Just When the Tomatoes Were Ripe....

The day after tomorrow I'll be heading back home again. I won't have any time to visit with you tomorrow or the next day. Chances are, given Sister St. Aloysius' priorities, I'll be very busy when I return, finding things, like the surface of the kitchen table and the floor. I've already been informed that my beloved worm farm (I have a worm farm) has been overtaken by bees. Now, instead of a worm farm, I have a bee hive. I'm not talking about my hair.

Here are a few questions, in the order in which they were received:

Sister,"Eucharistic minister"???? Should we be using that term? I thought we were only supposed to use "extraordinary minister of Holy Communion." (or EMHC, for short.)

The priest is the Ordinary Minister of the Eucharist. That makes anyone who is not a priest who is administering the Eucharist an Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist. And although these people are extraordinary (as Ministers of the Eucharist, at least), they weren't meant to be so plentiful as to seem commonplace and therefore ordinary. We think of them as ordinary, but they are not Ordinary. Everyone just calls them Eucharist Ministers. (Really. Use your the Google.) The same way no one calls those phones you all have "celluar phones". They are not "cell phones". They are "celluar phones". Go complain about that for awhile.

Next question:

On another note, are there entrance exams to becoming a nun? Like, a God Quotient or something? Just curious.

Sort of. You can't just walk in the convent door and say, "Here's your new nun!" There is indeed a "God Quotient" involved and you will be tested. The rules used to be even more strict than they are now...you couldn't have been married or had a family and then gone off to the convent. Unless you were St. Rita.

St. Rita had a husband so rotten that the Mafia bumped him off. She cried and prayed that her sons would not get killed trying to avenge the death of their father. Her prayers were answered, as they both died of illness. This left Rita free to pursue her first love and attempt to join the convent. She was not accepted (had been married with children). She camped outside the convent. Eventually angels picked her up and flew her over the walls.

This was still not enough to gain her any real acceptance by the sisterhood within. They made her water a stick they stuck in the ground. Rita complied everyday without fail. This was an exercise in obedience and humility. Rita's stick eventually sprouted and turned into a tree. I used to think that was a miracle but it happened to me last year. Some plants sprout on old wood.

Anyhow, your "book learnin'" part of becoming a nun is very important, also. Just how important depends on which order you choose. Obviously, if you are going to a teaching order or a nursing order, it's very important.

Still, if you are accepted as a person with a calling, we can always find room for your dim bulb self in the kitchen or the laundry room where you will be blissfully happy. If you aren't, you'll know you didn't have a calling. You were just in it for the shoes.

Sr. Mary Martha, I absolutely love your blog. I have been looking all over this site for an email address to contact you privately, but I could not find one...Various moral dilemmas plague me from time to time, and I can't tell you how much I would appreciate some "unsympathetic" advice from someone like you. If you are willing, would you pretty pretty please post a contact email address for yourself so that we can all bombard you with our questions that we're too afraid to post in plain view of the world?

Sorry. I pretty much covered that here. Your confessor should be able to help you, anyhow.

And finally:

I was scolded one time for wearing suggestive shoes. They were closed toed flats, but they showed 'toe clevage'and were therefore not appropriate for Mass according to this individual. I looked it up in the catechism, but couldn't find anything on 'toe clevage'...

That is just pathetic. At least we have finally uncovered the individual responsible for the patent leather shoe and white table linen doctrine. Oh! and that strawberry thing!

Also, regarding the dress with the strawberry on it... A "strawberry" is another name for the girl in the neighborhood who, er, puts out. Bluntly, she is the neighborhood nonprofit whore. Fashion designers are hip to this. Wearing a dress with a strawberry on it is the same as wearing one of those shirts that says, "Porn Star".

I'm sure the makers of the Strawberry Shortcake dolls were trying to steal souls, too?

I'm all for decency. I worry about paranoia.

Too Open....Toed

Back in the old days it was easy to get into the habit. Each nun had about three habits in her closet: a really nice one (the "Sunday go to meeting," "PTA meeting" habit), a really beat up one (the "pew duster"), and the everyday one ( the "Mama Bear"). Each habit had a skull cap for one's hair, then the wimple, that tied at the top and the back. Then the main dress. Then you put on the big bib and the headband and then the veil itself. The order supplied the whole shebang, complete with the giant rosary.

Getting the habit ready to put on was not so easy. The big bib and that white part inside the veil and the head band, and sometimes the wimple had to be starched within an inch of it's life. Starched so it could stand on it's own two feet without the benefit of having any feet.

We made our own starch, as if we weren't busy enough, what with keeping you from sinning and our own life in Christ. We made it thick enough to choke a horse and then we would squeeze it through cheese cloth into big vats and dip everything into it. It was so thick that if we got a hole in any of the white parts of our habits, we could simply take a little piece of white fabric and blop it onto the hole with some of the starch and iron it on there. Instant new wimple! Instant new giant bib!

And off you went. If you needed anything else, like a clicker or a ruler with an extra long reach, you were on your own.

Now, of course, the nuns are on their own for everything. No wonder they ended up looking so motley. It's not as bad these days as it was when the habits first flew away. Those poor women had no idea how to put together an outfit, suddenly on their own budget. (You try and look spiffy on $12.50.) Suddenly left with some hair showing ("Sister Mary Gerard is a redhead!" Remember that moment?), we ended up with the famous 'nun bangs'. So sad.

Which brings me to today's question, at last:

On the topic of modest dress, what do you think about shoes? I am a Eucharistic Minister, and we are required to not only abide by a modest dress code, but also wear only closed-toed shoes. Of course I abide by these rules at mass, but outside of church, am I sinning if I wear sandals? I ask this also because I am considering entering religious life, and I know it is customary for sisters to wear closed-toed shoes, too. When did this tradition begin?

I wish it were a sin to wear sandals, given the state of some people's feet.

It's not a sin to wear sandals. In fact, there are whole religious orders who wear nothing but sandals. This tradition was officially started by St. Francis of Assisi and St. Clare. St. Francis took Jesus at His Word when He said, "Take no purse with you, no haversack, no sandals." That's why St. Francis took the vow of poverty, didn't wear shoes and walked upright.

These orders are called 'discalced'. That means they wear no shoes or sandals.

So much for open-toed sin.

