No circumcision for you!

By Michael J.W. Stickings

Generally, and admiringly, I find San Francisco to be one of the most progressive places in America (not that that's really saying much, but still).

Take same-sex marriage, for example: Harvey Milk's city is well out in front of most of the rest of the country, which lingers still in vicious bigotry.

But sometimes it can go too far, and not even in a progressive way. Sometimes it's just nuts:

A group opposed to male circumcision said on Tuesday they have collected more than enough signatures to qualify a proposal to ban the practice in San Francisco as a ballot measure for November elections.

But legal experts said that even if it were approved by a majority of the city's voters, such a measure would almost certainly face a legal challenge as an unconstitutional infringement on freedom of religion.

Circumcision is a ritual obligation for infant Jewish boys, and is also a common rite among Muslims, who account for the largest share of circumcised men worldwide.

The leading proponent of a ban, Lloyd Schofield, 59, acknowledged circumcision is widely socially accepted but he said it should still be outlawed.

"It's excruciatingly painful and permanently damaging surgery that's forced on men when they're at their weakest and most vulnerable," he told Reuters.

Oh please. A ban may or may not be unconstitutional -- I suspect the current Supreme Court would rule it as such -- but it would certainly be stupid. Male circumcision isn't female circumcision, after all, and it's hardly -- sorry, Kramer -- the "damaging surgery" its opponents make it out to be.

The spread of disease may not be much of an issue anymore, given our penchant for hyper-hygiene, and so, if it isn't religion, it may just be parental preference. But what's wrong with that? This hardly rises to the level of a choice that needs to be taken away from parents.

Thankfully, not all of San Francisco is this crazy. A vote would likely fail.

Persistence + Patience = Progress

I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I was tired from yesterday’s exertions and it was warm under the covers. But I had an appointment to go meet with my trainer at the gym. Ugh! That was the very last thing I wanted to do. My days off from work were making me even lazier than normal.

If there had been a max on the snooze button, I would have reached it. Finally I got up. Was it Grace or my Guardian Angel? I know I don’t deserve the credit.

The snow was coming down in small flakes when I arrived at the nearly deserted gym. I admitted my lack of ambition to my trainer. “Good for you for coming anyway!” she cheered me on. While I appreciated her encouragement, I little thought I deserved it.

Surprisingly even though I had been mostly sedentary during the week, I had a good, if moderate, work out. No gold medals here unless they give them for showing up and hanging in there...

Later back at home, it was almost the same struggle to make myself pray.

I don’t feel like praying God. What is “praying” anyway? I’m just saying words... I guess this is what they mean when they talk about dryness... My prayers are like sawdust... Do they mean anything? Where is the inspiration? What is the point? Hello?! Are You even listening God?

You know some days God, I get a little irritated with You. You could make this a little easier, couldn’t You? I mean after all I am trying to do this right. Why don’t you at least tell me like my fitness trainer does, “Good for you for showing up and praying anyway!”

It would be nice to get some feedback. (sigh) Do you hear me God? I keep showing up and saying these prayers. Sometimes it feels like I’m just opening my warm house and letting all the heat out—to be swallowed up in the immense winter freeze outdoors. The ‘heat’ of my prayers seems to dissipate as fast as I generate them. What’s the point? Is there any?

My prayers are finished.

I pick up my phone and read a text from someone I spent a deal of time trying to help yesterday. I prayed for her, listened to her, talked to her, listened and prayed and prayed some more. Today she writes that what was troubling her yesterday is much better. She’s even laughing about what was causing so much pain.

As I read her words I realize I just got my prayer answer and my “atta girl”. They didn’t come the way I expected.

You never answer me the way I think You will God—but You always answer me. Thank You God! Forgive me for my lack of faith.

You are so faithful. I KNOW I can count on you. Why do I doubt? Have patience with me God.

Help me to keep ‘showing up’ every day, every day, and every day for my prayer time—no matter what.

