On Friday's Menu

We'll be having simple baked cod this evening, as Grandma here will be entertaining the four-year-old grandgirl all afternoon with little time to fuss in the kitchen. This is actually my favorite way to bake fish -- there's a hint of the Southwest about it, as it's baked with lime instead of lemon, and so a Spanish rice-type side dish complements it nicely. I'll be using a boxed version for that today, even though I make a mighty fine homemade Spanish rice if I do say so myself. Must have been all those years we spent in Arizona.

Granny Boomer's Baked Fish with Lime

6 to 8 boneless fish filets (cod, snapper, or sole)
1/2 cup melted butter or margarine
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup fresh lime juice (see below)
One small onion, cut into rings

Oven: 325

Rinse filets and pat dry. Pour melted margarine into a glass baking dish. Place filets in dish in one layer. Pour lime juice over the filets, then salt and pepper to taste. Scatter the onion rings over all, and bake in preheated oven for about 15 minutes. Check fish for doneness -- if the filets are very thick, they may need another 3 to 5 minutes. To serve, lift filets out of the broth and lay atop a bed of Spanish rice. Garnish with cilantro and lime if desired.

Some folks like to have their own lime wedge on the side with this, so while you're at it, buy a few extra limes. The small, round (and relatively inexpensive) key limes are the most flavorful. If you use much lime juice in cooking -- and really, why bother with the bottled stuff? -- you'll appreciate having a Mexican hand-juicer, like this one:

Here We Go Again

So a couple of filmakers/wannabe archaeologists think they've found the bones of Jesus in a tomb.

No, really. And they've got a TV special AND a book coming out next week.

As Midwest Dad says, welcome to our Lent -- the season in which the secular world, which didn't know what to do with Jesus then and still doesn't now, brings forth yet another pseudodocumentary with oh-so-serious undertones. The bottom line is, well, the usual bottom line: $$$. Amazing, though, the public appetite for anything which tries to make Christians look like either fools or charlatans, or both. Can't hardly blame opportunists for capitalizing on the Lenten season, really; it's been so rewarding to others in the past.

The Church failed to self-destruct over the Duh-Vinci Code (two years ago) or the so-called gospel of Judas (last year), so perhaps this is the secularists' shot at try, try again -- or is that third time's the charm?

Not so much. This one is pretty lame, despite the aegis of The Discovery Channel. Yes, there are some who believe everything they see on TV is true, and for those we can only pray. As The Anchoress points out,

Stop fretting that “some may lose faith,” over this. If they do, then they were in the shallow soil to start with, and they’ll either find a better place to root or they won’t. Pray for them and then let the Holy Spirit do that Spirit Thang we love so much.

If I may make a prediction here: This will blow over pretty quickly.

But even if I'm wrong, and it grows legs, I don't think we should rise to righteous indignation over it. There are enough holes in this one to, well, sink the Titanic -- apropos, since the producer of the docudramamentary also made the movie about the boat.

Look, Ma, I'm Catholic

I live at some distance -- several hundred miles -- from most of my family and one dear friend who has known me since the fifth grade (that would be more than 40 years, at this point). Along with all of the other disadvantages to geographic separation, there's one that has weighed rather heavily on my heart these days.

Some of them don't yet know I am Catholic.

If the intervening miles between us could be snapped back like a rubber band, they would have seen the process of my conversion as it unfolded. As it is, the visual cues alone would now be hard to miss; the catechism and missals and breviary and other Catholic books around the house, the crucifixes on the walls and the small one around my neck, the framed and blessed Our Father I received in RCIA, a statue of Mary here and St. Jude there, a picture of the Holy Father, novena candles ... and finally the rosaries. Plural. The ones my daughter and I pray with, and the ones I make and give away.

If they visited over a weekend, it would also be hard to miss the fact that I go to Mass; they would be invited to come with me, but even if they politely declined, I'd be going anyway. Even before then, they may hear me saying morning or evening prayers or a rosary. Or see me make the sign of the Cross as we pray before a meal.

All of this is part of my life now. And I am not trying to keep it a secret. But some of these dear ones are also very entrenched and committed to a Protestant fundamentalism that teaches them -- has told them all of their lives -- that the doctrines of Catholic church are, at best, misguided and in error; at worst, anathema.

