From “The Private Diary of Bishop F. Atticus McButterpants” – 13-11-25 – Bishops meeting – Day 4

November 13th, 2025

Dear Diary,

I knew something was up the moment I woke up. For one thing, the hotel breakfast didn’t  suck.   There were some normal things, like scrambled eggs and bacon.  BACON.

In the morning we slogged through the last round of committee reports read in a tone usually reserved for reciting the phone book.  But I don’t want to bother with that boring stuff.  THERE’S MORE!    At the break I went to my room under the pretext of “retrieving my binder” and I had barely begun rummaging through the minibar when —

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Not timid. Not polite. The kind of knock that says open this door or I will go through it.

It was the Noonch.

There he stood, perfectly pressed, with that half-smile that means either “I bring good news” or “your ass is mine” hard to tell. I uttered a reverent, “Your Excellency” and bade him come in after I made sure the bed was sort of made.

“Bishop McButterpants,” he said in that accent, “I have been looking for you” and I braced for reassignment to the Diocese of the North Pole… or my resignation… or one of those Vice Estes cases.  Instead, he produced an envelope sealed from the of the Secretariat of State.

He said “I wished to give this to you personally concerning a priest of yours, Father Thomas William Blackwell.”

My heart leapt. I feared the worst, something to do with that ugly thing with the detective and liturgists.

But the Noonch continued saying as much as I can remember after reviewing my recommendation he and others has a positive encounter with Tommy during his sabbatical in Rome and the Holy Father has made him a… I think it was like “cappelletto di sua sanita.”  That doesn’t seem right but I know what it means!

Monsignor Tommy!

I blinked several times to absorb it. The Noonch added, “The priest Tommy … he has the great discretion.”

He gave me the sealed letter, shook my hand with genuine warmth, and left.  Just like that.

I sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes, astonished, grateful, imag­ining the look on Tommy’s face when he opens the envelope. Monsignor.  I must call him that at least twice before he tells me to stop.

To celebrate – without revealing exactly why – if only Tommy had been here – I coralled a few bishops for dinner at Harbor & Hearth, temple of surf and turf: Mateo, Jude, that new auxiliary from the Archdiocese of Palmetto whose name sounds like a new drug, Dozer of course.  When Andy* and another bishop I didn’t know came in we waved them over and the waiters shifted us to a room. We all ordered the Ironbound Porterhouse, except the new guy – Edwards? – ordered salmon “because my doctor insists.”  The rest of us offered condolences.

Between bites, the conversation drifted as expected. Mateo described the revival of Recker and rising giving.  The new guy said something about mission statements and Jude said, “I want mine to fit on a business card.”  Laughter.  The Palmetto guy spent ten minutes explaining QR-code evangelization until the waitress mercifully interrupted to refill water.  I raised my glass and said only that I had received excellent news today about one of my priests. They toasted without prying. And steak was on the table.  It had a knob of smoked-garlic butter on a sizzling platter with a side of buttery mashed potatoes folded with caramelized onions they call Dockside Mash and a drizzle of au jus with roasted lemon.

The meeting is over. My feet hurt but my heart is light.   Tommy will need a new cassock or two!   Does he get the cranberry one?  He’d know.

Driving home tomorrow.

A good day, Dear Diary. A very good day.

*Bishop Andrew Esposito of the Diocese of St. Christopher is nearing 77, past mandatory submission of a resignation.  He is a decorated Navy Chaplain.  He is the kind of bishop who makes people instinctively straighten up. St. Christopher thrives under his leadership. Vocations flourish not through programs but through his example of prayer, liturgical style, and interest in people.  When young men come to him saying they feel called, he listens, nods, and says, “Good. Now let’s see whether God agrees, one step at a time.” He founded two women’s communities: the Sisters of St. Raphael the Healer, including women physicians who started Catholic clinics, and the Handmaids of the Logos, who are taking over parish schools.  Priests love him for his support. The faithful love him because he tells the truth and remembers everyone’s name.