"It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait. At any rate after a short halt go on he did..."
I often pose Guess the Band pictures for my grade 5 students. It's both fun and depressing. It is fun to see them try to figure out the band. It is depressing to note they know nothing of music. "Rolling Stones? Eric Clapton? John Denver?..."
Let's make the game more Catholic. I present to you: Guess the Church Musician. Figure out the writer of sacred, and not so sacred (hint), music that you might hear at Mass.
Late last year I wrote an article, later published at OnePeterFive, on the demise of religion and culture in small towns. In it I explained how hockey was woefully being employed as a pseudo-replacement for God and community, given the absence of living a true teleological purpose for life. That the rink is full of unhappy participants and spectators on a Sunday morning, and the churches are sparse with worshippers, says it all.
Fast forward to today; the hockey season is mercifully nearing completion. I had the great pleasure of coaching my seven year old son through his season of novice hockey; I had the grave misfortune of coaching more than a dozen other seven and eight year old children through a season of tears, misery, exhaustion, and overall displeasure. To be fair, there were some wonderful children in the bunch, but the general takeaway for me is that most hockey children cry far too much. They cry over missing a shot, taking a penalty, being told to pay attention, arguing wi…
I write this for the guilty mom. You know who you are. Guilt surrounds you
like a spider spinning thread around its prey, or like a jumble
of toys growing rapidly on your living room floor, threatening suffocation
and feelings of uselessness. You bear a sense of guilt for many things.
Indeed, the guilty verdict is always before you, and it shows on your face. Of
this guilt St. Anselm says: "To lie hidden, will be impossible; to appear
will be intolerable." You cannot hide it, nor hide from it. You are the
guilty mom. And just what
are you guilty of? You are guilty of wasting time. What on earth did you
accomplish this week, much less today? You are guilty of failing another
supper, complete with overcooked veggies and undercooked meat for one child,
and undercooked veggies and overcooked meat for another. Perhaps you should not
have left the cooking to the last minute? You are guilty of spending too much
time on Facebook, and the pain of regret devours your conscience, especi…