How to tell them? How to explain that all of the outward and visible evidence that this friend/sister/niece of theirs, whom they love, has "gone Catholic" is nowhere near as significant as the inward changes that have occurred as a result? How to express that the fullness and richness of Christianity, most especially in the Eucharist as the source and summit of our faith, is not just a "belief system" to which I subscribe but the very life of Christ -- an inheritance that they share, as my brothers and sisters, if only they would accept it?

How, indeed. To a certain extent, most converts have this dilemma: On the heels of telling our loved ones about our conversion, we must immediately become apologists and evangelists when we are still very wet behind the ears in more ways than one. If we're honest with ourselves, the prayer most often on our lips at those times is "Lord, please don't let me screw this up". Scott Hahn, I am not, nor even Marcus Grodi.

We just tell them, and let the Holy Spirit take it from there ... yes, but let me do it gently and lovingly and with a humble heart, and if even a glimmer of arrogance or superiority begins to creep in, let me shut my mouth until my attitude changes.

If we risk a relationship in "breaking the news" to those who are still where we were, then we risk it, and can offer up that sorrow. And always, always keep our loved ones in prayer.

Easy to answer. Hard to do, and thus I procrastinate. Lord, strengthen me.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

Seen On Ash Wednesday

This is great. Trust Kansas City Catholic to start my Lent with a smile.

I'm thinking about e-mailing this to some of my family members; if nothing else it will get a conversation going.

In the meantime, I couldn't resist playing with the church sign generator myself:

Vaccine-Nation

I have granddaughters. The eldest is nine.

If she lived in Texas today (and other states are poised to follow suit), she and her sisters and female cousins would be required -- prior to entering the sixth grade -- to get a vaccination against a sexually transmitted disease that may (or may not) prevent her from getting cervical cancer.

There's no way to get human papilloma virus, or HPV, from other than sexual contact. It's not an airborne virus; no one is going to expose her to it by coughing nearby. She can't get it by drinking out of someone else's cup. It doesn't spread like wildfire through a crowded sixth-grade schoolroom like the flu -- or at least like the flu did before we had shots for that, too.

Even so, the Texas governor apparently feels this is such a huge public health issue that he's mandating vaccination (with Gardesil, manufactured and heavily marketed by Merck, to which the governor reportedly has some fairly close ties) for all of the little girls in his state.

Just the girls. Because, you see, they're the ones who can potentially get cervical cancer from contracting HPV. (They can also get other forms of it that have nothing to do with either HPV or having a series of Gardesil vaccinations, but the impression one gets from the Merck ads is that vaccination = safe from cervical cancer, period.)

I guess the little boys are off the hook in more ways than one. Not only does this order not affect them, but they also get to enter adolescence knowing that just about all of their female peers (those whose parents haven't opted out "for reasons of conscience") presumably won't get HPV even if the fellas end up being promiscuous little carriers.

As far as I can tell, there's been no word from Gov. Perry as to his level of concern for males who contract this virus. Perhaps I should be relieved that there's been no proposal -- yet -- to hand sixth-grade boys packages of prophylactics so they don't feel left out.

There's nothing wrong with developing vaccines and cures for STDs, as far as that goes. But there is plenty wrong with mandating vaccination of children against something they aren't going to get unless they have premarital sex; it presupposes that they will, and even obliquely condones it.

"Safe sex" in the popular context never was, and never will be. We would do our children far greater good by teaching them the context in which sex IS safe; between a husband and wife, exclusively, with abstinence by both before marriage. It's 100% guaranteed "safe" from all of the things for which we've scrambled to develop pills and shots.

But there's no profit for Big Pharm in that, and darned few political donations made on that basis.

Did anybody really think this was NOT about money?

American Papist has a good roundup of full coverage on this.

VERT (not the color) topic: First Catholic Faux Pax

[Note: VERT "is an online community & resource for Catholic converts, reverts and those sincerely considering converting to the Eastern Rite or Western Rite of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church." Weekly posting topics are suggested; members who wish to participate blog about that topic and link the post at VERT so that all can share. Joining VERT is simplicity itself; I highly recommend it for any "vert".]


This is actually LAST week's topic; I've missed the posting cutoff by one day due to a grandchild's birthday. I don't think our Owen will mind, though.

