March 2nd 2023
Got a nasty note from the ACLU down the hall. (Annoying Canon Law Undesirables as Fr. Bruce called them.) Apparently I’m not supposed to allow a collection to be taken up at the Encountering the Encounter thing.
Why the bleep not? It’s church! These people. I’ll get the vice-chancellor on it, aka The Chancellor of Vice (he does the priest cases), since he can ALWAYS find a workaround. He scares the beans out of people. Snarls like Chester but doesn’t drool as much.
Of the three times I’ve set foot in the tribunal in the last ten years, I can tell you that I don’t know and don’t care what they do. It smells like old pizza boxes, dust, and b.o. — with an undercurrent of dead mouse as you go toward one of their back rooms. The place is filled with overstuffed file cabinets and squashed legal boxes on top of them, and more boxes all around them, and more books than anyone could ever read. The carpet’s older than I am, that’s for sure. There are stacks and stacks of folders, and piles and piles of envelopes. Reminds me of all the hoarding shows I binge-watched with Fr. Tommy at the beginning of the pandemic during lockdown. I’ve got happy memories of that time — I got to stay in my bathrobe all day, got whatever food I wanted delivered, and watched some great tv.
I’m told we saved lots of lives by closing down the Masses. Not bad.
I don’t know Bishop McButterpants, but I would be curious what his Real Estate Portfolio looks like. Or at least how much money he made selling off all the statues, stain glass windows and altars from the closed churches in his Diocese.
[Gosh! That’s a little cynical!]
Just a little..
The image of McButterpants in a bathrobe made me spit my coffee out this morning…thanks Father Z :-)