I'm guessing that the Eucharist Minister rule to which you must abide was born of what we've been discussing for the last couple of days: the impossible bone-headed-bad-taste-in-attire that people show up wearing for Mass. We don't want the recipients of Holy Communion distracted by your horrible looking toes, your fuchsia toenail polish, your bunions, your callused heels, your toe rings....you get the picture. In order to not have to look at any of that while receiving the body of Christ, the priest would have to issue a gigantic edict:

"Dear Eucharistic Ministers,

We thank you with the love of Christ, but for the love of Christ, please don't wear open toed shoes if you have horrible looking toes, wear crazy nail polish, toe rings, have bunions or otherwise distracting or nasty looking feet.

Also, please refrain from showing tattoos, your knees, the upper part of your arm no matter how often you work out, or any other flesh between your collar bone and your upper calf. If you are a man, please don't show any flesh below your collarbone. This means you! Wear some socks!

Don't wear wacky colors, boas, leis, giant jewelry, feathers, huge hats, or bullet proof vests. Don't wear things that clack, jingle, jiggle or beep. Since your feet are alreacy covered, do we need to mention the reason some footwear is called 'flip-flops'? No flapping footwear. No tap shoes. No cleats.

Please don't show up in jeans, workout clothes, track suits, beach attire, togas or pajamas. If it says "Nike" on it, swoop it back into the closet.

Don't wear costumes...unless you actually are a cowboy, a fireman, a caveman, or a madam...in which case we'll know to work on saving your immortal soul all the harder.

Sincerely,

Your Parish Priest

You think I'm joking, but I actually attended a funeral where a man arrived wearing a bullet proof vest. I suppose I should be grateful that he was fully clothed.

As for yourself outside your duties, you can wear sandals until the cows come home. And should you join the religious life (oh, we so hope you do!) you can join a sandal order. Look for "Discalced" in the title of the order.

As for myself, I have big giant black shoes. Bug Crushers, we used to call them. Mine are more like Mouse Crushers. They used to be supplied by the order, but now I just hit the men's department at Payless.

Who Wears the Pants?

I've never met a nun who actually told anybody that patent leather shoes reflect up. I'm also shocked that anyone would believe anything so crazy. Telling young women that having dinner with a young man at a table with a white table cloth could remind the poor man of bed sheets and give him ideas. Does the young man bear no responsibility for being that nuts? Good lord, boy, say a Hail Mary and order your salad!

I have often been asked what I think of the whole patten leather shoe question, to which I reply,"If you are that desperate as to try to look into some shiny shoes....go for it." It's not going to work anyhow. Pathetic.

Today's reader question:
I've been thinking about this post - separating the practice from the person. Of course we forgive the sins of those around us, and yet the Bible says even a child is known by his actions. While a person most certainly can change, their actions show us much about their character.This thought has led me to another area I've been researching. Standards for modest Catholic dress.... can one really say that their manner of dress has nothing to do with their heart? Common sense tells us that a person's choice of clothing does tell you something about them. Colleen Hammond's book "Dressing with Dignity" has much to say about the history of women's clothes, the Church's thoughts, etc. What do YOU think, Sister? Willing to share your thoughts on this? Should women wear only dresses and skirts? Are pants ok? Inquiring minds want to know!

And I suppose you believe that every young man with his gigantic pants hanging off of his visible underpants is a 'gangsta'?

I addressed the topic of what women wear in my very first post. Having grown up in the Midwest and spent a lot of years in Chicago, I am well aware of the assault to the eyes that occurs when all the winter coats come off. But there is much to be said, so let's take things one at a time.

...the Bible says even a child is known by his actions. Known, maybe. But not judged by the likes of us.

... can one really say that their manner of dress has nothing to do with their heart? Yes! One can say that! Oh boy, can one say that. Some people just have bad taste. There are lovely people who don't realize that horizontal stripes are not a good idea for some figures. The Goodyear Blimp is moored near our home in California. One day we thought it had pulled loose from it's moorings, but it was Mrs. Waggy, one of the neighbors and a good Lutheran woman, in horizontal stripes doing some weeding in her front yard.

"You can't judge a book by it's cover." There's a reason people still say that all the time.

What are we to say, for example, about these poor middle-aged women who wear red and purple and feather boas and the like and pretend to be fifteen for an afternoon? I'll admit I'd like to knock their heads together, but are they bad people because they've signed onto some silly club? Alright. They are. But only for the afternoon. And not really bad. Just ill-mannered and obnoxious. Nothing a good confession can't handle, provided no one gets hit by a meteor on the way home. Perhaps they'll get lucky and the meteor will simply knock off their hats. I'll put it on my prayer list.

Let's not forget the slaves to fashion who wear unflattering low riding jeans because those pants are in style. If they actually did have the idea to dress in these things to attract men the sin is in the desire and not in the execution, not when a year's worth of Taco Bell is riding over the low ride. Poor things.

Which brings me to the next part of your question. Should women wear only dresses and skirts? Are pants ok?

I'm not some old fuddy duddy.

Alright, I am. Although, I don't care to watch "Murder She Wrote". Maybe I'm merely a duddy.

I've mentioned this before: any type of clothing can go horribly awry. (See illustrations at the bottom of the page.) We like to dress sensibly, with purity in mind, but if you tip the scale too far in wrong direction you'll simply draw attention to yourself and everyone will point at you and whisper that you are the tenth wife of the Mormon in the dell.

The right pants would be better than the wrong skirt and they can save your legs from frostbite in the winter. The right skirt would be better than the wrong pants if the pants have a low riding waistline or pants that are very tight. Or...with horizontal stripes.

Hate the L, Love the Homegrown T

Here's something I've learned from my stay here in the Midwest. I do like the tangy zip of Miracle Whip. Especially when it's on a BLT made with home grown tomatoes. Truth be told, I don't have a BLT. I have a BT. I don't care for lettuce on a sandwich. My moral dilemma is this: do I ruin my sandwich with the L and offer it up to the Poor Souls in Purgatory? It seems like a waste of food to me, even though I would actually eat the L. I do like L in it's place in a salad bowl.

The whole thing may give me some indigestion to offer up anyhow, as I have been vexed by the raging argument two posts down amongst the comments. Although things may have smoothed out to some extent, I have not been able to get past this notion, although I have no problem loving the poster:

"Church teaching condemns the PRACTICE OF, not the PERSON. It's more merciful."
Excerpt from anonymous post above.

What an intriguing concept. How does one NOT include the other. If something is practiced isn't something practicing it?......It seems that if a practice is condemned then the real condemnation lies with the person because the person has the soul and not the practice.......

I'm going to blow right by the regular theological argument which goes something like this: the sin is forgiven and the sinner can choose not to sin again. We can separate the act from the person because the person can change, and also because we can't judge the motivations of others or what is in their hearts.

