From “The Private Diary of Bishop F. Atticus McButterpants” – 12-11-25 – Bishops meeting – Day 3

November 12th 2025

Dear Diary,

Dodged the Noonch again this morning.  It turns out it wasn’t my imagination that he was looking for me.   Both Jude and Mateo* said he asked.  He was lurking by the breakfast tables with a folder, so I hid behind a group of chatting bishops.  It’s handy that we all wear black.

Because breakfast was cut short, again, I ordered a huge pizza from Pizza Panic and sent Fr. Gilbert out to get it from the delivery boy. He’s not Fr. Tommy but he got the job done.  Would T have done it?  Hm.   Anyhow Fr G slid in the side door near where the electric piano is and gave it to me, Dozer**, and two other hungry souls in the back row of tables. The pepperoni smell spread around a bit and we got some dirty looks.  Jealous looks, too.   Fr G adiosed the box.  We left him a slice because we are so nice.  HA! I see what I did there!

The session on implementing synodality was unbearable. Flow charts like spaghetti and phrases like “itteractive accompniment vecters” whatever the hell that is.  I tried to focus, but inevitably fell asleep, mouth open, during a speech on empowered listening. Ernie Plowright later said I looked “deeply contemplative,” which was kind.  I think there was a lot of contemplating going on given the dazed looks.

Some of these guys actually thrive on this process stuff!  All I wanted to do is process a nap.  I would have settled for another trip around the display tables.  I like the colors.

The day closed with even more synodality talk.   And voting on endless items I had no clue about.  I nodded a lot and watched how Dozer voted.

Tired.   These days of doing so much nothing wear me out.  Can I still show up and keep on avoiding the Noonch?

I’m looking forward to the drive back, but not until I get a couple of the guys who will stay over after we’re done and go back to that terrific steak place Tommy found a couple years back, Harbor and Hearth.  They’ve got this porterhouse finished over old wiskey barrel wood and mashed potatoes to die for.   Darn.  I’m hungry now.  Is Pizza Panic closed?  Rats.

*Respectively Bp. Jude Noble of Black Duck and Bp. Mateo Cienfuegos of Recker.  The Diocese of Recker is often described as “three hours from anywhere”.  Unless you are from there, you always pronounce the name wrong.  The region suffered badly economically but is now in an upturn and is as culturally progressive as the 1952 Baltimore Catechism.  Bp. Mat is a ball of energy, is as hot tempered as his name implies, and preaches short, punchy sermons.  He is impatient with bureaucracy and famously interrupted a presbyteral council meeting saying, “Fathers, we’re done here.  Let’s plan a Eucharistic procession.”  He is known for his spontaneous pastoral visits, arrives unannounced, blesses everything in sight (including lawn mowers), and then departs leaving a trail of mildly bewildered parishioners.

**Bp. Antuninu “Dozer” Ruspa of Pie Town has a penchant for tearing down churches and reselling the architectural elements.  However, his classmates know that he mainly slept through theology classes.  The origin of the Diocese’s name is lost in obscurity, though the clergy now blame it on the bishop.  Formerly lively parishes now limp along with thinning attendance, puerile bulletin art, and homilies so directionless that you need a map and compass to follow them. Dozer’s administrative style consists mainly of issuing vague directives, forgetting he issued them, and then being irritated when no one follows through. He infamously eliminated most local devotions as “too distracting”, though from what he never explained.  +Fatty is his best friend.