictions were lifted. They weren't what I wanted to run, but they have still managed to turn out fairly well.</p><p>We did our first Sunday at the parish just before the shutdowns of March 2020. Before we took over, the coffee Sunday was run through various groups at the parish. I hate to say it, but they weren't very good. They had no funding, and therefore ran it as cheaply as possible. Parishioners came and saw an urn of coffee (Folger's), a pot of hot water, and some cookies that were bought from the bargain bin (ie, stale) from the local supermarket. Whatever the original size of the crowd, it was soon dropping off, with just a few regular die hards coming down for the refreshments, such as they were. </p><p>Unfortunately, it was a case of failure reinforcing failure. People didn't come on account of the lack of effort, and the small crowd made the people running it to conclude that there was no point in putting in much effort, so they didn't. which made the crowds even smaller, etc, etc. The people who ran those early Sundays were disappointed with the lack of turnout, and rather than seeing and appreciating those who did come, instead lamented those who were not there. Occasionally they would say the small turnout was not worth the effort they had put in.</p><p>At any rate, people were simply walking out the doors after Mass, several of them probably to go to Starbucks or something similar to buy a coffee. It was obvious to most of us that, if people would rather pay five bucks for a coffee rather than get one of ours for free, there was a problem. So, when the organizers announced they would no longer do them and asked if anyone else would step up, my knights and our sister group the Daughters stepped up. We tried to turn coffee Sunday into Cafe Sunday. The first thing we did was jettison the store bought stuff. People were not going to come out for things they already had in their own homes. We brought home cooked pastries, brought in our espresso pots from home, started making hot chocolate for the kids. We tried to go over the top. We baked bread in the parish ovens in an attempt to fill teh room with the smell of fresh baked bread and draw people in. We even got some parish musicians to come and play a little and sing. We were approached by some of the people who had formerly run the coffee Sunday. They told us our efforts were nice, but all that was needed was some coffee and some cookies. We ignored them. We ran two before Covid hit.</p><p>For the duration of Covid I was in contact with my Knights and with the parish office. I was trying to arrange some kind of celebration for when were finally back in the church without restrictions. We debated different things to do- pancake breakfast, pizza Sunday, etc. Unfortunately, the basement was in the process of being renovated. Perhaps we could use the garden? No. It was where the workers who were working on the basement stored their equipment. When we were allowed to go back last May, we had almost nothing with which to work. It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I suggested we run a Coffee Sunday. We had nowhere to run it, nowhere to prep. Our options were to either do nothing and let it pass, or set up a table and do our best in the Narthex. We and some other volunteers baked some stuff at home and lugged an urn out. We got a kettle for some tea and some hot cocoa. </p><p>Oddly enough, it worked well. People couldn't just walk out- they had to pass us. They were happy for the opportunity to pause and socialize. Setting up in the narthex may have been a desperation move, but it turned out to be a decent idea. We did it there for several more months. Then, this January, we were first allowed to use the basement again, though not the kitchen. We set up mainly in the basement, but still kept the table up in the narthex for the people who couldn't come down. </p><p>Oddly enough, another of my better 'ideas' was likewise an accident of necessity. I had set up our Sunday in October in the belief that renovations to my home would be done by then. They weren't, and I had no kitchen and no oven. The only thing I had to cook with was a hot plate. I stared at it, wondering what I could possibly do. The only things I could come up with were Rice Crispy Squares, Scotcheroos (rice crispy squares with chocolate and butterscotch icing) and fudge. I was all but apologizing that I didn't have anything better when handing them out, but they were popular. People hadn't seen them in a long time and were pleasantly surprised to see them. They became a new regular item.</p><p>We haven't charged anything for this. We put out a tip jar, and we tell people that everything is free, but we appreciate anything to help cover the costs. We have always broken even, and lately, we have even earned a little extra. Not that much, this would never be a profitable fundraiser, but it is nice to have a little extra. It allows us to go a little more over the top.</p><p>As I said, I have learned a few things. We try and run it with a mixture of the familiar- we always have a few standbys in our treats, and also a something new. We try to make each one a little different. This means, yes, we will have a few that don't work. That's fine. Learn and do better next time.</p><p>I do the Sundays because, frankly, not many of my knights come out to help. These are something we can do with a minimal number of men. </p><p>I also try to make sure there is always something for the kids. The last one I dubbed a hot chocolate Sunday, and we went through a ton of the stuff. It's important the kids are not treated as an afterthought. </p><p>I try to have something for everyone- and that everyone is growing. There was one little boy to whom I owed an apology. I had been told by his mother a few months back that he was allergic to dairy and eggs, and also gluten intolerant- you name it, the poor kid was stuck with it. I spent a few months trying to think of something the kid could have before I realized I was overthinking it, and got some grapes, oranges and bananas. The kid and his grandmother came to me afterwards and thanked me. I squatted down to the kid and apologized that it took me so long. A few of my knights had told me they thought buying fruit would add to the expense and it wasn't worth it prior to the event. I ignored them.</p><p>Our efforts are starting to bear a little fruit. I haven't recruited any new members, but I haven't been trying much. There are studies on advertising which show that the average person must hear an ad or similar message seven times before it registers and they decide to act on it or not. Our last Sunday was our eighth- and my wife and I were approached by three people who wanted to help. Help is good enough for now. It will help us to start working in other areas.</p><p>Lastly, whatever success we have had comes from the effort we have put in. When the people who ran the earlier Sundays said the small turn out was not worth it, that was a mistake on their part, and a bad one at that. They were, in effect, telling the people who did come that they were not worth it. That was not their intent, of course, but that was the message they were sending, and it is a terrible message. Considering what Christ did for us, what he thought we were worth, it is wrong for any Christian to say to any human being at all that they are not worth it. It is even worse for a Catholic to say it of another Catholic. I am happy we have been having larger turnouts of late, but I hope I would still put in the effort even if they were not. It is my hope we are telling everyone, down to the child with eating issues, or the homeless man who came in looking for a cup of joe and some healing, loudly and clearly, that they are worth it.