We do, but only in court.

I have to go for the practical approach. I maintain that you hate the sin and not the sinner on a daily, if not hourly, basis. It's how people stay married, it's why children actually grow into adulthood without being pushed off a cliff before age ten. It's how people manage to stay at a job year after year side by side in small cubicles, it's how they manage to take public transportation without bringing a sidearm.

It's how you maintain a long standing friendship. It's how nuns live in convents together and how basketball teams drive toward a championship season. It's how the Freemasons, the Catholic Church and the United States Senate stay powerful.

Well, maybe not the Senate.

The problem people have is not with the concept, it's with the practise on a larger scale. It's one thing to forgive your husband because he passive-aggressively leaves toothpaste spit in the sink or to forgive your co-worker because they went behind your back to the boss. That's not you out there with the semi-automatic weapon at the post office, now, is it?

The problem is applying the same forgiveness when someone has really wronged you. Or the world. In order to do that, we must find our way to the soul God made, which was perfect and is forgiven by God. No one said it was easy. Too bad. Offer it up.

Otherwise we have to tell that nun who hung out with Sean Penn when he was on death row there to go home and watch TV or something, as she may do about as much good there. She can keep her mind sharp with a good crossword puzzle.

Before the Parade Passes By

Holy cow! The Freemasons actually showed up here to comment about my comments on the Freemasons! How did they find me so fast? I wonder if the commenter is the William Donohue of Freemasons. If so, I hope they don't sputter so much, because some day Mr. Donohue is going to go the way of Zim.

Did I ever tell you the story of Zim? When I was a little girl growing up here, Zim had the best ice cream shop in town. My father took us there several times a week during the summertime. Fantastic milk shakes! On the way home my dad would toss his empty milk shake cup down the sewer while making a left turn onto 18th Street. That's why we have Global Warming.

But I digress.

Zim shared his parking lot with the OshKoshb'Gosh store. He had two parking spaces marked with giant wooden ice cream cone placards and he guarded the spots jealously. If you parked at his place he would come steaming out of his shop and yell at you. He would come right up to your car window before you could roll it up (all hand crankers back then) and yell, "Where are you going!!??" And you would say, "I'm going to get ice cream." And he would say, "Oh." Then he would steam back into the shop.

I wonder what would have happened if you jumped out of your car and skipped into OshKoshb'Gosh and grabbed some overalls. I imagine Zim would have the police on you.

I should mention at this point that Zim weighed about 300 pounds. As I said, his milk shakes were superb.

One day my mother was downtown there with my aunt and they heard sirens. She said to my aunt, "Ha! I guess Zim had a heart attack screaming at someone in his parking lot!" They both had a good laugh over that. Except that is exactly what was happening.

Zim survived. A year or so later we heard he had had another heart attack. And we all said, "Hope he wasn't out there screaming at someone in his parking lot!"

He was. I hope his tombstone is big wooden ice cream cone that says, "What are you doing here!!?" on it. And I hope he's in heaven, because I'd love one of those shakes again i fI make it there.

Sometimes you just have to enjoy the ice cream and stop worrying about where everyone is parked.

Rain on the Parade

I'm still here in the Mid West, offering up the sweltering heat. My plate is very full with family matters, so my poor brain can only tackle this poaced egg of a question:

I would love to have you write about the Freemasons, there seems to be confusion among many about the Churches stance, thought it is quite clear. I've had an ongoing 'kind' debate with a friend about this. She supports it and has a very cavalier attitude towards it.

Okay, I'll bite. I'm guessing that since you have an ongoing friendly argument, that you are aware of what the Church's stance is: Freemasonry is incompatible with the Catholic Church.

I'm not sure what her cavalier attitude is about. Perhaps she doesn't give a fig about the Freemasons. What's their deal, anyhow? Aren't they the ones that drive around on those tiny bikes in those funny hats during parades. Who even likes parades? I would like to meet the person who invented parades and ask him what made him think watching people in hot coats with tubas marching by would be any fun for anyone.

I, for one, have never understood the appeal of a parade, except for the opportunity to offer up the pain of your standing there craning your neck for more than an hour to watch the high school band march by and people in convertables waving for the Poor Souls in Purgatory. I can find a wooden kneeler to get the same affect. I can go kneel on dried peas.

I've never paid much attention to the Freemasons myself, except to pray for their immortal souls, because I know they are incompatible with the Catholic Church and have been since the 18th century. Three hundred years should be enough time for anyone to get it through their thick skulls that Freemasonry is off the Catholic "to-do" list.

Back then and for years to come, Catholics joining the Freemasons were excommunicated. Today, Catholics joining the Freemasons have to join with that guy who ran for president in the 'do not administer Communion to" room. I think that still means you're excommunicated, since you can't receive Communion because you are not 'in unity' with the Church. I never see them call it excommunication any more. I think that word scares everybody. EXCOMMUNICATED! So now they don't tell you you are excommunicated. But you are. As far as I can tell.

That ought to put a damper on her cavalier attitude. Although I have a feeling that her frivolity is due to one of two things.

1. Every once in a while some priest somewhere takes it upon himself to say that it's okay for Catholics to join the Mason. Apparently fooled by the tiny scooters, these men seem to think the Freemasons are harmless fun. A charity group, maybe, like The Loyal Order of the Moose. They stand corrected.

OR

2. She can't stand parades anymore than I can. By that I mean, she has no real contact with Freemasons and doesn't know anyone who does and so...who cares about those people? Just because she doesn't like parades she feels she shouldn't rain on anyone else's.

Or maybe she is hoping one of them will come over and fix her retaining wall at no charge.

Greater Than, Less Than

Our home town church had the most amazing pipe organ up in the choir loft. For some inexplicable reason the parish powers that be dismantled that one and purchased another big organ that sits on the floor by the side door. Perhaps the organist simply had enough of looking like the Phantom of the Opera up there...or the abominable Dr. Phibes. Still, I miss it and wish it would come back somehow. Which brings us to today's question:

Sister, what do you think about organ donation? I've read several things but I'm just more confused. I fear death will be 'hastened' to 'harvest' the organs, if -God forbid- I ever find myself in this delima what is right?

The only thing I find confusing about organ donation is: if you have had a liver transplant and you have liver spots....who's spots do you have?

I bring this up because in the afterlife you will have your glorifed body. It's going to be your body (which, as I've mentioned is a very good impetus to get in shape NOW, as this is eternity we're talking about) with everything in it.

