So I guess the Children of Light didn't pray enough for the US election results to get overturned? No double-whammy day of sudden comeback and shining light? Donald Constantine lost miserably in a historic landslide (and he has known this all along) because of their failure of prayer, is that it?

It's as though God does not answer yes to prayers requesting Trumpian power through election interference, fraudulent litigation and sedition. That is most unfortunate for the Children of Light.

It's almost like false prophecy doesn't just end in itself, but goes towards committing all kinds of other evils to try and make the prophecy come true - like election interference, fraudulent litigation, voter suppression, and sedition, all the while feigning neutrality by loftily saying, "Ah, I'm awaiting the election results" even though the results were clearly already in. LOL.

I guess the guy that SkybalonSiteNews featured - you know the guy who would receive the Eucharist superstitiously in willful disobedience to the priests who told him to knock it off - the guy who predicted way back in the day that Donald Trump would lead the nation back to God - yeah that guy, I guess he was completely wrong and his prophecy was false?

Huh, imagine that.

These people are probably also very disappointed that the promising COVID vaccines don't come from a fetal cell line.

Sore disappointment all around.

 

And look at that! Transparent face masks! Now you won't be covering the Imago Dei! Huh, no more excuses for you! LOL

Misc.

Thumbs up for A Quiet Place.

It is such a Pro-Life film, and I love that so much.

More like this please.

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I am so looking forward to the mid-term election popcorn fest.

I am going to watch it on Fox and get pizza and popcorn.

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To hell with perogies that contain cottage cheese. So disgusting.

I love cottage cheese, but in perogies it just becomes this rubber rancid sort of thing.

That's fine because the cottage cheese ones are the most expensive.

I've been buying this local brand that uses simple ingredients.

My favourite perogy is just potato with onions. It can have dill as well - that's nice.

I don't care much for the cheddar cheese ones. Or the ones with bacon and potato.

The bacon just makes it taste like dog food.

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Stop it with the bacon. Bacon is nice, but it doesn't make everything better.

It's good by itself with eggs, on BLT, moderately with baked brussell sprouts (be obedient and eat your brussell sprouts!) and moderately on certain pizzas, but that's pretty much it.

Bacon on burgers is just dumb.

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Oh look, your own private apocalypse!

Huh, good for you!

Well did Christ speak when he said, "So if anyone tells you, 'There he is, out in the wilderness,' do not go out; or, 'Here he is, in the inner rooms,' do not believe it."

Just think about what "wilderness/desert" and "inner rooms" represent.

Just imagine.

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Oh, Popes come and go. It's about the office, not the man occupying the office.

Yeah, and this from the champions of the Domestic Church.

You call your homes the domestic church - a kind of sub-church, which is modeled on the Church.

And for some reason these heroes think Christ wants the family of his body, the church, to be addressed with,  "Ah, you see, Popes come and go!"

Right.

Moms and Dads, they come and go.

I respect your office as Dad, but unfortunately you are in error. I duly expect a Peter and Paul moment anytime soon.

Eat your brussell sprouts.

LOL.

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On one American apologist's twitter page I came across a meme that featured Roy Scheider from Jaws with the words, "We're going to need a bigger Dubia."

Right, "We're going to need a bigger doubts."

Okeeydoekeey then. Good luck with all that.

LOL.

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It is amazing the amount of relativism and gradualism over the course of the Hero's Three Letters (and probably counting). I guess when you deal in absolutes you're allowed to leave a mega slime trail and not have to address any of your shiftings?

Huh, imagine that.

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Amoris Laetitia contains no errors.

All the parts must be understood in the whole. Which is par for the course for anything. It's like trying to pick apart a Tarkovsky film. Your starting point of approach must be from the departure point of having taken it in its entirety.

But will the prophets of the inner rooms and the desert admit to their audiences that it was they themselves, and not the Pope, who was in error?

Don't count on it.