</p><p><br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-21001711700836399472023-02-26T20:53:00.002-05:002023-03-01T10:20:19.900-05:00Prayer request<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Today some of my brother Knights and I, along with some of our sisters from the Daughters of Isabella, hosted a coffee Sunday after the masses at St Cecilia's parish. It went well. In between the masses, our brothers and I were in the basement discussing various matters when we brought up St John Chrysostom's famous saying that those who do not see Christ in the beggar at the church door have no hope of finding Him in the communion cup. Not five minutes later, a homeless man came down into the basement and asked for some coffee. We gave him a cup and some of our refreshments as well. He and I spoke for a little bit. His name is Robert, and, according to him, he suffers from schizophrenia. He hears voices, but the medication he is on is helping. He was once a welder, holding a steady job, until his condition rendered him unemployable. He said he misses his job, and he came to Mass seeking communion and hoping God would help heal his mind. He asked me to pray for him, and that request I am now passing on to you as well. In your charity, please, storm heaven for Robert. </span></span></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-60237872891932635242023-02-22T09:26:00.006-05:002023-03-04T15:41:08.570-05:00Ash Wednesday<p> <span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Of all our seasons, I think Lent is probably the most misunderstood. What are you giving up? is the common question. Outsiders may wonder what is the point. Many insiders do as well. As always with the Church, the rules here are, well, complicated, but are also illuminating, if you care to dig into them.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Among my possessions I have an old prayer book given to my father long ago on the occasion of his first communion. This little book has on its first pages the six commandments of the church, one of which is germane to my topic: observe all the prescribed days of fasting and abstinence. And then, as is typical of the Church, after declaring this iron clad law, it then proceeds to list all the exceptions. So all are bound to observe fasting and abstinence, (abstinence often meaning 'no meat') unless they are too young. Or too old. Or infirm. Or pregnant. Or traveling. (Keep in mind, travel was quite different back at this time. More on that later.) Or a member of the labouring class. Since the majority of people at the time of the book's publishing were of the labouring class, these exceptions meant that the rule only bound a minority of people. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And then there are the foods that are not considered meat even though they are the flesh of animals, with fish being the most famous. However, the definition of what was a 'fish' (and therefore permissible to eat on days of abstinence) grew to some odd inclusions, and so alligator was also declared a fish, as was, oddly, capybara (well known today as the world's largest mouse). Why these strange exemptions and inclusions?</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The answer has less to do with the animals themselves, and more with who was eating them. Fish was a staple of the poor for many centuries. Similarly, alligator and capybara were a common food amongst some impoverished indigenous groups. Ordering the poor or the indigenous to not eat these was tantamount to ordering them to starve. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And with this you begin to get to the crux of the matter. The purpose of the fasting and abstinence was not to place undue burdens upon those who were already heavily, heavily burdened. Hence the exception for the labouring classes. Labourers at the time the book were written were men and women who did back breaking work for long hours and little pay. Meat was already a rarity for many of them. The exception was telling them to eat whatever they could find, and not to worry. <br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Similarly the exemption of travelers. Why would travelers be exempt? As I said travel does not mean now what it did then. I think the word 'travel' may come from the French word 'travailler'- which means 'to work', and there you find the old meaning of the word. Those who traveled were the 'travailleurs', workers, moving from place to place, looking for occupation. The exemption was not meant for first class passengers embarking on the Grand Tour, but for those who were forced to leave family and home to find some work for some pay to keep body and soul together. The exemption is saying to those in such circumstances, eat whatever food you can find, and worry not. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">On the whole, I believe the law is telling us something important. Fasting and abstinence are important in and of themselves, it is true, but they were also tied to charity back in the day. Those who are well off and comfortable are being asked to think less of themselves, which most of us understand well enough, but they are also being asked to think more of others. Lent also tells us: 'Your next meal is assured. Theirs is not. Lay down your fork, and pass your plate to them.'</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><br /></div></div><p></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-34188780969162467832023-02-20T22:33:00.001-05:002023-02-26T21:59:09.103-05:00catholics murdered<p>Auxiliary Bishop David O'Connell of LA was found murdered today. In Nigeria, the kidnapping and murder of Catholic priests and lay people is nearly a daily event. Pray for all who have died and their familes, and also pray for their killers that they repent and ask for mercy, lest they die in wretchedness.</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-61523576111387070372023-02-11T15:24:00.000-05:002023-02-11T15:24:34.420-05:00Toronto has a new archbishop<p> Bishop Francis Leo, auxiliary bishop of Montreal, has been appointed archbishop of Toronto, to replace our retired one, Thomas Cardinal Collins. I know nothing of the man, beyond understanding that he could do with our prayers at this time.</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-71370775285248100662022-12-31T13:01:00.003-05:002022-12-31T13:01:48.995-05:00May Eternal Light Shine Upon him<p> Rest in Peace, Benedict XVI.</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-32240566200291646522022-12-25T22:06:00.000-05:002022-12-25T22:06:06.337-05:00Christmas Proclamation<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: georgia; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: georgia; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The</span><span data-offset-key="6lo1e-1-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: georgia; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ</span></p><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="dso78-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dso78-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dso78-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="aldeq-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aldeq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="aldeq-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Twenty-fifth Day of December,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="6hicc-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6hicc-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6hicc-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">when ages beyond number had run their course</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="9vbac-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9vbac-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9vbac-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">from