That means that if you get a liver transplant you'll have to give the liver back to the original owner in heaven. You could go without a liver in heaven, because you won't need it. But you'll have it anyhow.

If you or your organ donor are in hell, you'll still have to give the liver back to the donor.

I wouldn't worry about it, though. For example, you've lost a leg or a finger tip and have been running around all this time without it, you'll get that back in heaven so that you won't miss out on any heavenly pleasure. You'll feel so great in heaven, you'll get both legs and your finger tip back so you can to feel all the available pleasure. (If you land in hell you'll get your old leg back to you don't miss out on any suffering.) So it would seem to me that you won't have to go running around looking for your organ donor, he or she will simply get their liver back and you'll have your old one...the one they tossed out the back of the hospital.

Here's what the Catholic Church officially has to say on the matter:

(from the Cathechism of the Catholic Church)

2296 Organ transplants are in conformity with the moral law if the physical and psychological dangers and risks to the donor are proportionate to the good sought for the recipient. Organ donation after death is a noble and meritorious act and is to be encouraged as a expression of generous solidarity. It is not morally acceptable if the donor or his proxy has not given explicit consent. Moreover, it is not morally admissible to bring about the disabling mutilation or death of a human being, even in order to delay the death of other persons.

I think that's pretty clear. You can't give your organs away if it's too risky for you or not very helpful to the donee. It's a very great gift. We want you to do it (that's what we mean by 'to be encouraged'). Everyone has to say yes, especially the donor. You can't kill anyone to get their organs. Even if you really want to.

Which means your confusion only boils down to your own fear. You are working under a faulty premise that equates action with potential risk. Where is Sister St. Aloysius when we need her? You need to replace the "equals" sign with the "less than" or "greater than" signs. This isn't confusing. You do it every day.

Here's your equation in theory: Action=Potential for danger.

Here's your equation in practise: I leave the house healthy=I get hit by a bus.

You don't live by that equation, now do you?

You live by this one: I leave the house healthy>I get hit by a bus. Every single action we take has the potential for risk. Eating is a choking hazard. Walking is a falling hazard. Swimming is a drowning hazard. But you still eat, right? Let's hope so.

Surely we can agree that good done by organ donation far outweighs the possibility of misuse. I'll even go so far as to say that there is misuse already. Poor people selling kidneys and the like. This is where faith has to step in. Check that box on your driver's license!

Faith>Fear.

Yesterday a record number of happy couples got married. Normally, this would thrill me. All these weddings mean that a whole bunch of people who were living in sin (let's face the music here) have managed to straighten things out. At least we hope they have.

We hope they managed to steam over to a confessional before the wedding. Somehow I doubt it. (Again, I have to smell the coffee....the old stale coffee that has been sitting on the burner over at the Kwiki Mart, nee 7/11 since 1968.) Because the reason so many people got married yesterday, and not the day before or today or tomorrow, is because they believed that getting married yesterday, with all those sevens on their marriage certificates, will bring them luck.

I could cry. With six out of ten marriages ending in divorce these days, I would hope these folks had a little more on the ball than a lucky wedding day.

According to Catholic doctrine, there is no such thing as 'luck'. As a Catholic, you are not allowed to put your faith into anything but God. If you do, you are breaking the First Commandment: "I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt not have strange gods before Me."

By that God meant, "Thou shalt not put thy faith in a four leaf clover, a rabbit's foot, an old t-shirt, a pair of sneakers, crystals and candles, numbers or stars. Thou shalt step on cracks in the sidewalk, walk under ladders as long as there isn't something precariously balanced on the the top of them, break mirrors and spill small amounts of salt. Thou shalt wipe up the salt with a dish cloth and throw it in the sink. Thou shalt walk all around behind black cats."

The number seven has no power whatsoever to get these people to stay married. I can't imagine anyone making it through their Pre-Canaan classes only to chirp to the priest, "...and we're getting married on 7/07/2007 because it will be GOOD LUCK!"

To which the harried priest would mumble, "oh well.....good luck, then."

And I'll give you one guess where a record number of weddings took place! I wonder how many of them were married by an Elvis impersonator. They have so many strikes against them from the get go.

1. The state of their souls before the wedding.

2. The belief in the power of a number over the power of God.

3. Obviously not attending Pre-Canaan instruction.

4. Not actually being married in the eyes of God.

5. The return to #1 on this list by virtue of the fact that they are sinning by putting their faith in a number instead of God and not being married by a priest.

What a vicious cycle.

6. Getting married by an Elvis impersonator. Not that getting married by the actual Elvis would be any better.

Lucky for them, gambling is not necessarily a sin, nor is drinking or the list could be endless. Thank goodness I caught this on the news to add these couples to my prayer list! We musn't despair! That's a sin, too.

I Doubt It

Well, hello out there in cyber space. This is Sister Saint Aloysius. With Sister Mary Martha temporarily off to the humidity of the Midwest to help her wonderful family, she is not here to keep up with her column. I have a cheese souffle in the oven in honor of Saint Thomas' feast day so I better make it snappy.

Most of us think of St Thomas as the Apostle who doubted everything and as you can see he is usually depicted in religious art poking his finger in Christ's wounds. Jesus was very patient. But, I wonder how patient most of us are on these hot summer days, with the temperatures soaring, strange bugs biting us and rashes festering in places too private to mention. Do you find yourself flying off the handle? This is the time when we have to put ourselves in check. Offer up these little annoyances to the poor souls simmering in Purgatory. Do we find ourselves doubting Jesus loves us because we are sweating buckets and the air conditioning is on the fritz? Wasn't Our Savior a little clammy wandering around the desert in the 140 degree heat in that floor length biblical caftan? Lucky for Him it wasnt polyester like this modern habit I have on. Ooops, speaking of patience, I impatiently peeked in the oven and my souffle has fallen. I hope the Altar Guild likes a big cheese pancake. I doubt it.

Where Did the Time Go?

Apparently, it's my anniversary! Who knew? I 'm not even at home to have Sister St. Aloysius make a fantastic cake or brownies or something to celebrate by offering them up to someone else.

Sister Mary Martha has been answering questions and making observations for an entire year. Who knew? It doesn't seem like a year. For one thing, the plumbing hasn't blown up again as it does annually, unless you count the hot water heater. Maybe after we have sewage all over the hallway once again it will seem like a year has passed. Some of us mark the days with the Liturgical Calendar. Some of us mark the days when the things that go down through the pipes stay down there. Some of us do both.

