BREAKING: Rubrics and color-blindness

From the often amusing Eye Of The Tiber:

Explaining his frustrations at not being able to properly do the red and say the black in his missal during Mass, local color blind priest Father Richard Wendell asked congregants to try as best as they can to just ignore him.

“…quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo, et opera strike breast three times, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,” Wendell said aloud, realizing he had made yet another mistake as people began to murmur.

“You gotta feel for the guy,” local parishioner Brenden Horn told EOTT after Mass. “At one point he said, ‘Kyrie eleison. the Gloria is omitted on Sundays in Advent and Lent. Stand at High Mass. Gloria in excelsis Deo.’ Yeah, it was painful to watch.”

Everyone, get stuff for your priests!


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  1. Just Some Guy says:

    What if your priest loves the EF, but can’t read Latin because of dyslexia?

  2. HvonBlumenthal says:

    I find this story heartwarming. It means that Latin comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t even notice when the words slide into a vernacular rubric.

  3. Bthompson says:

    Probably the same as what a blind priest does, get permission to say a given Mass from memory.

  4. Grant M says:

    If he was using the ‘62 altar Missal, the priest would recite: “…peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: (percutit sibi pectus ter, dicens:) mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa”, and shortly afterwards “…Kyrie, eleison. Postea in medio altaris extendens et iungens manus, caputque aliquantulum inclinans, dicit, si dicendum est, Gloria in excelsis Deo, et prosequitur iunctis manibus.”

    And the congregation would think, “Wow, even the rubrics sound beautiful in the TLM”.

  5. Fr Richard Duncan CO says:

    Much as I dislike making marks in a missal, one solution for the colour-blind priest might be for someone to underline the rubrics (neatly) with a pencil for him.

  6. Semper Gumby says:

    A sidewalk table at a cafe in the Yucatan, the afternoon air as steamy and ripe as the coffee in your mug.

    The aroma of saltwater and spices drifted into the town from the port. From the jungle came the howls of disturbed monkeys.

    Later, during the cool of the evening, perhaps you would take your journal and pen to the Plaza. Revolutionaries might shoot up the Mayor’s office. Perhaps a weather-beaten freighter would burst into flames at the pier.

    Across the dusty street from the cafe a man wearing a tilma and a woman wearing a bright blue dress hurried a slightly annoyed boy out of a white-washed stone church. The boy looked at you, then at his parents, and briefly smiled at you. People are silly sometimes, he seemed to say. Then the family disappeared into the crowd.

    A leisurely afternoon had taken an unexpected turn. You picked up your journal, removed the letter you were writing to your cousin Matthew and the two tickets for next morning’s 5:18 ferry to Puerto Barrios, and opened it to a blank page.

    You picked up your fountain pen. The pen rested naturally in your hand, a casual yet functional extension of your inner self. The GK Chesterton Fountain Pen (No. 4308), available in black or red.

    – J. Peterman Catalog, Spring 2021

    Fr. Z's Gold Star Award

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