the creation of the world,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="c3a98-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c3a98-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="c3a98-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">when God in the beginning created heaven and earth,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="d875v-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d875v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="d875v-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">and formed man in his own likeness;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="2cmk8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2cmk8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2cmk8-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="f7838-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f7838-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="f7838-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">when century upon century had passed</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="6aqst-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6aqst-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="6aqst-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">since the Almighty set his bow in the clouds after the Great Flood,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="4r6lr-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4r6lr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4r6lr-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">as a sign of covenant and peace;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="78t0o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="78t0o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="78t0o-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="2m01a-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2m01a-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2m01a-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the twenty-first century since Abraham, our father in faith,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="le3c-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="le3c-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="le3c-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">came out of Ur of the Chaldees;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="5rnkm-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5rnkm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5rnkm-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="daukf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="daukf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="daukf-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the thirteenth century since the People of Israel were led by Moses</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="7sis9-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7sis9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="7sis9-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the Exodus from Egypt;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="efbl8-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="efbl8-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="efbl8-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="dq97o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dq97o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="dq97o-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">around the thousandth year since David was anointed King;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="60c34-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="60c34-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="60c34-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="516p-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="516p-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="516p-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the sixty-fifth week of the prophecy of Daniel;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="agsm1-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="agsm1-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="agsm1-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="7dvpd-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7dvpd-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="7dvpd-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="e290m-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e290m-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="e290m-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="2ksa3-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2ksa3-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2ksa3-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the year seven hundred and fifty-two</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="1t8un-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1t8un-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1t8un-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">since the foundation of the City of Rome;</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="eh0gf-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eh0gf-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="eh0gf-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="a4gua-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a4gua-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="a4gua-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">in the forty-second year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="8eaf7-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8eaf7-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="8eaf7-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">the whole world being at peace,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="5sjq4-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5sjq4-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="5sjq4-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">JESUS CHRIST, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="1cgv9-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1cgv9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="1cgv9-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">desiring to consecrate the world by his most loving presence,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="9rirj-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9rirj-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9rirj-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">was conceived by the Holy Spirit,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="clsio-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="clsio-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="clsio-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">and when nine months had passed since his conception,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="bsiun-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bsiun-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="bsiun-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">was born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem of Judah,</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="f7p0n-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f7p0n-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="f7p0n-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">and was made