Here's how I'd like to celebrate, if you'd be so kind. Dig around in our archives and let us know which posts have been your favorites. We'd be interested to know what strikes a chord!

I think my personal favorite were the posts around Halloween. For me, they were cathartic in more ways than one, since some of the things that go on around Halloween year after year grow so tiresome....how and why Christians observe the holiday, for example. I was happy to put my two cents in. And glad to retell my story of the old man at the bank. My Norma Rae moment.

But I'd be so happy to hear from you! That would be as good as cake and I wouldn't have any way to give it up.....

Or! Pop over and give us a vote at the Blogger's Choice Awards. That would tickle Sister St. Aloysius no end. We can't believe how far we've come over there!

Good Night, Mrs. Calabash

Greetings from the Midwest! Today's question, easy breezy, lemon squeezy:

Here's a question you might think is silly. Maybe I'm being scrupulous, I don't know. Is it okay to say your nighttime prayers and then read a book? My mom said I should say my prayers "as soon as I wake up, before my feet hit the floor and last thing I do before I close my eyes at night." The problem is that I like to read in bed but, I often fall asleep reading thus not having examined my conscience or said my prayers. Is falling asleep without saying your prayers a venial sin? It seems disrespectful to say my prayers and then pick up a book to read. What do you think?P.S. I love being able to ask these kinds of questions without having to bother my priest with them. Hope you don't think this is too goofy.

The last time I checked, there were no laws governing bedtime prayers. While I applaud your mother both for her plan of prayer attack and her ability to stuff her prayer plan into your brain so as to become inextricable (hooray for Catholic guilt!), it's her plan, something she concocted on her own.

Don't get me wrong. It's a great plan. I highly recommend it. You've got the Son in the morning, as the old song says.

But falling asleep without saying your bedtime prayers is not a venial sin. It is merely a bad habit. (Although bad habits can also become venial sins! Maybe even mortal sins! Today's skipped prayers are tomorrow's missed Mass. I should put that on a T-shirt. Maybe a mousepad.)

Here are a couple of bedtime do's and don't's:

Do say your bedtime prayers.

Do say a rosary for your bedtime prayers.

Don't say a rosary to cause drowsiness. The rosary is a meditative prayer. You should be trying to fill your mind with thoughts of the life of Jesus as seen through Mary's eyes. This should not make you drowsy. If it does make you drowsy you should stop doing it until you can wake yourself up. Because if you keep saying a rosary to make you drowsy, or while you're drowsy, you'll become the Pavlov's dog of the rosary sleep aid. For you, this equation will take over your prayer life: rosary=dreamland.

The rosary is not dreamland. Those things all really happened.

Do read a book, if you like, after your prayers. Why not? You've said your prayers, you've examined your conscious. Now if you need something to read before you nod off do so with God's blessing. God invented reading. He wrote a couple of books, didn't He?

Here's a plan for you, if you're still in a state because your mother is scolding you in your head (go Mom!): Read a book about God! Read the lives of the saints (very exciting stories, political intrigue, chase scenes, violence, mayhem, and always a happy ending, since they're all dead and in heaven), the Bible, your missal, books about the Vatican or the Popes, read encyclicals, the Catholic newspapers, books about Mary.

I have a great book now about good old Mother Angelica, aka Rita Rizzo of Canton, Ohio. Did you know that as a child, angels flew her out of the path of a bus? It's right in the book!

PS. I wonder if your priest is glad to skip these sorts of questions. I doubt it. It's a relief to tackle the easy ones.

Leaning on the Saints

I have to travel to the mid West tomorrow to lend a hand with my family. I will be calling on St. Joseph to lend a hand with my travels, as he is a good patron saint of travel having managed to get the Holy Family safely to Egypt...on a donkey, no less. Although I wonder if they actually had a donkey. They may have just walked the whole way. No one was around with a camcorder to record the trek.

Anyhow, I won't be calling on St. Joseph out loud, unless there is a lot of turbulence, which brings me to today's question:
An anonomous person asked this: Can saints hear my prayers if I pray silently? I know God can, but can the saints? I was wondering about it too. I am leaning toward yes but I am not completely sure about that. What do you think? If you can get around to answering the question.

That person was not anonymous to the saints, ironically.

Lean all the way over to yes. I'll give you a shove if need be. If you pray silently for the saints intercession, the saints hear you.

We don't know how it works, but we know it does work. For one thing, praying for the intercession of a saint is how a person becomes a saint in the first place. I'm sure all the people who prayed for the intercession of Mother Teresa didn't stand on the corner hollering up to her. But prayers were indeed heard, as Mother Teresa is now "Blessed Mother Teresa."

Think of it this way. Mother Teresa has no ears. She left her ears here when she died. She'll get them back eventually, but she doesn't need them now. She won't need them later either, she'll just have them anyhow. So you wouldn't need to talk out loud to a person who didn't have any eardrums for the sound to bounce off.

And yet somehow, Mother Teresa "heard" the prayers of a woman who needed to be cured (I think she had a tumor or something) and Mother Teresa asked Jesus if He could help out and Jesus said, "Mother Teresa, you were so fantastic down there yourself, in the face of tremendous sorrow and suffering and despite all the nasty things Christopher Hitchens said about you. I'd be happy to do just about anything you ask me to do."

Blammo! Tumor gone. (A miracle has to be instantaneous.)

Perhaps you've heard of Danny Thomas? You wouldn't have if St. Jude wasn't able to hear him. Mr. Thomas was a struggling comedian with a family. He was just about to give up his dream of a life in showbiz when he stumbled into to St. Jude's Church and asked St. Jude to help him decide what was the right path. Mr. Thomas was ready to go sell shoes based on St. Jude's answer. The next time Mr. Thomas went onto the stage he was a huge hit and the rest is history. That's why Mr. Thomas started his giant children's hospital: to say thank you to St. Jude.

I have to believe that Danny Thomas didn't stand in the middle of St. Jude's Church and pray out loud to be a successful stand up comedian and start a television empire. What dirty looks the old ladies would have shot him if they had gotten wind of that! But we can tell that St. Jude, who has no ears, either, heard Danny Thomas.

So there you go. As I said, we don't know how it works. We Catholics have a saying for these kind of questions: "It's a Sacred Mystery." "Sacred Mystery" is "Catholic" for "let it go."

What Did Jesus Smell?

Dear Sister, it's nice to see Mrs. Gott on your blog again. How is their friend who smelled so badly at the Catholic Charities store?