In time, this patient persistence will equal progress; will result in an unswerving faithfulness that never questions You or Your purposes. I ask this in Your Son's Name.

See what the Holy Father says about Prayer.

God bless you dear readers!

The Edge of Sadness

My second installment in this trilogy devoted to Books About Priests, is Edwin O'Connor's, The Edge of Sadness. Even the title should warn you that this book is not for everyone. But if you are the type of reader who enjoys psychological mysteries, then I think you will find this study of the priesthood fascinating.

The Edge of Sadness is 646 pages of mostly thought and dialogue which spans the relatively brief time span of six months, occasionally taking retrospective forays back into the lifetime friendship of two middle-aged priests who grew up together.

The main character, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, is the pastor of the down-and-out—and going nowhere—Old St. Paul's, a conglomerate parish which has seen better days and probably won't see them again. Father John Carmody, son of the infamous Charlie Carmody, one of the most hated Irish business shysters of his generation is the type-A pastor of a type-A parish, St. Raymond's, a place which functioned much like a hospital emergency room—as did many a big Eastern city Catholic parish of the 1960's era—that is, always running, often at top speed, and never closing its doors.

But the parishes only provide a backdrop for the story which really centers on Father Hugh and his relationship with the Carmody family: Charlie, the formidable patriarch; Hugh's best friend, John; Helen, his married sister and her family; Dan, the other brother who never could get his act together and Mary, Charlie’s caretaker and housekeeper.

The overarching mystery of the novel is why does Charlie—who never does anything to no avail—suddenly decide to start calling on Father Hugh, reminiscing about his so-called friendship with Hugh's long-dead father, who in fact knew Charlie for exactly what he was, a shrewd and self-motivated businessman who never did an unselfish act in his life? What is Charlie's game now? Even his own children are at a loss to explain his seemingly motiveless nostalgia. But as the story unfolds and we go deeper and deeper into the Carmody family, we sense the damage old Charlie has been wreaking, not only on his four adult children but on ‘friends’, clients, business associates and the city as a whole.

Not that I did it, but if you’re one of those who do, even reading the last page and/or chapter won’t ‘solve’ the mystery, although it is solved, I promise. For all its length and leisurely pace, The Edge of Sadness is one of the most satisfying books I have read in a long time, also one of the most insightful and thought-provoking. The vocation of the priesthood is viewed from the inside, without glamour or sentiment but as Real Life, sometimes happy and enjoyable, other times as living on ‘the edge of sadness’. But then what life isn’t?

Here are some additional links to book reviews I've written during this Year For Priests: The Diary of a Country Priest, Silence, Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau, and Love In A Fearful Land. They are all books about priests; the first two are fiction and the last two are biographies.

One Glass of Milk

My husband sent me this story today and it touched me.

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.

Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water! She thought he looked hungry so she brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it so slowly, and then asked, "How much do I owe you?"

"You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness."

He said, "Then I thank you from my heart."

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Many years later that same young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes.

Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to her case. After a long struggle, the battle was won.

Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge, and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill.

She read these words, "Paid in full with one glass of milk" (Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly.

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed, "Thank You, God, that Your love has spread broad through human hearts and hands."

There's a saying which goes something like this: bread cast on the water comes back to you. The good deed you do today may benefit you or someone you love at the least expected time. If you never see the deed again at least you will have made the world a better place, and, after all, isn't that what life is all about?

The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn.

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Great Idea!

This is a GREAT IDEA! I hope you agree!!

When doing your Christmas cards this year, take just one card and send it to this address. If we pass this on and everyone sends just one card, think of how many cards these men and women would get.

These are wonderful special people who have sacrificed so much. What a nice surprise it would be.

When you are making out your Christmas card list this year, please include one card to the following:

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue, NW
Washington, D.C. 20307-5001

God bless you for your generosity to our military heroes!

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Call Your Child By Name

This article was written by my dearest friend Lucy and I liked it so much, I asked her permission to use it here.