man:</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="70k4s-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="70k4s-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="70k4s-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="bpl9t" data-offset-key="4nb3d-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #686868; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4nb3d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="4nb3d-0-0"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh</span></span><span data-offset-key="4nb3d-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></div></div>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-70475813633648654152022-12-24T08:34:00.008-05:002023-03-08T19:58:18.798-05:00Merry Christmas, all<div><br /></div><div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xdj266r x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was around this day, fifty six years ago, that my grandfather spoke his last intelligible words. The story goes like this:</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My grandfather was born in deeply Catholic Ireland in the late 1800s, and emigrated to Canada and the Toronto area in the early twentieth cntury during a period where, though 'no papists or dogs signs' had become less common (though not gone altogether) it was still very common for help wanted ads to end with the words 'Protestants preferred'. Toronto <a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a>was stilll a very Protestant city and would remain so for years. The mayors of Toronto were still a long string of Grand Masters of the Orange Lodge and would remain so until the nineteen fifties when Nathan Philips won the position. My grandfather took manual labour jobs working construction and eventually as a grave digger to support his family as bst he could. He had a stroke some in the early 1960's if memory serves, and and it left him chair and bed rid. The only word he could speak after the stroke was 'there' which he would repeat until someone figured out what it was he was trying to say. Oddly enough, my eldest sister, who was between 3 and six in those years was surpsiginly adept at figuring out what 'there, there' meant, and it could mean anything from 'I need to go to the bathroom' to 'That picture is crooked, and if I am going to be stuck staring at this wall all day long, someone had better straighten it out.'</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At any rate, on this day many years ago, or so I have been told, (I hadn't been born yet, though my mother would have been pregnant with me at the time) the family was in a rush to leave to go to Midnight Mass, which my grandfather could not attend. So they parked his chair in front of the television, and rushed to find a televised Midnight Mass for him to watch. Finding one, they made sure he would be comfortable for the next hour and a bit and hurriied off, blissfully unaware that they had left the devout Catholic man who had suffered much bigotry over his life for his faith watching a Protestant service. Upon their return, the anger and disgust which my grandfather must have felt roused him to speak the last words which were not 'there there'. He glared at them with what my mother called his 'black look' and muttered: 'Stupid Idiots!' For that occasion, they did not need my sister to translate.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He would live for almost another year, but after that he went back into his 'There there.' The family cared for and loved him until the end.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In that spirit, here's Carols from Kings. Merry Christmas, all</span></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/hNg6Nv1Ey8Y" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/hNg6Nv1Ey8Y/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe><br /></div><div>I know, it's Anglican. Just go with it for the moment. And Merry Christmas.</div></div>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-62217045537229323832022-11-11T08:52:00.002-05:002023-04-01T13:45:23.043-04:00The Homecoming.<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">They shall grow not old</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: georgia; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we that are left grow old.</span></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Age shall not weary them,</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nor the years condemn</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At the going down of the sun,</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And <a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a>in the morning</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We shall remember them.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We shall remember them.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One hundred and four years ago, on the evening of November 10-11, the Canadian Corps had reached the outskirts of Mons and the men began to prepare for the end of the war on the morrow. To their shock and dismay, orders came down for the men to start marching. They were to capture Mons. Will Bird wrote of the reaction among the men that night in his book "Ghosts Have Warm Hands". The men were planning their lives after the war when an unexpected visitor showed up.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">"<i>Bird!" It was the voice of the company-sergeant-major, harsh as a whip saw. "Get your section ready at once. Battle order. leave your other stuff in your billet."</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> The Mills brothers sat up. Jones pushed the little girls from his lap. I managed to speak. "What's up?" I demanded.</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> "We're going to take Mons. No use to argue about it. Get our men ready."</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> "Just a minute." Tom Mills was on his feet. "The war's over tomorrow and everybody knows it. What kind of rot is this?"</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> "Watch what you say." The sergeant-major's face was set. He was not speaking in his normal voice at all. "Orders are orders. Get your gear on."</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> Every man argued bitterly and it was difficult to get them ready. We formed up with the platoon while the men swore over trivial matters, hitched around and changed positions. Two cursed steadily, and with frightful emphasis, the ones who had issued the orders.</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> Away on the left was the report of shell bursts, and we could see a few long range crumps leaving black smoke trails. Thirteen platoon came along and joined us. Five or six of their men were shouting at us to turn around and attack headquarters. The officers were worse enemies than any German. No one tried to quiet them, and presently we marched down a street along a road and into a field...</i></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The decision to attack Mons remains controversial to this day. No one knows exactly why General Currie decided to make one final attack in the last hours of the war. Some say it was because Currie had been attacking all along, and he did not wish to give the Germans any breathing space in case the armistice did not go as planned. Some say the orders actually came from higher up the chain of Command, as the British did not fully trust the Germans to honour the Armistice, and therefore the British forces were to keep the pressure up on the Germans until the last second. Some suggest it was because Mons was the first place the Germans and British had fought in 1914, and Currie felt capturing what the British had lost would be a symbol and inspiration to future generations of Canadians. Others suggest he had been treated roughly by the British in the closing weeks of the war, and he decided to show them up by taking back what they had lost.