Hey all, just got back from Paris! It was fantastic. More to come on that...once I get all my work done...I'm actually prioritizing for once!
Just wanted to thank all of you who've been praying for the safety of my friends and me.
I also implore you to keep the Pope in your prayers this week as he travels to Angola and Cameroon to pray with and encourage the ever-growing Church in Africa. Let us not only pray for his safety but also that those who are committing countless atrocities in the African continent will be touched by his visit and cease their evil ways.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Protectress of Africa - Pray for us!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Note
I was playing with the layout (obviously) the other day, and had to settle with what is there. I don't like it either haha. I'll change it or revert it soon enough, for now I want to go to sleep.
~ Javs
~ Javs
Satisfied by a Mere Experience
As unlikely as this sounds, our weekend trip to the Andalusian cities of Córdoba and Granada was start to finish a complete success. I think one person delayed our initial bus out of Toledo a handful of minutes, but that’s about the only slipup I remember. The several hour bus ride to Córdoba was fantastic. We had to board by 5:15 in the morning, but sin duda valió la pena (was certainly worth it). I slept a good bit, but was gladly awoken by an aesthetically minded angel who prompted me to remove the scarf which shielded my eyes from the quiet, yet intense beauty of the sunrise climbing its way over the plains to my left.
After satisfying my desire to behold and trying somewhat in vain to capture with a lens what was meant for an eye, I slipped back into dreams. We were awoken at roadside bed and breakfast for a buffet-style breakfast…my favorite kind. I ate with José Luis and Miguel, two of our three program coordinators. They are both really funny guys, and used this sense of humor to comment several times on my ability to consume food and our common upbringings in the Catholic Church. We are very lucky to have them (and Yuki, the hypotenuse c to their a and b) as our coordinators. I have had both amusing and serious conversations with them, and find myself each time happier or wiser.
After breakfast(/lunch/dinner if you consider how much I ate) we continued through an incredible landscape of undulating pine forest to get to Córdoba. Unfortunately it was a bit misty when we arrived, but not enough to mar the several hours we had to see the Mezquita and explore the Judería…and eat! The Mezquita is fantastic. It’s a sixth century Church turned eighth (?) century Mosque turned fifteenth century Cathedral. There is no trace of the original Church, but thanks be to God, the Christian armies of the reconquista didn’t destroy their Muslim enemy’s beautiful place of prayer, rather adapted it to their liturgical needs. I wish we could have spent more time there, but as that was the only major thing we had planned for Córdoba, they really wanted us to see the Judería, or Jewish quarter, then eat and peace out. The highlight of the Jewish quarter was definitely the Maimonides statue. Maimonides was a Medieval Jewish philosopher from Córdoba, whose influence extended beyond his own faith, as his work is cited by St. Thomas and some of the other famous scholastics. Córdoba is certainly a city of philosophers. They also boast of Seneca, the Roman stoic, and Ibn Rushd (Averroes), the Muslim genius referred to by St. Thomas as “The Commentator.” Only one other person in Thomas holds such an epithet, Aristotle “The Philosopher,” on whose works Ibn Rushd was/is the authoritative commentator.
Lunch was fantastic.
We arrived in Granada in the early evening and got ourselves settled before a fun little night. Instead of spending too much money at restaurants and bars, we decided a grocery store run would be our most cost efficient venture. We were right. It was a cheap, fun night, capped off by free dancing at a club called Babylon.
I thought I would regret staying out late on Friday, because we had a somewhat early wake up Saturday to see the Alhambra, a medieval Muslim fortress. I was wrong. Long seeded excitement got me up and rearing to go in the morning…along with yet another buffet-style breakfast awaiting us in our hotel’s dining room. Two ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches; a handful of peach slices; and some tasty fruit juices later we were seated on our busses and en route to the Alhambra.
No day could have complemented the beauty of this building more. The sun was kind enough to share 65 to 75 of its several-billion-degree temperature with us, making our sweaters a clumsy item to carry, but a welcome reminder that no…we are not in South Bend! Unfortunately abused her Spanish penchant for long windedness, and made certain parts of the four-hour tour quite boring, so much so that we were not allowed to remain in some of the prettier areas to sit, relax, and admire, and in the very end she forgot to take us to one of the Alhambra’s cooler patios. I wasn’t too upset though. We did spend four hours in the Alhambra.
A testimony to the power of the Muslim rulers of times past, it is a vast collection of human dexterity and imagination. Just about every wall has an ornately hand-carved design, ranging from the cave-like ceilings of the bedrooms to the fabulous Arabic scripts which contar las historias de la Alhambra much akin to a Medieval tapestry. Unfortunately one its most famous pieces, La fuente de los leones, is being renovated. It is a fountain in one of the main patios encircled by 12 lions, one for each our. In the fountain’s day, on each hour the respective lion would begin to spray water. The Christian conquerors opened it to see how it worked. Neither did they figure it out, nor did it work when they put it back together…smooth.
Among the Alhambra’s other claims to fame is that it was the burial place of Los Reyes Católicos: Isabel of Castilla-León y Fernando de Aragon. They were buried there because La Alhambra was the final Muslim stronghold conquered in 1492, although now they reside in the Capilla Real, a chapel on the side of the Cathedral of Granada.
After La Alhambra, we had the whole day free. We certainly took advantage. After getting Tapas and one heck of a refreshing beer (and a Gaston picture!) at La Bella y La Bestia, we got our own lunches of choice and met back at Plaza de Colón for lunch. Plaza de Colón is an amazing little spot to sit and admire the monument Queen Isabel’s approval of Colón’s proposal to sail west. The guys had pizza and did not regret it, as is evidenced by the pictures on the website…Hank especially.
