"The great Father Zed, Archiblogopoios"
-
Fr. John Hunwicke
"Some 2 bit novus ordo cleric"
- Anonymous
"Rev. John Zuhlsdorf, a traditionalist blogger who has never shied from picking fights with priests, bishops or cardinals when liturgical abuses are concerned."
- Kractivism
"Father John Zuhlsdorf is a crank"
"Father Zuhlsdorf drives me crazy"
"the hate-filled Father John Zuhlsford" [sic]
"Father John Zuhlsdorf, the right wing priest who has a penchant for referring to NCR as the 'fishwrap'"
"Zuhlsdorf is an eccentric with no real consequences" -
HERE
- Michael Sean Winters
"Fr Z is a true phenomenon of the information age: a power blogger and a priest."
- Anna Arco
“Given that Rorate Coeli and Shea are mad at Fr. Z, I think it proves Fr. Z knows what he is doing and he is right.”
- Comment
"Let me be clear. Fr. Z is a shock jock, mostly. His readership is vast and touchy. They like to be provoked and react with speed and fury."
- Sam Rocha
"Father Z’s Blog is a bright star on a cloudy night."
- Comment
"A cross between Kung Fu Panda and Wolverine."
- Anonymous
Fr. Z is officially a hybrid of Gandalf and Obi-Wan XD
- Comment
Rev. John Zuhlsdorf, a scrappy blogger popular with the Catholic right.
- America Magazine
RC integralist who prays like an evangelical fundamentalist.
-Austen Ivereigh on
Twitter
[T]he even more mainline Catholic Fr. Z. blog.
-
Deus Ex Machina
“For me the saddest thing about Father Z’s blog is how cruel it is.... It’s astonishing to me that a priest could traffic in such cruelty and hatred.”
- Jesuit homosexualist James Martin to BuzzFeed
"Fr. Z's is one of the more cheerful blogs out there and he is careful about keeping the crazies out of his commboxes"
- Paul in comment at
1 Peter 5
"I am a Roman Catholic, in no small part, because of your blog.
I am a TLM-going Catholic, in no small part, because of your blog.
And I am in a state of grace today, in no small part, because of your blog."
- Tom in
comment
"Thank you for the delightful and edifying omnibus that is your blog."-
Reader comment.
"Fr. Z disgraces his priesthood as a grifter, a liar, and a bully. -
- Mark Shea
MMM! First night for a warm, comforting quilt. First morning with a chill in the air. Bright blue sky over the Sierra foothills. October 1st.
O suns and skies and clouds of June,
And flowers of June together,
Ye cannot rival for one hour
October’s bright blue weather.
Helen Hunt Jackson
October, that begins with the seasons of angels and ends with the season of the dead, has been made much of by the poets’ hand:
Just before the death of flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season
When nature is all aglow.
– Anonymous
***
In the great silence of my favorite month,
October (the red of maples, the bronze of oaks,
A clear-yellow leaf here and there on birches),
I celebrated the standstill of time.
The vast country of the dead had its beginning everywhere:
At the turn of a tree-lined alley, across park lawns.
But I did not have to enter, I was not called yet.
Motorboats pulled up on the river bank, paths in pine needles.
It was getting dark early, no lights on the other side.
I was going to attend the ball of ghosts and witches.
A delegation would appear there in masks and wigs,
And dance, unrecognized, in the chorus of the living.
– Czeslaw Milosz, All Hallow’s Eve
– Translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan
***
Across the land a faint blue veil of mist
Seems hung; the woods wear yet arrayment sober
Till frost shall make them flame; silent and whist
The drooping cherry orchards of October
Like mournful pennons hang their shriveling leaves
Russet and orange: all things now decay;
Long since ye garnered in your autumn sheaves,
And sad the robins pipe at set of day.
– Siegfried Sassons, October
***
And many, many more…
It’s all Longfellow here…
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains,and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary
In this glad season, while his sweetest beams
The sun sheds equal o’er the meekened day ;
O, lose me in the green delightful walks
Of Dodington, thy seat serene and plain ;
Where simple Nature reigns ; and every view,
Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs,
In boundless prospect. yonder shagged with wood,
Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks
Meanwhile the grandeur of thy lofty dome,
Far splendid, seizes on the ravished eye.
– James Thompson, Autumn
Keats:My favorite–
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
And less poetically, stacking the firewood in the garage is a sure sign that the “pleasant and sunny spots” will be few and far between anon!
I have spent many Octobers in many different places, and it’s almost inevitably a pretty month, regardless of latitude.
Wish I could provide a poetic comment; I just want to thank God for the beautiful weather these past days: clear blue skies, beautiful autumn colors, cool, fresh air…just hope the rain and wind these next days in West Central Wisconsin won’t ruin the leaves just yet.
Fr. Z,
Thanks so much for including your poetry and “good news wanted” posts. They are one of my most favorite things about WDTPRS. I often email the poems to my family.