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Currie's own statements indicated he did not expect any resistance from the Germans. He was not far off: resistance was quite light, but 30 Canadians still died in capturing Mons that last day. Every dead man was someone's friend, or rival, or brother.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <i> It had become full day when Old Bill came around the corner with Jim Mills. He beckoned me to him. Jim was wild-eyed, white as if he had been ill. "He says he's going to shoot whoever arranged to have his brother killed for nothing." whispered Bill. "He really means it. He's hoping Currie comes here today. If he doesn't, he's going to shoot the next higher up. He says his brother was murdered."</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> One of the 42nd officers was walking toward us and I went up to him. He was not the one I would have chosen, but something had to be done. I saluted him and told him about Jim. He was startled, for he had not known Jones and Tom Mills were dead. But he said there was no need to worry about Jim. Take him and get him drunk, so drunk he wouldn't know anything for twenty four hours. When he came out of it he would be all right. He told me to say my piece to Bill and come back to him. Bill agreed to get Jim plastered, and I gave him the money. Then the officer took me up to where the adjutant was standing. He said there was to be a parade shortly, but the two deaths must be reported...</i></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The decision to take Mons is the only spot on Currie's otherwise sterling record as a general. It is also ironic to consider that after the war Field Marshall Haig was celebrated as a conquering hero despite having commanded the two greatest disasters in British military history, who wasted hundreds of thousands of lives to save his career, but Currie's reputation was ruined for a battle he won with minimal casualties.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> However, not all men remembered the end with bitterness. One soldier wrote of the experience later, in a letter to the editor that mentioned my Grandfather, a soldier in the Great War.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I Was There</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">By a Port Credit Veteran</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the murky darkness of a November morning 41 years ago I was in Mons. Not far ahead in the blackness were the retreating lines of the German army, splitting the night with its artillery as is put up a last desperate barrage against the advancing Canadians. Before dawn had broken I was given the singular privilege of passing the cease fire order to a Port Credit man, the late Roy Finch.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As a Sergeant in No. 3 platoon, 'A' Company, 19th Battalion Canadian Expeditionary Force, Roy Finch, D.C.M., M.M., had been left in charge of the platoon when his officer had been killed 10 minutes before the order was received. Another Port Credit man, the late Fred McNulty, was responsible for carrying the good news to many war weary Canadians. He was a runner with the same battalion.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> This incident remains fresh in my mind as other memories remain fresh in the minds of all Canadian relating to both past wars. This is as it should be, and to observe these memories each November 11 is little return for the great sacrifice made by so many. We who were there can never forget, the remembrance is a permanent inspiration to us, as it should be to all.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> At 10:59, Canadian soldier Private Price was killed by a sniper as he took part in a patrol near Mons. He was the last Canadian soldier killed in the war. One minute later, at 11:00, the guns fell silent for the first time in four years. The war was over.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> As that long ago November day wore on, the Canadians found themselves in the middle of celebrations, parades and parties. No man present would ever forget that day and the cheering joy that rang in their ears. The war was over. They had won. For a time they were delirious with joy. But soon their thoughts turned to their distant homes. Much to their chagrin, the soldiers soon found out home would wait, as they were still in the army, and for a time they were to be part of the occupying force of Germany.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The Canadian Corps' record of achievement throughout the war was singular: no other unit could rival the Corps. The Germans apparently invented a new word to describe the Canadian troops: "stormtroopers." But their victories and their reputation came at a price Of the 440,000 men who served in the four divisions of the Corps, 67,000 died, or one in seven. In terms of Canada's total population of the time, nearly one percent of Canadians died on the battlefields of Europe. A further 173,000 were wounded, bringing the total casualty rate to one in two, or fifty percent. Recent studies have indicated that should a military unit suffer a casualty rate higher than twenty percent, the survivors suffer from irreparable psychological damage. By that standard we are left with the disturbing possibility that the next generation of Canadians were raised to a large extent by men who were not wholly sane.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Worst of all, the peace treaty, when it finally came, was a disaster, though none knew it yet. The young men through their blood and sacrifice had bought a chance to make a new world. The old men took that chance and merely recreated the old one. As a direct result of that folly, in twenty years the sons of the veterans of the Great War would be back to fight a greater, bloodier war.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> It was 1919 before the Canadians were back in England, awaiting their transport home. Some men couldn't wait for the return. Others began to dread it. The young men had grown up in war, had come to manhood in war. As men, war was all they knew. What were they to be in peace time? Other men began to sense something was different within themselves. They had changed. They were, as Bird wrote in his book, "more or less a stranger to themselves."</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Slowly the men began to trickle back to Canada to find a country which had made no preparations against their return. The men were expected to simply pick up their lives where they had left off. Some men found a way to do it. For others the change had been too great. Men of war, they could not cope with the peace. Men like Captain Agar Adamson of the Princess Patricias. Adamson was a very rare bird: he had served almost the entire war. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Throughout the war he had written letters to his wife almost every day, telling her details about camp life, battles, and the deaths of friends. He signed all the letters "Ever thine, Agar." "Ever" turned out to be a year. Shortly after his return he found peace no longer suited him. He abandoned his family and traveled. He became a hard drinker, a gambler and an adventure seeker. He died in a plane crash in 1929.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> For a time my grandfather waited in England for his transportation home. He got some leave and traveled about a bit, even going to Ireland where he met his grandfather for the first and only time. He returned to camp and waited. On May 14th, 1919 he and the rest of his battalion boarded the ship SS Carolina and set sail for home.