The next of the day’s highlights awaited us after lunch. We didn’t want to spend €3.50 to enter the Cathedral, so instead we decided to explore the streets and allies around it. Choice of the century. Behind the Cathedral resides the quintessential European setting: a sunlit plaza with steps, musicians, and joy. The sun continued its gift of Mediterranean spring weather as we plopped on the steps to take in the seeming perfection of the moment. To our left three incredible flamenco musicians provide the soundtrack to the movie being ingrained in our memories as numerous groups of costumed Granada youth made their way in and out of the Plaza. Apparently there was a city-wide scavenger hunt that day, so humorously dressed people were in no shortage this happy Saturday.
On the steps our group partook in gelato consumption, laughter, and the a capella folk choir stylings of Flannery and I. If I’m not mistaken we sat there for at least two hours before entering the Capilla Real, which was nice, but not quite worth the €3.50 entrance, maybe 2. The tabernacle wasn’t even active!
As was the custom, we exited the Capilla to the sound of more fantastic music in the streets. We then split our group. Some went back to the hotel, while some of us decided to make the trek to El mirador de San Nicolas, the lookout spot from Saint Nicholas Parish. This also falls in that category of fantastic decisions. It was a long uphill trek to this famed sunset point and hippie congregation hub. A hedonist’s paradise, this lookout appeals to all the senses. It buzzes with life and moves to the music of flamenco guitar, didgeridoos, homemade percussion, and hippie chant. Numerous cafés take advantage of numerous pilgrims who seek not only to gaze on beauty but also to do so on a full stomach and satisfied palette. Primarily famous for its vista, San Nicolas has perfect view of the North side of the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada mountains as the setting sun stains their brown stones and white caps red. Oh and smell, I forgot about the sense…well it’s the hippie center of Spain, so it smells like…incense…among other recognizable scents ;-)
Much like our Cathedral steps experience, we spent several hours there, profiting from the view during three different times day light, sunset, and nighttime. The Alhambra is very well lit at night, so that required our brains to make even more space to retain and impressive memory. If my brain works anything like my computer’s hard drive I’ll soon be sacrificing old memory in hopes of a newer—hopefully God designs better than Apple. However, our desire to explore was still piqued, so we took random streets in the hilltop neighborhood and stumbled upon a snazzy little plaza and friendly local grocer before making it back down to the main road which would lead us back to our hotel.
That night was Connor’s birthday, so we celebrated appropriately, laughing and dancing to our hearts’ content. My night was sadly cut short by a little taxi mix up, but that was alright, considering the much needed extra hour of sleep it afforded me. I got to go to Church twice, once at a local convent and later at the Cathedral. Both were beautiful liturgies, although lacking the vibrancy of a dorm or Basilica Mass I am so accustomed to (and eager to experience back in the States). The Cathedral is among the most beautiful in Spain, and probably in Europe. Structurally, it designed to encourage as much air flow and let in as much light as possible. It also does not fall prey to some of the excesses of Baroque Spain that other Cathedrals do, although it does utilize the Baroque mastery of gold very well. Sadly, I only took two pictures, but memory is always better, even if less accurate than a photograph.
That was probably the lesson of this trip. Although I am glad I (with Hank’s help) snapped 410 pictures in Córdoba and Granada alone, I do need to remember that the point of my travels is to behold and experience. I am living a story and learning lessons along the way. The photos will serve well in the future to stir a memory years removed from the experiences, but how sad would it be if to gaze upon the photos is all my mind is trained to do, if it does not have its own impression of the beautiful landscapes and architecture I’ve been setting eyes on for the past two months?
One of my favorite quotes encapsulates my situation well -- “No limit can be set to our progress toward God, first because no limits can be put upon the beautiful, and second, because as our desire increases it never finds satisfaction." - St. Gregory of Nyssa.
Every trace of beauty makes such an impression on my heart, I want to keep it forever, so I take a photograph, thinking that it is the pure aesthetic value which impresses me most. However, there is deeper magic at work, a beauty hidden deep within those mountains, a creativity housed somewhere in those walls, magnets which forcibly engage me in their mystery. However, they are paragons of humility, for in their attraction, they lead me past themselves to encounter a beauty truer, yet infinitely more paradoxical. Its enormity is ineffable, yet its simplicity comprehensible to the smallest child. I recall when I would be an Extraordinary Minister of Communion at the Children’s Masses at Little Flower Parish in South Bend. Holding the chalice I was stunned by the opportunity to hand Life itself to my brothers and sisters and would get locked in thought and fear. Then, when I needed it most, a parent would come up holding their infant child. Without fail these beautiful youths would fix their gaze on the chalice. Perhaps it is only because chalices are shiny, and little kids love shiny things, but I could never help but wonder that they knew what was really going on. They knew that Love was poured into that cup, and they couldn’t take their eyes off of Him. His beauty drew them into Himself, even though they did not receive Him sacramentally. Saved from the trap of intellectualism, these children helped me to better understand the mystery of my ministry: to keep my gaze fixed on the beauty swirling around below me, whether it impressed me or not.
This translates well into my travel life. The vibrant life about me asks me to perceive it better, to not divorce its aesthetic from its identity. No one wants to be reduced to an image, to a lifeless object, not even the most mundane pebble. That is why the photograph can never replace the impression of memory. Devoid of the reality of its object, it cannot draw me in such a way to the greatest Reality, it cannot remind me of my own reality, my own beauty, my own need to plunge deep into my own depths and discover a mystery and identity too immense for these pages, yet contained perfectly in a morsel of Bread and drop of Wine.