Escalation

After Jesus' body is scourged, the torture escalates in the crowning with thorns. Where before they ripped apart his flesh, they seek now to humiliate his dignity; their hatred is focused upon his head. The scourging of Christ's body escalates upwards to his head.

As those with proper liturgical formation, they provide Jesus' body with none but the finest cloth: a scarlet robe reserved for royalty. As those who preach about giving God our finest, they actually dress Jesus in the finest garment available. Nowhere else in scripture do you see Jesus dressed in royal garb. Only here.

These are the same people who have just scourged his body. They proceed to crown his head with thorns; they bind his head with a blindfold; they cover his head with spit; they beat his head with rods.

Of all the garments in their possession, they give to Jesus the one that is most fitting for who he is - the robe of royalty - and their worship of him is a mockery.

"Jesus Christ, therefore, appointed Peter to be that head of the Church; and He also determined that the authority instituted in perpetuity for the salvation of all should be inherited by His successors, in whom the same permanent authority of Peter himself should continue. And so He made that remarkable promise to Peter and to no one else: 'Thou are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church'" --Pope Leo XIII, Satis Cognitum

 "How can you celebrate the Holy Eucharist and pronounce his name in the Canon of the Mass?" --Cardinal Marc Ouellet

We could take care of that for you

Perhaps the most God-fearing person I know is a tough old Jewish lady whose many hedges I trim and prune on her acreage. A great wall going around the front yard and into the back, around fifteen feet high that takes days just for one side, cylinders down the snaking driveway, separate huge boxes, outer parameters with lengths of solid wall, backyard boxwood, all the individual specimens, etc. She likes things squeaky clean and I'm OCD OCO(rder) so things work out great between us.

She's the kind of lady you can picture coming out of her house in a bathrobe and carrying a shotgun for any intruders. She speaks her mind no matter who you are, and it's upfront and somewhat loud, somewhat boisterous, and, I don't know how to say it, she gets it out there, especially if there is something she sees that is wrong. She's the kind that bureaucrats cannot stand.

Though I've always liked her, I remember the time when I grew especially fond. A number of years ago, somewhere around late September, I was working away on the boxwood (the majority are cedar) and it was getting toward evening when she came hurrying out and spoke with emphatic energy.

"You gotta go! You gotta get all the equipment up and get out of here!" And then she said it was - I can't remember what Jewish day it was - it was a big one. At the time it was quite hot and I welcomed the sudden command to quit for the day and go home. If I'm working on a Friday I make sure to pack up before sunset.

But the way she expressed it - this urgency that had to do with something greater than any of us, or any thing. Why did I feel such joy under that fiery and fierce injunction to pack up?

We never talk religion though.

Another time my fondness for her grew - let's call her D. - was when she told me about some of her family coming up to visit her from the US, I think her niece. She had her boyfriend along (cohabiting), and they were assuming they were to share a room at night, when D. said to them, point blank, "Not under my roof you won't!"

I wish I could describe the way D. said it - "Not under my roof you won't!" I laugh about that when I remember it.

Just last week we got to talking about the Hell's Angels and the CIA (D. was explaining to me how the Hell's Angels originated after the Second World War), and in the conversation she told me how she worked as an accountant for a mill at the age of eighteen doing payrolls for an exceedingly large number of workers in a very short period of time.

There was a man who worked there, and D. went on about how nice of a man he was: he was the nicest man she had ever met.

One day she started complaining to this incredibly nice man about her boss, and the nice man said to her, "Would you like him taken care of?" To which D. - quite shocked - said, "What?"

And he said, "I can get him taken out for you" as he went on to explain in his nice manner about how he belonged to a group that existed precisely for doing such things - that is, killing people. He wasn't kidding.

D. of course emphatically told him NO, and as shocked as she was by this, what shocked her even more was the way this man broached the subject. He talked about it like someone might talk pleasantly about the wine tour they were looking forward to on the weekend, or about the local coffee shop whose lemon squares come highly recommended.

Long story short, I started thinking about that story today; and that there are many, many very nice doctors.

Some of the nicest doctors you could ever meet.