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Home was becoming real for the men now. Many of the men, mainly the newer recruits who had only arrived just before the very end, looked towards home with unbridled enthusiasm. The older men had mixed feelings. Will Bird wrote of his journey home:</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>In my fine sheets I could not sleep and began to forget where I was. I seemed to be in an atmosphere rancid with stale sweat and breathing, the hot grease of candles, the dampness of the underground. I saw cheeks resting on tunics, mud streaked, unshaven faces... men shivering on chicken wire bunks. Then, from overhead, the machine gun's note louder, higher, sharper as it swept bullets over the shell crater in which I hugged the earth... the rumble of guttural voices and heavy steps in an unseen trench just the other side of the black mass of tangled barb wire beside which I lay... the long drawn whine of a coming shell... its heart shaking explosion... the seconds of heavy silence after, then the first low wail of a man down with a blood spurting wound... It was too much. I got up and dressed, although it was only four o'clock in the morning.</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> It was cold but I wore my greatcoat, and to my amazement there were other dark figures near the rail. We stood, hunched together, gazing ahead into the darkness. Presently another figure joined us, then another. In an hour there were fourteen of us, and no one had spoken, although we were touching shoulders. The way we stood made me think of a simile. Ah-we were like prisoners. I had seen them standing together, staring over the wire into the field beyond, never speaking. And we were more or less prisoners of our thoughts. Those at home would never understand us, because something inexplicable would make us unable to put our feelings into words. We could only talk with one another.</i></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i> All at once the watchers stirred, tensed, craned forward. It was the moment for which we had lived, which we had envisioned a thousand times, that held us so full of feeling it could not find utterance. Far ahead, faint but growing brighter, we had glimpsed the first lights of home!</i></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> But Halifax and the East Coast of Canada was not home to my Grandfather. Home for him lay two thousand miles to the west, with a woman he had not seen in three years, and a son who had been but two or three weeks old when he signed up. Many of the milestones marking a child's progress were long in the past. He had missed his son's first steps, his first tooth, his first words. The two would not recognize each other, and would meet as strangers.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> If he looked into the future, he might have seen three more sons (my father being the first of those three, born in 1922) and one daughter who died in infancy. He would return to his job of making fireworks. The job was dangerous, and explosions were common. Every Saturday night would see him at the local legion hall with the other veterans. Will Bird was correct: they could only speak to each other, and sought the regular comfort and company of each other. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> My Grandfather never spoke of the war to his sons, not even my father, who followed Grandfather's journey across the ocean to serve in the Second World War, and was a vet like his father. My Grandfather had even received a medal from the war for some act of bravery, but no one knows for certain what it was, or why.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Grandfather and his battalion disembarked at Halifax, boarded a train and began a long journey to Toronto, home drawing nearer. The men were excited to be returning, but they knew they were leaving something behind. Gone was the camaraderie of the trenches, the bleak humour, the brotherhood. Gone was a life lived only in the present, where the next moment may not exist and therefore was unimportant. For years or months they had lived only in the present moment, the future being an unreal possibility. Now a normal span of life stretched out before the men. Once again they would grunt and sweat under the weary burden of the future, a future that seemed more of a question mark now than ever before. They would find a way.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The train carrying the 19th and 20th battalions arrived in Toronto on May 24th, 1919 at the Toronto station of the CPR, now a liquor store near Summerhill subway station. The men were formed up in parade formation and they marched together for the last time. Crowds in the street cheered and threw confetti at the men as they marched to the old Varsity stadium, where there was to be a reception. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Officials and politicians had gathered planned to give speeches to the men and their families before the men were dismissed. But at the sight of the long lost men the crowd could not contain itself. They burst past the barricades and rushed the men. The police tried briefly to retain order, and then gave up. The politicians threw their hands up in despair: they never would give their speeches. No one noticed. No one cared. Once again the men of the army found their ears filled with a roar and noise; once again they stood in the midst of chaos. But unlike the noise and confusion of the war which carried fear and death, this was the noise of Joy and Life. People wept and kissed as they met again after years apart. Some soldiers found time to say good-bye to old comrades as they went off with their families. The men forgot the past, forgot the future as they reunited again to the present, only the present. Here was another day no one would ever forget for as long as they lived, for the men were home.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The men were home.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5314zQRcMN7zWprHSqXahsoB8n3Ffd7NZxSnfouxe7FKmukDP1-Ez4OylSmonsmcjVIooASGZPj_sQGuqFi3Lr_c8SFpS9Z3aNQXzTODU76t9kX9YHlo7-gU0MIIG5ZavPNQpIVz7pIFXlk_9Pg9gCezxz7HjDxA1Rrua9-_qrTgEnqz4Zf0JXVUkA/s1280/homecoming..jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5314zQRcMN7zWprHSqXahsoB8n3Ffd7NZxSnfouxe7FKmukDP1-Ez4OylSmonsmcjVIooASGZPj_sQGuqFi3Lr_c8SFpS9Z3aNQXzTODU76t9kX9YHlo7-gU0MIIG5ZavPNQpIVz7pIFXlk_9Pg9gCezxz7HjDxA1Rrua9-_qrTgEnqz4Zf0JXVUkA/s320/homecoming..jpg" width="213" /></a></div><i>My great grandparents' house, decorated for the return of my grandfather and his brother.</i><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-24360673052380221492022-10-30T19:25:00.008-04:002023-02-27T14:36:28.785-05:00A little note on Black '47<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tried this year to do some tours of Toronto and explain the impact of the Great Hunger had on the city, as this year is the 175th anniversary of Black '47, the worst year in the famine. Unfortunately time and the weather (too hot, too cold, too rainy) never once cooperated. I ran into this fellow on Youtube, and he appears to be popular, and he gave a brief overview of the Famine. I thought I would share it here, and explain why this is deceptive. The Famine was far </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">more complicated than can be explained in a minute, and the actions of the British were far, far worse than mere negligence and a bad idea. Strap in. This will be rather verbose.</span></span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Great Hunger was centuries in the making. In a sense, the history of the Irish will sound familiar to many North Americans. They lived for centuries in their land, loosely formed into family groups or clans based on kinship, with the clans headed by chieftains and with the chieftains ruled loosely by a King. Also, the Church was there. That is important.