After satisfying my desire to behold and trying somewhat in vain to capture with a lens what was meant for an eye, I slipped back into dreams. We were awoken at roadside bed and breakfast for a buffet-style breakfast…my favorite kind. I ate with José Luis and Miguel, two of our three program coordinators. They are both really funny guys, and used this sense of humor to comment several times on my ability to consume food and our common upbringings in the Catholic Church. We are very lucky to have them (and Yuki, the hypotenuse c to their a and b) as our coordinators. I have had both amusing and serious conversations with them, and find myself each time happier or wiser.
After breakfast(/lunch/dinner if you consider how much I ate) we continued through an incredible landscape of undulating pine forest to get to Córdoba. Unfortunately it was a bit misty when we arrived, but not enough to mar the several hours we had to see the Mezquita and explore the Judería…and eat! The Mezquita is fantastic. It’s a sixth century Church turned eighth (?) century Mosque turned fifteenth century Cathedral. There is no trace of the original Church, but thanks be to God, the Christian armies of the reconquista didn’t destroy their Muslim enemy’s beautiful place of prayer, rather adapted it to their liturgical needs. I wish we could have spent more time there, but as that was the only major thing we had planned for Córdoba, they really wanted us to see the Judería, or Jewish quarter, then eat and peace out. The highlight of the Jewish quarter was definitely the Maimonides statue. Maimonides was a Medieval Jewish philosopher from Córdoba, whose influence extended beyond his own faith, as his work is cited by St. Thomas and some of the other famous scholastics. Córdoba is certainly a city of philosophers. They also boast of Seneca, the Roman stoic, and Ibn Rushd (Averroes), the Muslim genius referred to by St. Thomas as “The Commentator.” Only one other person in Thomas holds such an epithet, Aristotle “The Philosopher,” on whose works Ibn Rushd was/is the authoritative commentator.
Lunch was fantastic.
We arrived in Granada in the early evening and got ourselves settled before a fun little night. Instead of spending too much money at restaurants and bars, we decided a grocery store run would be our most cost efficient venture. We were right. It was a cheap, fun night, capped off by free dancing at a club called Babylon.
I thought I would regret staying out late on Friday, because we had a somewhat early wake up Saturday to see the Alhambra, a medieval Muslim fortress. I was wrong. Long seeded excitement got me up and rearing to go in the morning…along with yet another buffet-style breakfast awaiting us in our hotel’s dining room. Two ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches; a handful of peach slices; and some tasty fruit juices later we were seated on our busses and en route to the Alhambra.
No day could have complemented the beauty of this building more. The sun was kind enough to share 65 to 75 of its several-billion-degree temperature with us, making our sweaters a clumsy item to carry, but a welcome reminder that no…we are not in South Bend! Unfortunately abused her Spanish penchant for long windedness, and made certain parts of the four-hour tour quite boring, so much so that we were not allowed to remain in some of the prettier areas to sit, relax, and admire, and in the very end she forgot to take us to one of the Alhambra’s cooler patios. I wasn’t too upset though. We did spend four hours in the Alhambra.
A testimony to the power of the Muslim rulers of times past, it is a vast collection of human dexterity and imagination. Just about every wall has an ornately hand-carved design, ranging from the cave-like ceilings of the bedrooms to the fabulous Arabic scripts which contar las historias de la Alhambra much akin to a Medieval tapestry. Unfortunately one its most famous pieces, La fuente de los leones, is being renovated. It is a fountain in one of the main patios encircled by 12 lions, one for each our. In the fountain’s day, on each hour the respective lion would begin to spray water. The Christian conquerors opened it to see how it worked. Neither did they figure it out, nor did it work when they put it back together…smooth.
Among the Alhambra’s other claims to fame is that it was the burial place of Los Reyes Católicos: Isabel of Castilla-León y Fernando de Aragon. They were buried there because La Alhambra was the final Muslim stronghold conquered in 1492, although now they reside in the Capilla Real, a chapel on the side of the Cathedral of Granada.
After La Alhambra, we had the whole day free. We certainly took advantage. After getting Tapas and one heck of a refreshing beer (and a Gaston picture!) at La Bella y La Bestia, we got our own lunches of choice and met back at Plaza de Colón for lunch. Plaza de Colón is an amazing little spot to sit and admire the monument Queen Isabel’s approval of Colón’s proposal to sail west. The guys had pizza and did not regret it, as is evidenced by the pictures on the website…Hank especially.
The next of the day’s highlights awaited us after lunch. We didn’t want to spend €3.50 to enter the Cathedral, so instead we decided to explore the streets and allies around it. Choice of the century. Behind the Cathedral resides the quintessential European setting: a sunlit plaza with steps, musicians, and joy. The sun continued its gift of Mediterranean spring weather as we plopped on the steps to take in the seeming perfection of the moment. To our left three incredible flamenco musicians provide the soundtrack to the movie being ingrained in our memories as numerous groups of costumed Granada youth made their way in and out of the Plaza. Apparently there was a city-wide scavenger hunt that day, so humorously dressed people were in no shortage this happy Saturday.
On the steps our group partook in gelato consumption, laughter, and the a capella folk choir stylings of Flannery and I. If I’m not mistaken we sat there for at least two hours before entering the Capilla Real, which was nice, but not quite worth the €3.50 entrance, maybe 2. The tabernacle wasn’t even active!