Funny you should ask. We were just inquiring about poor Bob ourselves not two days ago. I hadn't heard tell of him in some time, and I always hear about it when he's been around. Then there is the lingering...awareness... that he stopped by.

I am not happy about the news, but I have yet to form a plan.

Here's what's happened. Somebody snapped. No one will fess up to who it was exactly, but I suspect that everyone else was so grateful for the lapse of compassion that the other ladies have now formed a thin Mary-blue line of protective silence. Their lips are sealed. They've thrown away the key. At some point I will lay my 'nun gaze', famous for stopping fifth graders in their tracks, upon them. The ninety year old women of the Catholic Charity will once again be 1o years old and they will spill the beans.

Even at the Catholic Charity store people are expected to pay a little something for their clothes or the things they need. The story is that Bob stopped by twice without paying anything. He probably owed them a dollar. Maybe two dollars. So when he stopped by a third time empty handed, someone snapped. Whichever octogenarian snapped also showed him the door. Somewhere in there the horrible odor was mentioned to him. He protested that he had on clean clothes. He was informed that clean clothes don't help when you don't bathe. Ever.

This must have happened a while ago, because I managed to find out thatBob has since been banned from no less than two other stores run by other charitable groups. On one occasion the police were called.

What a dilemma! I'm very disturbed. I'm sure the money thing had to have been a ploy. I can't think why any money has to change hands. All the items are donated. I guess for the gas bill and rent. Still...I know how much a dollar can be when you only have one. Or none.

I can't pass judgment on the good ladies who work every day to help the poor and have been as kind as they could muster to poor Bob, all the while gagging and holding their breath. I can't pass judgment on poor Bob who clearly has a screw loose. The hygiene screw has been stripped altogether. And we certainly can't expect the other people who come for help to hang around while Bob is there or in his stench-filled wake. We can ask for their compassion, but we can expect nothing.

We can hand them some Febreeze and hope that it's not as carcinogenic as it seems it must be.

I'm not sure where we can look for the answer. One of the North American martyrs (I can't recall which one) specifically asked to be sent back to work with the the Iroquois, or the Utes or whoever, because he absolutely could not stand them. He found them utterly repulsive. And smelly. Can we ask this of the elderly ladies of the Catholic Charities? I think we already do, every once in a while.

And what would Jesus do? I discussed this when I first mentioned Bob. We know Jesus embraced lepers. And by this we don't mean he really liked to help the cause of lepers. He actually embraced them. Gave them bear hugs. Kissed them.

And as I've said before, I'm guessing that no one smelled too great in Jesus' time, not even Jesus. If Jesus had smelled great to you and me the people of his time would have thought he smelled bad. No one would have blinked at Bob. Unlike us, their eyes would not be tearing up. Everybody probably smelled a lot like Kenny. The lepers probably smelled even worse. But since everyone was not used to nice smells even the lepers probably weren't too bad.

Although, I do recall that in "Ben-Hur", when Ben-Hur's girlfriend finally finds his mother and his sister locked away in the prison, the turnkey covers his nose and gasps, "Lepers!" when he opens the cell door. But this may be because he is afraid of breathing in leper germs. But then...they didn't know about germs and airborne viruses back then. But then, the actor who played the turnkey may not have called that to mind. We'll never know. He is an actor who has no idea how accustomed to awful odors an ancient turnkey would have been.
The slave galley couldn't have smelled like a rose garden either, but no one ever brings up that problem.

I digress.

My point is that Jesus could have just cured Bob of any problems Bob had and may not have noticed Bob's hygiene one way or the other. I doubt any of Jesus' suffering was on account of anyone else's lack of personal hygiene.

My main concern is that Bob gets fed. He mostly came by for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He didn't come by very often, luckily for everyone involved, but when he did there was at least a donut involved.

I think we're going to have to go track him down and check on his stomach status. We do have something Jesus never had.

Nose plugs.

Three Steps Back

Our readers have asked about the progress on our garden. We've had a set back.

The garden area is in two parts: a small plot which is nothing but plants and a little deck area of equal size. While we cleaned the garden part out, the deck area has been pile with debris. We were ready to clean the deck area when disaster struck.

First, we didn't get to start in on it because on Friday we had to rush Sister Mary Fiacre to the doctor. She was refusing food. Sister Mary Fiacre may not be aware of much, but she is aware of meal time, snack time and whatever else anyone is eating around her. Anytime she seems a little uncomfortable or somewhat unhappy we need only crack out some marshmallows or a cookie or one of those Little Debbie Snack Cakes and her cheery disposition returns. At this point I am sure she is onto us and puts on a sad face when she craves Girl Scout cookies.

She had a little bug, it turns out, and is back to her voracious self, turning the corner by Sunday evening in time for some home made fried chicken and gravy that Mrs. Gott brought by. Mrs. Gott had plotted to snap Sister Mary Fiacre out of it and her plan was a success.

Meanwhile when we returned on Friday evening from our waiting room Limbo.....limbo does exist it turns out. To find it you just bring someone to their doctor after the nurse on the phone tells you to come on down and they'll 'work you in'. We racked up some Purgatory points over there, let me tell you. Here's a flash: all the marriages in "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" are saved. The answer is always, "Yes." Thank you, Ladies Home Journal.

Anyhow, as I was preparing for bed on Friday evening I could hear water running in the pipes when no water was on. Fearing the worst, we spent the weekend turning all the water off after each use. Who knew we used that much water? I have a smudge on my habit from crawling under the deck to turn the valve.

On Monday, the plumber ascertained that the hot water heater is shot. This is a major expense and not something we can manage right away.

I am rethinking the fires of Hell, by the way. Icy water could be down there. It's very unpleasant. Ask the people who leaped off the Titantic.

We should have the new hot water heater in a short while. But we have to clean out the side of the house for the old heater to be carried out and the new one to come in. Some sort of exotic palm like thing has rooted itself in there, taking up the entire space. Of course it is also cover in........soap opera sting music SFX (thank you Hollywood)....morning glory. There is also a giant rubber tree in there and it's giant leaves fall off every day. They are at least knee deep. The plumber was shorter than me, so he may disappear altogether in the rubber tree leaves.

Sister St. Aloysius dug right in. By mid morning she had found Jane Goodall and a chimpanzee colony. I read recently that there are only 750 gorillas left in the world. I'm sure we can make that 751 by tomorrow.

Maybe we'll finally find Jimmy Hoffa.

Thank goodness neither of us is afraid of spiders. You can't live in this house and be afraid of spiders.