When I first started going to Mass regularly on Sundays, I was very concerned about whether I'd do something wrong -- or even something right but at the wrong time -- and offend someone. I held the missalette firmly with three fingers serving as place-holders on different pages, a grip I somewhat relaxed to ease the ache in my awkwardly-placed fingers only during the homily. (This, after all, was the part of Mass that was most familiar to someone coming from an evangelical Protestant tradition.)

One problem: I'm left-handed. The digital gymnastics described above were, at first, done with my right hand in order to leave my dominant hand free. So which hand did I use to make the sign of the Cross?

Yep. I did it with my south paw; during Mass, and also at the holy water font. It finally dawned on me that the sidelong glances from others nearby was not because I was following the missalette word-for-word -- inquirers and new converts are not an unusual sight in our parish masses. Rather, I'm sure it was a bit disconcerting to see the sign of our faith made with the "wrong" hand as it looked, well, backward.

I did catch on. Rather quickly, at that. But I'm such a dominant lefty that sometimes I still have to consciously remind myself as I'm leaving the church after Mass to disengage the autopilot, break with the habitual, and really think about what I'm doing. Which, come to think of it, isn't a bad way to approach going out into the world after Mass in more ways than one.

Thank You, RCIA

Evidence that I actually paid attention in RCIA class:

You are a 100% traditional Catholic!

 

Congratulations! You are more knowlegeable than most modern theologians! You have achieved mastery over the most important doctrines of the Catholic Faith! You should share your incredible understanding with others!

Do You Know Your Baltimore Catechism?
Make Your Own Quiz

VERT Topic of the Week: Purgatory

[Note: VERT "is an online community & resource for Catholic converts, reverts and those sincerely considering converting to the Eastern Rite or Western Rite of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church." Weekly posting topics are suggested; members who wish to participate blog about that topic and link the post at VERT so that all can share. Joining VERT is simplicity itself; I highly recommend it for any "vert".]

What do you know or believe about Purgatory or have you had an experience you'd like to share?

Boy, just one mention of Purgatory and RCIA memories come flooding back. As a convert from evangelical Protestantism, this was one of the bricks over which I stumbled. Not all bricks are equal. Some are mostly sand, requiring only a touch of the truth to crumble. Others are hard-fired and not easily broken, but even these are chipped away bit by bit until there's only dust remaining.

Purgatory was a medium-hard brick for me. Call it a small cinder block.

The reason, of course, is that Protestantism teaches there's no such thing -- and no need for it, because if you're "saved" you're going straight to heaven, your ticket is already punched. I was taught that Purgatory was invented by the Catholic church to make money. (All those donations for Masses, right?) The capper, of course, was the ringing denunciation that Purgatory isn't in the Bible. So there. Sola scriptura. If it ain't there, we don't believe it. (And if it IS there and we don't like it, we explain it away; Jesus couldn't possibly have meant us to actually eat his flesh and drink his blood, it was clearly symbolic, wasn't it?)

I had already understood and accepted the need for sacramental confession and reconciliation, and in fact it made more sense to me than the breezy "once saved, always saved" -- mainly because I knew myself to be inclined to sin, as we all are. Protestantism didn't address the ongoing need for conversion/penance so long as we still breathe, but I knew the need existed; just didn't put it all together until I began seriously exploring Catholicism.

From there, it was a little easier to break the Purgatory brick. Reason alone told me that even if heaven is its ultimate destination, how can any soul enter the presence of God with the slightest attachment to even the least venial sin? Can't happen. So there must be a purgation. And if we are all one body -- the church militant, the church suffering, and the church triumphant -- we pray for one another. Including those who suffer but not without hope.

Traditional Mass: Coming (Back) Soon To A Parish Near You

I will probably say this more than once here: I love our Pope.

Loyalty and obedience are my obligations as a Catholic, of course. If someone wishes to take exception to that, since especially "obedience" is not a much-admired trait in this age, they are welcome to try. Won't change a thing. Truth is truth; finding the truth distasteful does not make it less true.

Which sort of explains, in a roundabout way, why I have a great fondness for Benedict XVI. Papa Benedict. My German Shepherd.

All I knew of him before dear John Paul II left us was his reputation as a staunch defender of Church doctrine, which made him rather unpopular with the "progressive" element in the Church. I can understand why some would expect a man who bore the weight of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith for so long to become rather grim and humorless, and in fact that's the picture the media tried to paint (after all, if a cleric is conservative he must be a grump, right?) when this white-haired eminent scholar was seen by millions during John Paul II's televised funeral Mass.