As was the custom, we exited the Capilla to the sound of more fantastic music in the streets. We then split our group. Some went back to the hotel, while some of us decided to make the trek to El mirador de San Nicolas, the lookout spot from Saint Nicholas Parish. This also falls in that category of fantastic decisions. It was a long uphill trek to this famed sunset point and hippie congregation hub. A hedonist’s paradise, this lookout appeals to all the senses. It buzzes with life and moves to the music of flamenco guitar, didgeridoos, homemade percussion, and hippie chant. Numerous cafés take advantage of numerous pilgrims who seek not only to gaze on beauty but also to do so on a full stomach and satisfied palette. Primarily famous for its vista, San Nicolas has perfect view of the North side of the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada mountains as the setting sun stains their brown stones and white caps red. Oh and smell, I forgot about the sense…well it’s the hippie center of Spain, so it smells like…incense…among other recognizable scents ;-)
Much like our Cathedral steps experience, we spent several hours there, profiting from the view during three different times day light, sunset, and nighttime. The Alhambra is very well lit at night, so that required our brains to make even more space to retain and impressive memory. If my brain works anything like my computer’s hard drive I’ll soon be sacrificing old memory in hopes of a newer—hopefully God designs better than Apple. However, our desire to explore was still piqued, so we took random streets in the hilltop neighborhood and stumbled upon a snazzy little plaza and friendly local grocer before making it back down to the main road which would lead us back to our hotel.
That night was Connor’s birthday, so we celebrated appropriately, laughing and dancing to our hearts’ content. My night was sadly cut short by a little taxi mix up, but that was alright, considering the much needed extra hour of sleep it afforded me. I got to go to Church twice, once at a local convent and later at the Cathedral. Both were beautiful liturgies, although lacking the vibrancy of a dorm or Basilica Mass I am so accustomed to (and eager to experience back in the States). The Cathedral is among the most beautiful in Spain, and probably in Europe. Structurally, it designed to encourage as much air flow and let in as much light as possible. It also does not fall prey to some of the excesses of Baroque Spain that other Cathedrals do, although it does utilize the Baroque mastery of gold very well. Sadly, I only took two pictures, but memory is always better, even if less accurate than a photograph.
That was probably the lesson of this trip. Although I am glad I (with Hank’s help) snapped 410 pictures in Córdoba and Granada alone, I do need to remember that the point of my travels is to behold and experience. I am living a story and learning lessons along the way. The photos will serve well in the future to stir a memory years removed from the experiences, but how sad would it be if to gaze upon the photos is all my mind is trained to do, if it does not have its own impression of the beautiful landscapes and architecture I’ve been setting eyes on for the past two months?
One of my favorite quotes encapsulates my situation well -- “No limit can be set to our progress toward God, first because no limits can be put upon the beautiful, and second, because as our desire increases it never finds satisfaction." - St. Gregory of Nyssa.
Every trace of beauty makes such an impression on my heart, I want to keep it forever, so I take a photograph, thinking that it is the pure aesthetic value which impresses me most. However, there is deeper magic at work, a beauty hidden deep within those mountains, a creativity housed somewhere in those walls, magnets which forcibly engage me in their mystery. However, they are paragons of humility, for in their attraction, they lead me past themselves to encounter a beauty truer, yet infinitely more paradoxical. Its enormity is ineffable, yet its simplicity comprehensible to the smallest child. I recall when I would be an Extraordinary Minister of Communion at the Children’s Masses at Little Flower Parish in South Bend. Holding the chalice I was stunned by the opportunity to hand Life itself to my brothers and sisters and would get locked in thought and fear. Then, when I needed it most, a parent would come up holding their infant child. Without fail these beautiful youths would fix their gaze on the chalice. Perhaps it is only because chalices are shiny, and little kids love shiny things, but I could never help but wonder that they knew what was really going on. They knew that Love was poured into that cup, and they couldn’t take their eyes off of Him. His beauty drew them into Himself, even though they did not receive Him sacramentally. Saved from the trap of intellectualism, these children helped me to better understand the mystery of my ministry: to keep my gaze fixed on the beauty swirling around below me, whether it impressed me or not.
This translates well into my travel life. The vibrant life about me asks me to perceive it better, to not divorce its aesthetic from its identity. No one wants to be reduced to an image, to a lifeless object, not even the most mundane pebble. That is why the photograph can never replace the impression of memory. Devoid of the reality of its object, it cannot draw me in such a way to the greatest Reality, it cannot remind me of my own reality, my own beauty, my own need to plunge deep into my own depths and discover a mystery and identity too immense for these pages, yet contained perfectly in a morsel of Bread and drop of Wine.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Guilty Pleasure
So in one of my numerous study breaks I found this: THE ONION YOUTUBE CHANNEL
Oy, talk about a guilty pleasure. These people are really quite bitter and sarcastic...but very, very funny. If you enjoy a good dead pan you will love this.
Oy, talk about a guilty pleasure. These people are really quite bitter and sarcastic...but very, very funny. If you enjoy a good dead pan you will love this.
Something New I Learned
There are 42 Catholic Churches within a 15 mile radius of my home...hiyo! Although at school there are 40+ chapels on two square miles, so I suppose I should be used to this kind of thing by now. (Somebody's keeping His eye on me!)
On a similar note, excluding preschool...I've only been to schools dedicated to the Blessed Mother...make that two people keeping their eyes on me!
On a similar note, excluding preschool...I've only been to schools dedicated to the Blessed Mother...make that two people keeping their eyes on me!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Morocco Fotos
Papa Benedetto sums up my Moroccan experience pretty well (Thanks to Emily for showing me the particular speech): I am "wounded by the desire for beauty, and not any kind of beauty, but...beauty itself, the infinite beauty that [I] found in Christ."
To access these and subsequent photos check out my Picasa site.
Picasa is decentish program, so needless to say I decided to have a lot of fun with and touched up some of the pictures. I only put in the ones (somewhat) worth looking at.
Enjoy (Mom and Dad)!
To access these and subsequent photos check out my Picasa site.
Picasa is decentish program, so needless to say I decided to have a lot of fun with and touched up some of the pictures. I only put in the ones (somewhat) worth looking at.
Enjoy (Mom and Dad)!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Somethings I Realized a Long Time Ago
1) I can't sing long e's. I'm not sure why, but I can never seem to get them right. This is ironic because back in Beauty and the Beast my big number "Me" ended with a powerful High-F Meeeeeeeeeeee! Yea, I don't think the audience ever enjoyed that one. Sorry.