The growing trend towards the culture of death seems to be increasing exponentially. The pro-life advocates working against incredible odds are in disbelief that so many would prefer a culture that celebrates the basest of all human behaviour. Many Catholics have included themselves in the wave of the “pro-choice” movement supposing it as a means of showing compassion and care for others. The argument goes that once social programs and education have been put into action abortion will become a rare occurrence. Interesting argument but upon closer inspection all should realize this has been one of the arguments from the beginning based on false compassion. As abortion became legalized and almost ‘glorified’ the vast numbers of abortions committed worldwide boggles the mind; we can say whole nations have been annihilated because of this atrocity called "choice". We have all been affected by this mass destruction of the most innocent of human beings; no one is immune from its devastating consequences. We either know someone who has had an abortion, maybe several or we ourselves have committed it. Having worked in the pro-life movement I have been privileged to meet women who courageously came forward to speak of the horrors they have had to live with because of their "choice" to abort. Only by confronting the truth have they been able to begin to heal their wounds. False compassion is neither healing nor unifying. It is not compassionate to allow countless women to sweep their knowledge of destruction into a dark corner where they in their longing sorrow and loneliness abide. It was said recently that it is a punishment for a daughter to carry a baby to term, but in reality the punishment is in condemning any young girl or woman to a life of suffering because of the “choice” of abortion.

Only by seeking the truth can someone call abortion what it truly is, an abomination and a sin. Only by shedding light on this truth can those who promote abortion begin to heal. The babies aborted are not just numbers or a slice on a pie chart; they are victims of violence who through the injustice of abortion laws have had their lives cut short. They are victims which remain nameless to our society and yet are called by name by their very Creator. It is interesting to note that many countries keep the memory of fallen heroes or victims of disasters. Plaques with names are posted, books written, stories told and yet the innocent victims of abortion remain nameless. This is no accident. Society finds it easier to destroy people when they are not seen as humans; Nazi Germany is an example but not the only one. Throughout history this has been the case, whole classes of people have been disposed of using this ploy but none have been more vehemently exterminated as the innocent victims of abortion.

To you professors, theologians, doctors and nurses and all the rest who defend the so called “freedom of choice”, how many abortions have you committed? Do you remember the dates of your fallen babies? How often do you think of them; these babies without names? Be honest with yourselves. You justify your “choice” by economic standards, or some other weak excuse. Have you noticed the more vehemently you defend your abortion stance the angrier or more depressed you become? Little did you know the decision you made would cause you to become sorrowfully enslaved to a chain called “choice”. Name your child or children, the babies who died from “choice”. All efforts in justifying the means to the end will not bring you healing. The only way to be released is to come to terms with that “choice” and begin anew by the realization that your child has already forgiven you and awaits your decision to make the right and moral choice for life by an act of repentance.

Cocktail Shots

Take a look at what they put in the shots they give your little kids! Just some of the juicy 'goodies' they mix up and toss in:

• glycerin and phenol--a compound obtained by distillation of coal tar
  
• rhesus monkey fetal lung cells
  
• some microbial contaminants
  
• human diploid cells from aborted fetal tissue*
  
• varicella live virus
  
• guinea pig embryo cells
  
• fetal bovine serum
  
• vesicle fluid from calf skins

And then there is my favorite: Mercury! Many vaccines still contain thimerosal (49.6% ethylmercury by weight.) While mercury is a highly toxic element second only to radioactive plutonium, when combined with other ingredients, specifically aluminum and formaldehyde, the synergistic effects increase 10,000-fold. Effects will vary from individual to individual, but mercury poisoning is chronic, cumulative, and so far as we know, irreversible.

* Contained in the shots for Rubella, Hepatitis A, Haemophilus influenza Type B, the Merck & Co., Inc., MMR, and chickenpox

I don't know about you, but if I'd known then what I know now, my children wouldn't have been vaccinated! Check it out, be informed, think about it! You do have a choice . . . and a voice.