I was elated when the conclave ultimately selected him. This was no grim sourpuss, no formidable Rottweiler who stepped onto that balcony. The sweet-natured, soft-spoken pastor he always has been was visible to the world. But he is, most definitely, still the defender of the truth (all of it, not just the parts we like).

Some hoped that Benedict XVI would rein in some of the excesses and downright goofiness that have found their way into the liturgy, all "in the spirit of Vatican II" but most found nowhere in the council's documents.

It didn't take long. The official paper hasn't yet been released, but it appears he is about to take the handcuffs off the traditional Mass -- which will, I believe, eventually put the brakes on "liturgy as entertainment". Thomas Craughwell in The American Spectator:

With this document the pope is undermining the monopoly the progressives have had on parish life. For the first time in a long time Catholics who have clung to the traditional teachings of the Church and cherished the traditional liturgy will have a place they can call home.

Thanks be to God. And thank you, Papa.

The Inalienable Right To Life

Yesterday was,officially, proclaimed Sanctity of Human Life Day by President Bush. Didn't get much of a drum-roll in the mainstream press, which is presumably waiting for "balance" by filming protesters on both sides of today's March for Life in Washington, D.C. if it does anything at all.

Yes, folks, we're going to do this every year -- talk about Roe v. Wade, that is, and do everything we can to focus attention on the fact that these are uniquely created human lives we're throwing away in the name of "choice"; a monstrous evil, one my generation sowed and from which those who follow us are reaping a horrible whirlwind.

Denise Hunnell, who blogs as Catholic Matriarch, cuts to the heart of "it's my body, I have a right to choose" with one sentence from her post today:

... when does the daughter in your womb claim the rights you claim for yourself?

When, indeed.

For all who are peacefully assembling today, whether in Washington or in front of abortion clinics to pray the Rosary or elsewhere, know that many more of us stand behind you in prayer and penance.

Learn Latin? Who, Me?

Time for a little confession (not the sacramental kind, of course). Before I came home to the Catholic Church, I knew just two Latin phrases from the liturgy: Sursum corda and mea culpa.

I ran across sursum corda at a young age, when reading Marie Killilea's books about her family. This was, coincidentally, also my first exposure to things Catholic. I'm not sure how many other faith-specific details I absorbed, but I did remember that the name they gave to their family home meant "lift up your hearts".

After my conversion I started absorbing Latin here and there despite the fact that my parish masses are in the vernacular (although, happily, our masses are very much traditionalist; no liturgical dancers and such). I heard the Agnus Dei once on the radio, and was surprised at how it touched my heart; so much so that I looked up the Latin and memorized it, and now when we sing "Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world ..." there's a soft descant of "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi ..." in my mind.

On the Internet, I'm seeing Latin everywhere among Catholics. Message forum signatures, blog titles. Whole posts, sometimes. And even if I don't yet understand it all, I like it. No, that's not quite accurate: Something within me responds to it, this ancient language of the Church. And I'm a post-Vatican II convert who has never -- yet -- been to a Tridentine mass.

My husband, who is 60-something, attended Catholic schools and was taught Latin. I must learn it in bits and pieces. But as a convert, and thus made aware of the depth and richness and constancy of the Catholic Church, I think it's just as important for me to know at least some Latin as it was to go through RCIA.

Besides, I'd like to be able to read my blogroll.

St. Fabian

I love how God takes "nobodies" and makes them "somebodies". But for a man to be an obscure layman one day and Pope the next, well, that's remarkable even among the saints.

There he was -- the future Pope St. Fabian -- among the crowds of the faithful who had come to Rome in the year 236 to witness the process of choosing a new Pope. All of a sudden, as we're told by Eusebius, a dove descended from the ceiling and landed on Fabian's head "as clear imitation of the descent of the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove upon the Savior".

Would it be too irreverent to suggest that this phenomenon blew everyone away? This, obviously, was one of the times when petitions for a sign from heaven were answered emphatically. Here is your sign, Church. (Wonder if Bill Engvall knows about this one?)

So Fabian, who was (he thought) just visiting Rome to see who its new bishop would be, ended up occupying the chair himself. We know that God gives us what we need to carry out our calling when we say "yes" to Him ... and so it was for Fabian, who shepherded the Church through a relatively peaceful time between periods of persecution and died a martyr.

Today, January 20, is Pope St. Fabian's feast day.