2) I am bad at conjuring motivation to do school work, hence this blog post.
3) Jesus Christ is fantastic...although in the strictest sense of the word, I don't think anyone could have ever fantasized a God Incarnate who would die, rise, ascend, and leave Himself in the form of Bread and Wine...I couldn't. My God would be me...oh wait that sounds like secular humanism...not so creative, I guess ;-)
4) I don't know if I could be poor and happy...sounds awful I know, but it's the truth...at this point at least. Maybe I'll be a better person one day.
5) Tissues should be carried at all times.
6) Music should be played on streets and sidewalks enlarged so folk can dance more readily.
7) The greatest saints are the ones we don't know about...excluding Mama Mary of course.
8) I will see you in the Eucharist, whether you believe me or not :-)
2) I am bad at conjuring motivation to do school work, hence this blog post.
3) Jesus Christ is fantastic...although in the strictest sense of the word, I don't think anyone could have ever fantasized a God Incarnate who would die, rise, ascend, and leave Himself in the form of Bread and Wine...I couldn't. My God would be me...oh wait that sounds like secular humanism...not so creative, I guess ;-)
4) I don't know if I could be poor and happy...sounds awful I know, but it's the truth...at this point at least. Maybe I'll be a better person one day.
5) Tissues should be carried at all times.
6) Music should be played on streets and sidewalks enlarged so folk can dance more readily.
7) The greatest saints are the ones we don't know about...excluding Mama Mary of course.
8) I will see you in the Eucharist, whether you believe me or not :-)
Phew!
I just received an email from Prof. Fagerberg, the Director of Undergraduate Studies for the Dept. of Theology. He said my application was received safely and would be getting back to me when all the decisions had been made. Worry one is out of the way, and the greater worry, that my application is actually accepted, will be settled in about a month. I won't worry about it now though. There's too much else to do, plan, and experience.
Praise God! Why? Who cares?!?!
Praise God! Why? Who cares?!?!
Prayer Request
I just submitted my application for the Honors Theology Program, which if accepted would mean I get to write a thesis (30-50 pages!) on a topic of my choice. The topic I submitted was Christian Males: Soldiers for Christ and Spiritual Brides. Pray that all goes according to God's will.
Also, of note...I sent it in a day late, so if it's going to be accepted it may need an extra prayer or two. Many thanks.
There are more important things to pray for though, so I don't mind if you ask someone else what they need you to pray for. Who knows what serious intentions are being kept from the ear of the Lord this day? Let us pray that God gives us the grace and the courage to eagerly hear the needs of our brothers and sisters so that we can both pray for and aid with their fulfillment.
Notre Dame, Our Mother - Pray for us.
Also, of note...I sent it in a day late, so if it's going to be accepted it may need an extra prayer or two. Many thanks.
There are more important things to pray for though, so I don't mind if you ask someone else what they need you to pray for. Who knows what serious intentions are being kept from the ear of the Lord this day? Let us pray that God gives us the grace and the courage to eagerly hear the needs of our brothers and sisters so that we can both pray for and aid with their fulfillment.
Notre Dame, Our Mother - Pray for us.
News on Blessed Brother André
Check out this blurb from Fr. Michael Wurtz, CSC, a really cool, young Holy Cross Priest.
Any good news for The Congregation of Holy Cross is good news for Notre Dame. Blessed be God in His angels and His Saints!
Blessed Brother André, pray for us!
Any good news for The Congregation of Holy Cross is good news for Notre Dame. Blessed be God in His angels and His Saints!
Blessed Brother André, pray for us!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Two Rocked Casbahs and a Khamel that Doesn’t Spit -
[Note: Pictures to come soon!]
This weekend’s adventure took us to Marrakech, Morocco. Of all the journeys I’ve ever taken, planned, or even considered in the imaginative corner of my mind, this was preceded by the most apprehension and excitement. Going in only with the knowledge imparted to me by Maeve, Emily, and our nervous student coordinators at the Fund, I was ready only for a stereotype: camels and turbans. What I would findand how I would be received, however, both surprised and delighted me.
When we arrived the Hostel Manager, Khamel, was waiting to pick us up. He was wonderfully friendly and from the get-go led us on the first of our adventures. Our cars drove us from the airport into the chaotic and car-unfriendly Medina (the area inside the walls) of Marrakech. Much like driving within the walls of Toledo, no ride is conceivable without near accidents, heightened acuity of one’s surroundings, and general sense of surprise when you arrive at your destination unscathed. We parked in Jemaa El Fna, Marrakech’s main square, whose very atmosphere conjured treasured memories of Aladin and Abu. Snake charmers, monkey trainers, and story-tellers were awed at from afar as fruit vendors and shop owners sought to charm my friends into their stores, calling them “Beautiful Girl” and “Princess,” a far cry more gallant than the epithets used by their Spanish correspondents.
Getting to the hostel itself, or more accurately the Riad, a 15th Century home turned Bed and Breakfast, was quite unnerving the first time around. First you a walk away several hundred meters from Jemaa El Fna, through alternating areas of covered and uncovered marketplace, then turn down a street rife with impatient motorcyclists until you find an archway. At the archway we turned into a labyrinth of alleyways, unlit tunnels, and turns we thought impossible to remember. It was pretty sketch to the recently arrived eye. Everything seemed somewhat run down and ill kept; second thoughts plagued all. However, those were dashed as soon as Khamel opened the door to our weekend home. The light of the sun shone into the open-air patio crowned in the center by stone water pot and some beautiful plant life.