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Pro-Choice Violence

Interesting post by Father Frank at his blog, Priests for Life, called Pro-Choice Violence. It seems violence is only going to escalate and not only against the unborn, but also against those who get involved in the fight.

Especially disconcerting are the comments made by someone who identifies himself as Doctor Defense. Defense of what? Certainly not the un-born? Nor the family. What about Life? Nope! Oh, yes, the 'right' to kill a defenseless child. That is what this 'doctor' wants to defend. Please God, defend us from all such 'doctors'!

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Freedom of Choice Act

Please register.

It only takes a second. Please forward it to all Pro-Life people in your email list.

http://www.fightfoca.com/

"The first thing Iʼd do as President is sign the Freedom of Choice Act," ~~Senator Barack Obama. Watch the video on this site and hear it for yourself.

With a single stroke of the pen, the Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) would establish the right to abortion as a fundamental right (like the right to free speech) and wipe away every restriction on abortion nationwide.

FOCA Would Wipe Away Every Restriction on Abortion Nationwide.

This would eradicate state and federal laws that the majority of Americans support, such as:

• Bans on Partial Birth Abortion


• Requirements that women be given information about the risks of getting an abortion


• Only licensed physicians can perform abortions


• Parents must be informed and give consent to their minor daughter's abortion

FOCA would erase these laws and prevent states from enacting similar protective measures in the future.

Reconstructing Natalie

by Laura Jensen Walker

Started: 12 March 2008
Finished: 20 March 2008

You have to admit Reconstructing Natalie is an unusual title for a book. My sister, Julie, recommended this book and I knew in advance what it was about—breast cancer. I get a lot of good book recommendations from both of my sisters. They include spiritual books, mysteries, love stories, comedies and even books on books.

Since I knew what Reconstructing Natalie was about, I was a bit surprised when it started off in such a light humorous vein. Undoubtedly Laura Jensen Walker did that because the overall subject is so heavy, she knew the story needed leaven early on; it did!

Natalie is a twenty seven year old single woman who finds a breast lump one day. Unfortunately in her case, it is not benign. Thus begins her long days’ journey into night. And yet Walker still manages to tell Natalie’s walk through the valley of the shadow of death with great sensitivity and continued sprinklings of wry humor.

Throughout her ordeal Natalie is forced to make choices—about her body, her career, her outlook, her faith—which you may or may not agree with. I don’t happen to agree with all her choices, but then I didn’t have to endure what she did. Even the women in her support group make different choices. For one thing, there is the choice between mastectomy, lumpectomy and/or chemotherapy/radiation — well at least for some women. And even between single mastectomy and double. Following the removal of the cancerous tissue, there is the reconstruction of the new breast(s) or wearing a prosthesis. I never realized there were so many choices open to breast cancer sufferers today. The book is an education in itself.

But the technical aspects aside, I was struck by the devastating personal issues. Natalie and her two closest friends learn to make some hilarious breast jokes, which taken out of context, would seem crude and lewd—but put into perspective are poignant and bittersweet. She has no breasts anymore—if that doesn’t earn her the right to make jokes about them, nothing does. She loses all her hair as a result of the chemo; in moral support, a girl friend, male friend and his son shave their heads.

Through it all, Natalie comes to re-examine and question every facet of her life. Tragedies and turning points have that affect on us. Through reconstruction she regains her outward appearance and then some, but she has no feeling in her new breasts and will never experience the bond of nursing her own babies. Yet at least she survives to have children of her own—so many women with breast cancer aren’t even that blessed.

It is my fervent prayer that all women everywhere read this book and remember the Natalies of the world. So often I hear women talking about having and nursing babies as if every woman can do these things when in fact, so many women cannot. This thoughtless assumption can be so painful for women denied these beautiful and God-given opportunities.

****1/2

dedicated to all the Natalies, Janes and their families and friends. May God watch over and support them in their fight against cancer!