So the deck is a hopeless mess. I take that back. Hopelessness is a sin. The deck will take a lot of work, should we ever see it again.

The final blow came just a few minutes ago. We have beautiful yellow calla lilies as a focal point in the middle of the garden. Teddy and his little friend Romeo smashed them flat. Flat! I don't know why they did it. Trying to escape the gorilla, no doubt. Or playing with Jimmy Hoffa.

Tit for Tat

We've had some questions about my opinions on tattoos. I am happy to further clarify.

Since the body is a temple, couldn't a tattoo be considered decoration as well? Cathedrals have their stained glass windows and I have my cross tattoo...

I'm not sure how you can compare burning ink into your flesh with a stained glass work of art. Perhaps some visual aids.




























I rest my case.
























And...

I disagree and agree with you sister. I agree our bodies are temples of the spirit. I agree that we need to be careful what we put on it, or in it, as a holy place. To go extremist for a moment though- why do we cover this temple? why aren't we naked, I know that is another can of worms on sin and mortality.


You haven't opened the sin and mortality can of worms, so much as you've opened the Adam and Eve and morality can of worms (unless you meant to say 'morality' and had an actual Freudian slip).

The can of worms part is good news, to me at least. As a Catholic you don't have to take the story of Adam and Eve literally. You don't have to believe that God made one man and one woman in a garden and there was a talking snake and then they had two children who were both boys and the one of the boys (the murderer) went off to live in another town somehow populated with all the girls Eve had while we weren't looking. And everyone had to marry their sisters and first cousins for a while there.

You can if you want to.

Yes, except for a small bump in the road named Galileo, the Church doesn't run screaming from science. You may believe in the theory of evolution if you like. Not a problem.

You do however have to believe that the story of Adam and Eve is true.

Calm down.

The story. Not the events.

How does that work? Everything in the story is true. Some of the things didn't happen.

Just like in a movie, a 'bio-pic' (I do live close to Hollywood, I know the 'lingo') for example. In the movie "The Miracle Worker", little Helen Keller lives like and animal and fights her teacher tooth and nail until the big break through moment at the well when she realizes that the signs the teacher is making in her hand mean something. A powerful moment, to be sure.

To this day, when I've been talking myself blue trying to explain something that is bouncing off a nearby thick head and I finally break through the noggin into the brain, in my own brain I scream, "Mrs. Keller! She knows!"

But that "well" moment never happened. If you read the actual autobiography of Helen Keller you'll find she was hungry for knowledge and knew right away the teacher was there to help her. Helen loved Teacher from the moment she arrived on the plantation.

Was there a little girl named Helen Keller who couldn't hear, see or speak, who struggled to understand what her beloved teacher meant with motions of her hands? Yes. The story is true. Some of the things didn't happen.

So what we must believe about the story of Adam and Eve is that God made man in His own likeness out of love and that Man did something to ruin His relationship with God.

And in there somewhere, as a result of Man's separation from God, Man discovered shame and had to cover himself.

That's not the problem....believing or understanding that.

The problem is with what does man cover himself? There's your can of worms. Even a decent temple cover can go awry.

Tats

Sidney Poitier has not yet arrived to help us in the garden or drive us to Mass, so we're soldiering on on our own. The worst of the actual work of tearing things out and trimming things back and cutting things down is over. I even got through almost all of the weeding.

So I wasn't expecting further injury from the attack rose bush. I should have known better.

I understand that the rose is called "Joseph's Coat" because the flowers go through so many changes in color. The flowers bloom in clusters so there are always flowers in one of the stages, so all of the colors are happening at the same time. I would have thought that the person who named the plant would have no small amount of experience with it and named it something with a more appropriate warning. "The Devil Wears Prada", perhaps.

I was weeding near the base of the plant in my 'Lilies of the Field' work clothes and straw hat, throwing the weeds in a pile to my left and somehow, on the back swing, my hand got too close to the Joseph's Coat. My index finger snagged on one of it's giant thorns, but my hand was in motion. I ripped a large tear down the side of my finger.

I did not swear.

It wasn't a deep gash and I was on a roll so I kept right on working. A couple of minutes later I looked back at my finger. The wound was packed full of dirt. I'm not one to wear gloves, even with my "Lilies of the Field" get up. Anyhow, I thought I'd better wash my finger.

I soaked and scrubbed. The dirt stayed in there.

I had given myself a dirt tattoo.

Which brings me to this reader's question:

How are tattoos accepted? I wanted to get a tattoo of a scapular, but i dont know how to go about doing so. There are many regulations which come with scapulars which is making this more and more difficult i have found.


As far as I can tell the church has made no official pronouncement about tattoos. Obviously, a naked anything is out of the question. One of my favorite basketball players has a tattoo of his mother on his arm. She's still wearing her big square glasses from years ago. I'm sure she's delighted to wear them for years to come. On his arm. But I digress.

This scapular thing is a bone headed idea on so many levels.

It is my personal view that God doesn't like tattoos. This is not a personal revelation from God to me. It is my closely held opinion. Why? Because the body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit.

Tattoos are graffiti on the Temple of the Holy Spirit.

And on top of that you want a scapular! First read this: What Brown Can Do For You.

I'll wait.

So let me get this straight. You're going to tattoo a scapular onto yourself, thus skirting the even minimal act of wearing one and the awareness of being deserving of heaven that might bring. You're going to run down to Inky's Tattoo Barn and burn one into your flesh like you're at the Lazy "C" Catholic Ranch and forget about it, except for questioning eyes at the beach. "What are they staring at?" you'll think to yourself. "Oh yeah, my scapular tattoo!" Then you'll dance off in your string bikini.

How happy this must make Our Blessed Mother! All mothers love it when their children run out and get a tattoo, after all. The Blessed Mother, the very symbol of purity, must be overjoyed.

The real question here is, should you really not deserve heaven in the final wash, how is God going to get that thing off of you? Because He is going to get it off you.

A scapular, by the way, is worn both front and back, so getting it off you stands to be really gruesome.

My advice: Don't do it. If you insist on doodling on the library book that is your body, just scribble " WWJD" on there. Maybe it will remind you not to get any more tattoos.

Hosanna! I Have the Answer!