The real joy of the Riad, however, was infused by Khamel and his boss, Hassan. As soon as we got in, they didn’t ask for our money or personal information: they asked us to drop our things, sit down, and enjoy a cup of traditional Berber Tea with them. We were apprehensive at first because everyone says not to drink the water in Morocco, but we realized that this water would have been boiled first, so we took our chances. It was a great decision. The tea, whose dominant flavor is mint, was fantastic! They proceeded to give us all the practical information we needed for the weekend, from beautiful sights to haggling strategies, and most of all to acquaint ourselves with all the “mysteries” nestled within the walls of Marrakech. Mystery being my favorite word in the English language, I knew this would be a wonderful adventure.
After settling, Khamel showed us back to Jemaa El Fna so we could find our way later. Once there we were free to eat, shop, and observe per our fancy. Our first visit was to one of the city’s old palaces. Inside, the orange trees, flowers, courtyards, and Arabic craftsmanship awed us and provided ample photographic material. Afterwards, we ate a late lunch on a terrace overlooking the frenzy below us. The highlight of this experience was hearing the afternoon call to prayer cried out from speakers all over the city. A large group gathered in the middle of the square to praise Allah and renew their commitment of faith. It was quite powerful to see prayer in such a public forum and with such public support.
Unfortunately, my couscous was quite dry and expensive, but seeing as the rest of my meals would be delicious that was ok. More to come on the food when we get there. After lunch I decided to take a picture with a monkey. Taking Hassan’s advice, I said from the get go that I would only pay 5 dirham (Moroccan currency: 1 Euro = 11 dirham). The trainer agreed and before you knew it I had a monkey on my arm. The monkey was clearly a grandmother, because only several seconds into our photo session she was pinching my cheeks. You’d be surprised how strong monkey’s hands are. As I am no Maureen Penders, i.e. an absolute animal lover, this was quite a new experience for me, and altogether joyous one.
Our exploration of the square was soon cut short by ominous drops of rain. Although I’m sure many in the city weren’t privileged by Mother Nature as much as we, she waited until we got inside to unleash her storm—and what a storm it was. Granizos (Hail!) soon made their parachute-less free fall from high above onto the Marrakechi streets. Combined with the lightning that accompanied them, the air temperature plummeted just as quickly as the thimble-sized hail. Thankful we came in when we did, many of our group took the opportunity to nap or at least put on an extra layer.
When we finally went out for dinner, we could hardly have known what to expect back in Jemma El Fna. Armed with some advice from a friendly, middle-aged Brit staying the hostel, we entered the marketplace turned restaurant stand looking for a booth not where tourists were eating, but locals. As you walk through the rows of dinner tents, courtiers from all sides vie for your business. Among the best lines we heard was, “It’s not KFC, but it’s a-finger lickin’ good!” Eventually we decided on Tent #97, and never looked back. For seven people our meal cost 235 DH, about $3.85 per person. For me this meal consisted of delicious bread, traditional Berber soup, and Chicken Tajine, a local favorite…also a good portion of Emily’s lamb skewers which she couldn’t finish…I love having no shame! Aside from the fantastic price and incredible taste the coolest part of the meal was something Maeve pointed out. St. Augustine was a Berber! Oh, Berbers are the indigenous Moroccan population, if I haven’t already mentioned that. So yea, I was probably eating a meal consumed by the great Latin Doctor before inspiring his community with a stirring sermon or composing a prayerful defense of the Faith.
After dinner, we made our first entrance into the markets. There there are no prices, items are only as cheap as you can haggle them. I apparently have a knack for this. Since we would be heading to the mountains the next day, I wanted one of those authentic Berber sweaters to keep warm. The first guy I went to I got down pretty far, but I didn’t quite like the jacket so I kept that price in my head to use at another store. When I found one that fit well and I liked I dug deep into my long lost acting skills, to gradually let down the price. Choosing to speak in Spanish, the salesman and I went at it for quite sometime before his 450 DH sweater was 200, just 20 above the other, which was of a worse material, so I didn’t mind the extra 20. Among my best tactics, which I encourage you to utilize: when they go down by just a few, call them out and say well what’s another 20 or 30 DH; walk out at least once; patience is key, at one point I offered him some of my water because I could see he was flustered; and put them on the spot in front of their coworkers, I used the guy’s boss to get my final drop from 240 to 200. Cha-ching. When I went shopping with Maeve the next night, we went back to their store, and had a good laugh with each other about the night before, but that didn’t stop me from getting him to drop her price from 250 to 200. She didn’t end up buying from him, but it helped her at another store. So yes, haggling is great, especially in other languages.
Day two was a wholly different experience. Two drivers picked us up at seven in the morning, ready to lead us through an unforgettable immersion into the heart of Morocco. Our driver told us, “If you can drive in Morocco, you can drive anywhere,” he was right. Our plan was to drive through the Atlas Mountains and visit two Casbahs, or Arabic strongholds, one from the 11th century and the other from the 17th. The drive was magnificent. We stopped every now and then at picturesque spots to soak in the beauty and sacar photos for those times when our memory can’t quite conjure the immensity of what the senses once observed. The greatest part of this 12+ hour excursion was its erasure of my Moroccan preconceptions. As I said before, I thought Morocco was just camels and turbans, to speak somewhat flippantly. However, like the first real conversation you have with a friend, where their story speaks to you and their heart unveils itself, Morocco showed itself to us a country of rich legends and varied landscapes. To be honest, I only think I saw three camels and zero turbans. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw. Hill country, lush valleys, snowcapped mountains, and arid desert were among the different terrains we encountered in this small sampling of one country’s beauty.
