Why the enemy hates our leaders.

Our daily readings are running behind the lectionary. This is in part because I read from the beginning to the end of chapters, and partly because I get told not the read the graphic bits by my beloved, who visualizes the rituals. We are taking a long time to get…

Late weekend sonnet.

Never allow grammer to set your morality. Never allow definitions to do so. This is the error of the British School of Philosophy, which concentrates on definitions and logic but ignores the natural law. The poet may be referring to the algebra of negative numbers, but in reality a wrong…

Wednesday Peom

I am writing this on the day when one of the few Catholic Conservative Antipodean cardinals is convicted of sex with underage boys. (It was the second trial, and the verdict is questioned and appealed). We should all pray for Cardinal Pell: that he has the courage to repent of…

The smallness of the antichristian imagination.

The antichristian is the person of the spirit of this age, for this age does not acknowledge angels, or prophets, or a resurrection to come, going even beyond the Sadducees to not acknowledge soul, or spirit, or mind, or will. There is no moral agency: there is only class, tribe,…

Saturday Sonnet one day late.

Do we have free will or are all things we do fated? Are we on this stage as authors of our destiny or mere players of a script? The reformed, when it comes to salvation, see but their own sin and the overwhelming grace of God that saved them undeserving.…

Wednesday poetry.

This is one of those times when taxation is a topic: our fairly left wing government has a tax working group reporting tomorrow. I'm not sure if this will make people happier, or more righteous. It will make accountants happy. If it is as reported, it will be electoral suicide.…

The day of rest.

We had a quiet Sunday: we were exhausted. We slept in, then did some small tasks. At least once a month we do this: often when we are away, but at other times when we are not. Some may say that with daily (almost daily) exposure to the word and…

Saturday Sonnet.

We are now past the feast of St. Valentine, Bishop of Rome and martyr. Before that day, I was at a meeting with a man who expedites goods through customs, and he said that the flowers for that day came from India and South America, in containers, half of which…

Slouching somewhere bad.

I was going to a post on Valentine's day, and why it was corrupted: how the troubadour's vision of their lover and subversion of the marital bed was combatted by the bad tactic of doubling down and making Mary a person of romantic veneration. Then I find out that the…