Since I prodded the curious with iguanas, here are more iguanas. They were hanging out near the chapel this morning after Holy Mass.
Within the chapel at GITMO, there is a small, daily Mass chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is reserved and an air conditional is running. It has a lovely tabernacle door which strikes me is being 19th century.
I suspect that it has been on the base for quite a while. Fr. Johnson has spruced up the room and catholicized it. He is doing his best with what he has to work with. But wait! What’s that I see?
Our Lord has been repaired with a little transparent tape and He has lost a thumb.
It could be that, if the fundraiser keeps going, we might be able to improve this situation, depending on what Fr. Johnson determines for the place.
Here is the Missal at the chapel. It has seen better days, my friends.
Definitely needs an upgrade (except for that pesky Holy Week part).
I promised Semper Gumby a clearer photo.
The iguana is not impressed by birettas or signs.
Ladies and gents, being on the base has driven home all the different levels of war we are truly engaged in, whether those levels are obvious or not.
Some years ago in Rome I read a transcript of a Friday sermon given at the mosque in Rome. BTW.. the Italian bishops allowed muslims to take up collections at churches to build that mosque, just so that you know what’s going on over there. In that Friday sermon the imam or whatever said, “Take their women! Breed with them! If we did not before win with the long sword, we will win with the short sword!”
This approach in Islam is dawa. Dawa, the precursor to jihad, uses non-violent subversion from within. Think of the ‘long march through the institutions’ for Marxists of the last century such as Antonio Gramsci, who advised the Communists of his day to let the Christian Democrats take parliament. They would take the schools. After a few decades of controlling education, they’d take everything else too.
The other day at lunch one of the guys quoted the late and great Lewis Burwell “Chesty” Puller, the most-decorated Marine in USMC history. Chesty was a veritable quote machine. One thing he said later in his life, and I read in a book about him is more and more poignant:
“Our Country won’t go on forever, if we stay soft as we are now. There won’t be any America because some foreign soldiery will invade us and take our women and breed a hardier race!”
Meanwhile, on a cheery note, I had an evening out with cigars and lots of talk about a wide variety of topics. The topics ranged from CS Lewis, Aquinas on Law, to music settings of the poetry of AE Housman. Then a storm rolled in and the heavens opened. I think an ark went by.
There was a great young family with five little kids nearby under the awning. Very cute. They ran and stomped and splashed with complete abandon. There was a little girl, maybe three, all blonde curls and total laughter. The kids ran in the rain and had a ball. But when the evening bugle sounded colors, the kids stopped and stood still from their running and waited quietly.
Quite. Simply. Beautiful.
There she is… in the background. Standing still for evening colors.
Dear readers… our children are LITURGICAL beings. It is wired into us and we have to be forced to forget it.
Lastly, my favorite recording of Vaughn William’s “Shropshire Lad” settings happens to be available on youtube, sung by Ian Partridge. Let me leave you with this…
In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In steeples far and near,
A happy noise to hear.
Here of a Sunday morning
My love and I would lie,
And see the coloured counties,
And hear the larks so high
About us in the sky.
The bells would ring to call her
In valleys miles away;
“Come all to church, good people;
Good people come and pray.”
But here my love would stay.
And I would turn and answer
Among the springing thyme,
“Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,
And come to church in time.”
But when the snows at Christmas
On Bredon top were strown,
My love rose up so early
And stole out unbeknown
And went to church alone.
They tolled the one bell only,
Groom there was none to see,
The mourners followed after,
And so to church went she,
And would not wait for me.
The bells they sound on Bredon,
And still the steeples hum,
“Come all to church, good people,” —
Oh, noisy bells, be dumb;
I hear you, I will come.