I left my Dr. Laura hat out by the curb, in the hope that someone will run over it when they try to park. But we have some other questions from a reader:


1. Why does the priest bow to the altar on his way to the ambo? I can understand bowing to Jesus present in the tabernacle behind the altar, but he is definitely bowing to the altar (with his back to Jesus in fact)and not the tabernacle. Why?
2. Why do we bow our heads as we say "and became man" during the creed? While I am honored that Jesus chose to humble himself and become a man for me, I am even more awed at some of the other things He did that are mentioned in the creed, like "was crucified, died and was buried." or "rose from the dead." Why an act of reverence for "just" becoming a man?
3. When we say "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord" during the Hosanna, who are we talking about? The whole prayer seems to be referring to God without specifying Father, Son or Spirit so I was wondering if this line speaks about someone other than God, or if the prayer is made to God the Father and this line is referring to His son.
Thanks for any insight you will offer.


I can handle these! Whew!

Question 1: To non-Catholics, every aspect of the Mass must look like some elaborate square dance. Bow to your corners! At least I can explain about the ambo. Much easier than explaining what an '"Allemande" is. Try explaining that move! I know it may involve going left the old left hand.

So the ambo is basically the pulpit. I thought everyone stopped calling it an ambo and started calling it a pulpit. Although they are a bit different. An ambo is a raised platform. It used to be a sort of movable lectern and then it became a piece of church furniture. A very elaborate piece. Ah, the good old days of elaborate church furniture! When did the whole church go Danish modern? The new statues make me feel like I'm on Easter Island.

But I digress. The bowing toward the ambo is not prescribed in liturgical books, but probably arose from a sense of reverence and respect for the Word of God which is about to be read from the ambo.

If the priest is bowing toward the altar, then the Book of Gospels is there and he's bowing toward that. Then he'll alamande left with the old left hand over to the ambo.

No, he won't. That's just what the non-Catholics think he's doing.

Question 2. I think you could have figured this one out. How does Jesus die for our sins or rise from the dead, so you can be amazed at that, if He first doesn't first do the stunningly humble move of being born a man? It calls for a profound pause.

Think about it. God. Omnipotent, eternal, "I Am." Rolling around heaven all day even before there was an earth. No body to get tired. No feet to hurt. After an eternity, literally, God makes us to join Him. In the great scheme of things we've only been here a very short time and we've can barely get anything right. We'd tie our own shoe laces together and start walking and break out our front teeth, left to our own devices. You, as God...you don't really even have to pay attention if you'd rather not. Luckily, you're paying close attention. Imagine what it would be like to have to deal with being born and having a body. Was Jesus lactose intolerant? Did He suffer during allergy season? Probably not. But you get my drift. I'm sure His feet hurt, at the very least, from all that walking.

Or just try to imagine something very big becoming very small. A dinosaur standing in front of you suddenly becomes a golden retriever. You've got to be impressed with that!

"..and became Man." The collective gasp after hearing those words should suck all the air right out of the room. A bow of the head is the least we can expect.

But feel free to bow your head at every turn during the creed. Why not? Good for you and your sense of awe. I won't try to stop you. Good for you feeling all that reverence! the extra head bowing will cause the visiting non-Catholics to be further confused, wondering if we've switched from a square dance to the hokey pokey. But their opinions have never concerned us one way or the other, really.
Question 3: We're quoting the Gospel of Matthew here, when Jesus rode in on Palm Sunday. "He who comes in the name of the Lord" is Jesus. That's what they said when He rode in and we're quoting them. It's not an accurate description of Jesus, exactly. But if we said, "Blessed is the Lord!" we wouldn't be quoting them anymore. We don't go around saying 'Hosanna!" as a rule either...that should have been a tip off for you that maybe it was 'from' something.

Although, I'd be willing to work a Hosanna or two into my everyday vernacular to have those great old statues back. I know they're around somewhere in some body's church basement.

I realize that I have invited readers to ask questions and I do welcome them. But I must admit when I am in over my head. In the first place, I don't have the answer to everything. But more importantly, armchair analysis based on a few sentences is a very dangerous thing, I think.

Let me give you an example. Suppose you tell me that your brother is a very sweet man but is somewhat neglectful of his wife. You go on to explain that he loves her very much, he is always there for her when it is really important, he's a good bread winner, a good provider. He just misses a birthday sometimes or shows up really late for family gatherings and his wife is embarrassed and it causes them to fight.

What do I say? I would say, keep your trap shut and say a rosary in his behalf and thankthe Good Lord that they are more happy than not, that he is there where he really needs to be, that he loves her and that maybe she is being a little needy. If I had to talk with his wife, if she told me about all the things she needs from him, I might say, "Drop some needs."

But you've neglected to tell me, in your question, that the reason your brother is late is because he is being detained by the police, that his nickname is "Sonny"(always a red flag) and that his good behavior always coincides with the periods in which he is on the wagon.

Now my advice is really, really bad.

That's why I can't touch this:
I've been in a rocky relationship for over half a year now. Lately I've been wondering what it is I am supposed to do. Do I stay and stick it out even though I am suffering right now because God wants us to persevere through the dark times for what is important to us? Or is the fact that I'm so unhappy lately a definite sign that I'm not on God's path for me? Nothing at all seemed odd to me but then I tell my best friend about my dilemma and she looks at me like I'm nuts to think about it that way. So I started wondering if God really does work that way. Does He have a specific plan for each of us? Or just some of us? Or is it more general like 'do good, be good, love God'? Is He really concerned about my love life? Or just the condition of my immortal soul as in I can date whoever I please so long as there is no sinning? I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter, Sister. I feel sort of ignorant at the moment. Thanks.


Unhappy for the entire year and a half, or just the last six months or just last couple of weeks? Unhappy because he makes you feel unsafe and unloved?

He makes you feel unsafe. Because he's been known to fly into a rage? Or because he's never on time to pick you up from work?

He makes you feel unloved. Because he is cold and dismissive? Or because he forgot to get you a birthday card?

Or unhappy because he doesn't do what you think he should do?

He doesn't do what you think he should do. He can't hold down a job? Or he doesn't pick up his socks?

Is his nickname, "Sonny"?

My question is: Why ask me? You should be telling him this stuff.

But what do I know? I'm a nun. Jesus doesn't even wear socks, so that's never at issue.

I don't mean to be dismissive to you. I understand that this is a very real and a very important problem. I just what to explain as fully as I can why it would be bad for me to try to give you dating advice. You can see how this could really go right off the rails. I could be doing you serious harm.

As for God's plan. .... He does have a plan and He does care about every aspect of your life. Unforunately, He doesn't mail you a copy of the plan. But that's why we have the Catholic Church! So you and God can be as close as possible.

And His nickname isn't "Sonny".