Among the “drive time” highlights were: stopping in the mountains, getting over my carsickness, stopping to photograph a random herd of sheep we found crossing the “road” aka tire tracks through the desert that led to the first Casbah, and of course, the two Casbahs. The mountains, as per usual, were quite cold. Thankfully, at one picture stop we were able to get a cup of tea and warm up. I felt really Berber in my sweater drinking tea in the mountains. However, as you will see in one of the pictures, the roads were incredibly windy; thus, I was approaching carsickness. Fortunately, one of our cars soon encountered some technical difficulties so we had to stop. We picked a nice little hotel/restaurant as our stopping point. Behind it lie tall hills, a dry river way, and small brook running parallel to its ailing older sibling. Here the soft breeze and gentle babbling of the brook returned us to equilibrium as the hard science of banging rocks on an engine was applied to fix our vehicle…no pasa nada.
Continuing on, we crossed the aforementioned “road” to get to the first Casbah. On the way, we encountered a large herd of sheep minding their own business in our desired path of travel. This being a foreign sight to us and mildly humorous, bajamos (we got out) and took some photos. I never got quite the shot I wanted, but nevertheless a great experience. The most profound moment of this encounter though occurred when their shepherd appeared, somewhat out of nowhere, and whistled to them. In an instant they began running to him. “When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice. But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers” (John 10: 3-4). If only I could respond to Christ’s call as such.
The first Casbah, Ait Ben Haddou (Ait, son of Haddou), is named after Marrakech’s first Pasha, or warlord. To get there is an experience in itself. After crossing the arid, desert road, you have to cross a small river on horseback or donkey. “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey”—kind of an appropriate passage when your approaching a warlord’s stronghold (Zechariah 9:9). In this village, there were lots of cool rooms to go in and a breathtaking view. From the watchman’s outpost you could see for about 40 km in any direction. Also, besides being a really cool village and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Ait ben Haddou boasts a prominent film credit. In Gladiator, it was the site of the African combat arena where Maximus first earns fame as Spaniard.
Lunch was delicious. I got try another Berber specialty—their omelet! With the dominant flavor being tomato, it wasn’t anything crazy or off-putting, instead it was simply delicious.
When we completed the snaking and guardrail-less road to the second Casbah, the sun had drooped somewhat and what romantic sentiments the fortress would inspire were sure to be multiplied. At the request of our guide, a friendly man from the town brought out the most legitimate key I have ever seen. Nearly eight inches in length, and inch in diameter, and possessing the typical hole-at-one-side and two-teeth-at-the-other shape, this key was probably a replica of the original that opened the main door of the Casbah. Though the Casbah was a bit run down, history still vivified its walls. From the west-facing window of dining room there were breathtaking views of the almond trees and village below us.
As great a note to end our tour of Morocco as this was, it was also the most heart wrenching. As we were leaving this village we were hounded by the local children, eager for a taste of the bourgeois life whence we come. This was obvious when Emily shared her water and cookies with them. Sent into a frenzy by these gifts, they ravaged and horded instead of thanking and sharing. It was hard a sight to withstand without being overcome by emotion. It was evident though, that their lack of resources and education did not damper them from living joyously. While this certainly no reason to settle and be complacent in the battle against poverty, it is a reason for us to take a deep breath sometimes and realize that sainthood has no requisite social status. Poor, rich, or somewhere in between, all are called to don the same garment of spiritual bridehood that prepares us for union with Jesus in the Eucharist and in Heaven.
Sadly, Maeve, Melissa, and I had to catch an early flight out of Marrakech on Sunday, so that was the end of our adventure. However, it was quite a jam-packed 48 hours—two days exploring the mysteries of a land heretofore shrouded in them. However, as with all mystery, scratching the surface only exposes another set of mysteries to contemplate. The mystics all say this about God. The more we get to know him, the more we realize we know very little. In one of the most difficult times of my life, a good priest emphasized this point to help me through my struggle. God will always be a mystery to us and this is what we must love about Him. He always wants to keep searching, to keep listening for his voice as we find our way home.
This weekend’s adventure took us to Marrakech, Morocco. Of all the journeys I’ve ever taken, planned, or even considered in the imaginative corner of my mind, this was preceded by the most apprehension and excitement. Going in only with the knowledge imparted to me by Maeve, Emily, and our nervous student coordinators at the Fund, I was ready only for a stereotype: camels and turbans. What I would findand how I would be received, however, both surprised and delighted me.
When we arrived the Hostel Manager, Khamel, was waiting to pick us up. He was wonderfully friendly and from the get-go led us on the first of our adventures. Our cars drove us from the airport into the chaotic and car-unfriendly Medina (the area inside the walls) of Marrakech. Much like driving within the walls of Toledo, no ride is conceivable without near accidents, heightened acuity of one’s surroundings, and general sense of surprise when you arrive at your destination unscathed. We parked in Jemaa El Fna, Marrakech’s main square, whose very atmosphere conjured treasured memories of Aladin and Abu. Snake charmers, monkey trainers, and story-tellers were awed at from afar as fruit vendors and shop owners sought to charm my friends into their stores, calling them “Beautiful Girl” and “Princess,” a far cry more gallant than the epithets used by their Spanish correspondents.
Getting to the hostel itself, or more accurately the Riad, a 15th Century home turned Bed and Breakfast, was quite unnerving the first time around. First you a walk away several hundred meters from Jemaa El Fna, through alternating areas of covered and uncovered marketplace, then turn down a street rife with impatient motorcyclists until you find an archway. At the archway we turned into a labyrinth of alleyways, unlit tunnels, and turns we thought impossible to remember. It was pretty sketch to the recently arrived eye. Everything seemed somewhat run down and ill kept; second thoughts plagued all. However, those were dashed as soon as Khamel opened the door to our weekend home. The light of the sun shone into the open-air patio crowned in the center by stone water pot and some beautiful plant life.