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One day, some strangers showed up from across the sea and said 'Lovely land you got here. It's ours now.' This had, of course, happened many times before in their past, but those previous strangers had eventually left. These new ones showed a marked propensity to stay. Fighting ensued, and would continue to ensue off and on for centuries, as the Irish tried to throw off the English, but the rebellions almost invariably failed and the English would retaliate and place punitive measures upon the Irish. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At any rate, the Irish now no longer owned their own land, and had to pay rent to the English for the Land they had always lived upon. Also, the English began setting up colonies in the northern part of Ireland, so on and so forth. Also, Henry the Fat one day decided he was the head of his own religion, and anyone who denied this was committing treason. Since the Irish didn't go along on the whole with his new religion, they were now committing treason, thus inviting greater restrictions and greater punitive measures down upon them. Okay, how does that play in to the Famine? Be patient, I am getting there.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Occasionally, the Irish would try to better their lot by, say, going into business, which in the early centuries meant trade. Ireland was at that time a land of farms, so they started trading the products of their land. So far so good, but the English, soon to be British, started passing laws about that. So they started, among other things, to trade their livestock with the English. However, the English livestock producers complained about the competition from Ireland. and around the time of Henry VIII or his daughter Elizabeth the law was changed, banning the Irish from exporting their livestock. So the Irish said alright, we can't trade the living animals, how about the dead ones? So they started producing and exporting smoked meats and corned beef and other preserved meats. All was well until the British producers of said foodstuffs complained, and, Bob's your Uncle, the export of Irish preserved meats was banned. So, they can't trade the live animal, nor the meat, how about the skins? Ireland began producing leather for trade, which raised the ire of the English leather makers, and the export of Irish leather was banned. Come the industrial revolution, the Irish played with the idea of industrializing , built some factories.... you can guess what happened.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I say the Irish could not export their wares, I mean the Irish Catholics. Their goods could not be exported by themselves. But goods still flowed out of Ireland. English landlords still collected grains and meat and cheese and butter and whatnot for rent. Merchants in the North could buy it. But both were operating without any competition, so they could pay the Irish whatever they wanted or value the Irish goods and produce for as low as they pleased, because, by law, the Irish literally had nowhere else to go to sell their wares. So, when the gentleman below says the British thought the potato made the Irish lazy and indolent and refused to modernize.... Yeah. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The upshot of all this is that by the times the 1800s rolled around, about the only way you could be Irish and eat was if you farmed. Keep that in mind, I'll get back to it in a moment.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">All for all, it is not surprising that the Irish rebelled whenever they felt they could- rebellions which were almost always doomed to failure at least in part because they couldn't afford to buy the weapons necessary. The rebellion which occurred in the 1790's brought one of the strongest crackdowns in the history of Ireland. The Irish Catholics were, among other things, banned from keeping records- births, deaths, weddings, baptisms- all of it. These penal laws as they were called were in place until 1850, so, if you're Irish and interested in your family history, you will run into a wall at 1850. Going back beyond that is very difficult, and for many impossible. The education of Catholics was also highly restricted. Most Irish were illiterate in the period by law.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So the Irish are poor illiterate farmers by the 1800's. They lived on small farms which were getting smaller, as the result of both tradition and law. The Irish tended to break up their farms and divide them amongst their children rather than give it all to the eldest son. There were also laws in place about this, which added carrot that the son could inherit it all- but only if he converted to Anglicanism. This was another way of breaking up the Irish and, I suppose, modernizing them. The farms then kept getting smaller and smaller, but the Irish still had to pay rents because they didn't own the land. So they would grow cash crops for the rent- wheat and other grains, sheep, cows and pigs, and they would give the meat, eggs, butter, cheese etc as rent. So much of their land was taken up by growing the food for rent, they needed a crop that could produce a maximum amount of food on minimal land left to keep eating.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Enter the humble Potato. It is packed with nutrients and starch, and lasted well into the winter, providing an Irish family with enough food to stay alive and thrive. The standard Irish meal of the time would be potatoes boiled in buttermilk or whey- the leftovers from making butter and cheese, respectively- and it gave them the nutrients they needed to survive. The Irish even had a reputation at the time for being the tallest people in Europe.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, you see, the history of several centuries put the Irish into a position where their very lives depended on one thing, with no alternatives or back ups. Then, in the winter of 1845-1846, the prevailing winds shifted, and the winds and rains brought a new plant disease to Ireland, and wiped out their sole means of survival.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And it got worse. it is the dirty little secret of the Famine that Ireland exported food for the duration. Every day, as the Irish starved, the British exported ship after ship of food out of the country, away from the hands that grew it and the mouths that so desperately needed it. The potatoes rotting in the ground would have been little more than an inconvenience if only the rest of the food had stayed. But the British landlords would have it, and left not a scrap for the Irish. 200,000 British troops were sent into Ireland to make certain the food kept flowing out of Ireland, and to punish any Irish who tried to keep it for themselves. Landlords saw this as an opportunity to rid themselves of the troublesome tenants and convert the land to more profitable uses. As families died or left, their homes would be burned to keep others from moving in. Whole villages vanished. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Some tried to help. The Sultan of the Ottoman Empire heard of the Irish suffering and sent a shipload of food to Ireland. But with British import export laws, the food could not be offloaded, and rotted in the ship's hold as it lay in harbour, providing nourishment only to rats. A tribe of American Choctaw Indians, no stranger to poverty and suffering themselves, sent the Irish $150- worth over $7,000 today. The Irish have never forgotten the gesture. Queen Victoria reached into her purse and contributed five pounds to Irish relief.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There was some help for the Irish. The most common form were tickets out of Ireland.. Protestant preachers also traveled the countryside, offering soup to the starving, but only if they converted and listened to a sermon first. They would then move on, leaving starving converts behind. Virtually all the help that came from the British did so with some string attached- leave, convert, or die. Those who left often died anyway, commonly of Typhus. There are over a thousand of them buried in Toronto in a graveyard that was eventually paved over and turned into a playground. Gross Ile, Montreal, Quebec and Kingston among others all have their own cemeteries and their buried thousands. Many more died in transit and were tossed into the Ocean.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And so they left and they died, or they stayed and they died, or they found a way to survive, but only barely. It is hard to say how many, but try this: the population of Ireland before the famine was 8,000,000. Today, right now, 175 years later, it is a little over 7,000,000. There are also, right now, about 50,000,000 people around the world who claim some level of Irish descent, including your humble interlocutor. The Irish also stopped being the tallest people in Europe. Large animals need more food than small animals, and in famines they tend to die first and fastest. After the Famine, the tiny Irishman became a stereotype for many years. That is the mark the Great Hunger left on the people themselves, on Ireland and upon the world.</span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So calling, as the gentleman below does, the Irish Famine a issue in mismanagement doesn't quite cover the matter. I will agree with him when he refers to British of the time as 'Scumbags of History', though.</span></div></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MltKPTfY-mg" width="320" youtube-src-id="MltKPTfY-mg"></iframe></div><br /> <p></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-49700984606409734302022-10-26T13:31:00.000-04:002022-10-26T13:31:13.959-04:00Testing<p> I noticed my sidebar hasn't updated to show that I have posted since last month. I'm just checking to see if it will update this time. </p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0Toronto, ON, Canada43.653226 -79.383184319.401493524581987 -114.5394343 67.904958475418 -44.226934299999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-9781911871016187782022-10-19T08:25:00.003-04:002022-10-23T12:44:48.010-04:00A few good men.<p> I had a discussion recently with a priest. The background for the discussion is that I am a member of the Knights of Columbus, and my council had been asked by our sister group, The Daughters of Isabella (DOI) to help out at some of their parish functions. I went to one of their meetings to make some see what help was needed and to make some proposals. It was there I met the priest.</p><p>It turns out there had been a small group of Knights at the parish, but they were not active. The priest demands functions from his parish groups: do something, or stop wasting my time seems to be his attitude. I understand, However, his knights always complained they were too few to do anything, and, ultimately, he threw them out. He had neither time nor space for those who make excuses.</p><p>He and I spoke a bit about this. Like them, he laid the blame on the numbers. 'What are you going to to with six guys?'</p><p>That's a good question. I, unfortunately, am not always quick on my feet, and my best responses usually come long after the conversation is over. The answer I should have given him is this: It depends on the men. With the right men, you can do much. With the wrong men, you can do little or nothing. But being 'right' or 'wrong' seems to be a difficult term. None of the Apostles, on paper at least, look like the right men. And yet, look at what they accomplished in the end.</p><p>I relayed this little story to my council at a meeting. Whether or not we are the 'right' men, it is necessary for us to become so, and to find ways to serve. Like the other council, my council has few men who are active. Doing large functions on our own is out of our reach. Therefore I have encouraged the men who are active to take St Theresa of Lisieux as their guide and model: let us not think of the big things we cannot do, and instead focus for now on the small things we can. We need to stop thinking about the opportunities we do not and will not have, and think of the ones we do, the ones we may do with just a few good men,</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-58862394061717061432022-08-25T13:38:00.002-04:002022-08-25T13:38:59.172-04:00I simply do not understand this<p> Both my wife and I belong to service organizations, and we both frequently run into a situation with our fellow members that leave us completely puzzled.</p><p>She ran into it most recently. She met with some members to discuss an upcoming event (a coffee sunday) they would be running at their home parish, and one member kept insisting they dial back their efforts. Want to have two or more types of coffee? No, don't go through the trouble. One is enough. Some of us will do some baked goods. Oh, don't do that. It's too much of a bother. Just buy some cookies. How about this? I don't think we should. And so on. I have had many, many run ins with such people. Want to do something, literally anything? They will try and claw it back to as close to nothing as humanly possible.</p><p>Incidentally, the person who kept dragging back my wife and the other members was not the person in charge of the group. Such people never are. 'Oh no, I would never <i>dream </i>of being in charge myself, and you are doing such a fine job.' </p><p>I have run into this many times myself, and I simply do not understand this impulse. If you don't want to put yourself out, fine. Don't. It is a volunteer organization and no one is holding a gun to your head. But why do these people insist that no one else should put themselves out as well? They just suck the life out of every endeavor and effort, if not kill it entirely. And then, when the effort fails to flourish- because, honestly, how could it with such a low effort?- they will say that they were right not to put much effort into it at all and isn't it good that they foresaw this end and we didn't waste our time and money on it?</p><p>Whatever you do, do it with gusto. As I've told my guys: the kingdom of heaven is not for the half assed. We must be complete asses for Christ, or not at all.</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-20256171617523434032022-07-04T20:42:00.005-04:002022-07-04T20:42:54.713-04:00Update<p> The threatened job action was avoided at the eleventh hour. As, I should probably add, it usually is. It seems both sides like to bring us to the brink of a strike/lockout every negotiation, but every time they seem to move closer to the edge than before. In previous years, the threat of job action didn't perturb me overmuch, but this time I wasn't certain: it looked as though it could have gone either way.</p><p>My thanks for your prayers.</p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3450626869303471458.post-13724244031234461752022-06-29T09:53:00.004-04:002022-06-29T09:54:11.185-04:00Prayer Request<p> For my family and myself. Negotiations between my union and the administration are tense, and there is a threat of both a strike and a lockout if a deal is not reached by July 1st. Come next Monday, I may effectively be out of a job. Please pray that both sides grow a brain and a heart.<br /></p>Bearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01201581440686945990noreply@blogger.com0