The real joy of the Riad, however, was infused by Khamel and his boss, Hassan. As soon as we got in, they didn’t ask for our money or personal information: they asked us to drop our things, sit down, and enjoy a cup of traditional Berber Tea with them. We were apprehensive at first because everyone says not to drink the water in Morocco, but we realized that this water would have been boiled first, so we took our chances. It was a great decision. The tea, whose dominant flavor is mint, was fantastic! They proceeded to give us all the practical information we needed for the weekend, from beautiful sights to haggling strategies, and most of all to acquaint ourselves with all the “mysteries” nestled within the walls of Marrakech. Mystery being my favorite word in the English language, I knew this would be a wonderful adventure.
After settling, Khamel showed us back to Jemaa El Fna so we could find our way later. Once there we were free to eat, shop, and observe per our fancy. Our first visit was to one of the city’s old palaces. Inside, the orange trees, flowers, courtyards, and Arabic craftsmanship awed us and provided ample photographic material. Afterwards, we ate a late lunch on a terrace overlooking the frenzy below us. The highlight of this experience was hearing the afternoon call to prayer cried out from speakers all over the city. A large group gathered in the middle of the square to praise Allah and renew their commitment of faith. It was quite powerful to see prayer in such a public forum and with such public support.
Unfortunately, my couscous was quite dry and expensive, but seeing as the rest of my meals would be delicious that was ok. More to come on the food when we get there. After lunch I decided to take a picture with a monkey. Taking Hassan’s advice, I said from the get go that I would only pay 5 dirham (Moroccan currency: 1 Euro = 11 dirham). The trainer agreed and before you knew it I had a monkey on my arm. The monkey was clearly a grandmother, because only several seconds into our photo session she was pinching my cheeks. You’d be surprised how strong monkey’s hands are. As I am no Maureen Penders, i.e. an absolute animal lover, this was quite a new experience for me, and altogether joyous one.
Our exploration of the square was soon cut short by ominous drops of rain. Although I’m sure many in the city weren’t privileged by Mother Nature as much as we, she waited until we got inside to unleash her storm—and what a storm it was. Granizos (Hail!) soon made their parachute-less free fall from high above onto the Marrakechi streets. Combined with the lightning that accompanied them, the air temperature plummeted just as quickly as the thimble-sized hail. Thankful we came in when we did, many of our group took the opportunity to nap or at least put on an extra layer.
When we finally went out for dinner, we could hardly have known what to expect back in Jemma El Fna. Armed with some advice from a friendly, middle-aged Brit staying the hostel, we entered the marketplace turned restaurant stand looking for a booth not where tourists were eating, but locals. As you walk through the rows of dinner tents, courtiers from all sides vie for your business. Among the best lines we heard was, “It’s not KFC, but it’s a-finger lickin’ good!” Eventually we decided on Tent #97, and never looked back. For seven people our meal cost 235 DH, about $3.85 per person. For me this meal consisted of delicious bread, traditional Berber soup, and Chicken Tajine, a local favorite…also a good portion of Emily’s lamb skewers which she couldn’t finish…I love having no shame! Aside from the fantastic price and incredible taste the coolest part of the meal was something Maeve pointed out. St. Augustine was a Berber! Oh, Berbers are the indigenous Moroccan population, if I haven’t already mentioned that. So yea, I was probably eating a meal consumed by the great Latin Doctor before inspiring his community with a stirring sermon or composing a prayerful defense of the Faith.
After dinner, we made our first entrance into the markets. There there are no prices, items are only as cheap as you can haggle them. I apparently have a knack for this. Since we would be heading to the mountains the next day, I wanted one of those authentic Berber sweaters to keep warm. The first guy I went to I got down pretty far, but I didn’t quite like the jacket so I kept that price in my head to use at another store. When I found one that fit well and I liked I dug deep into my long lost acting skills, to gradually let down the price. Choosing to speak in Spanish, the salesman and I went at it for quite sometime before his 450 DH sweater was 200, just 20 above the other, which was of a worse material, so I didn’t mind the extra 20. Among my best tactics, which I encourage you to utilize: when they go down by just a few, call them out and say well what’s another 20 or 30 DH; walk out at least once; patience is key, at one point I offered him some of my water because I could see he was flustered; and put them on the spot in front of their coworkers, I used the guy’s boss to get my final drop from 240 to 200. Cha-ching. When I went shopping with Maeve the next night, we went back to their store, and had a good laugh with each other about the night before, but that didn’t stop me from getting him to drop her price from 250 to 200. She didn’t end up buying from him, but it helped her at another store. So yes, haggling is great, especially in other languages.
Day two was a wholly different experience. Two drivers picked us up at seven in the morning, ready to lead us through an unforgettable immersion into the heart of Morocco. Our driver told us, “If you can drive in Morocco, you can drive anywhere,” he was right. Our plan was to drive through the Atlas Mountains and visit two Casbahs, or Arabic strongholds, one from the 11th century and the other from the 17th. The drive was magnificent. We stopped every now and then at picturesque spots to soak in the beauty and sacar photos for those times when our memory can’t quite conjure the immensity of what the senses once observed. The greatest part of this 12+ hour excursion was its erasure of my Moroccan preconceptions. As I said before, I thought Morocco was just camels and turbans, to speak somewhat flippantly. However, like the first real conversation you have with a friend, where their story speaks to you and their heart unveils itself, Morocco showed itself to us a country of rich legends and varied landscapes. To be honest, I only think I saw three camels and zero turbans. I can’t even begin to describe what I saw. Hill country, lush valleys, snowcapped mountains, and arid desert were among the different terrains we encountered in this small sampling of one country’s beauty.
Among the “drive time” highlights were: stopping in the mountains, getting over my carsickness, stopping to photograph a random herd of sheep we found crossing the “road” aka tire tracks through the desert that led to the first Casbah, and of course, the two Casbahs. The mountains, as per usual, were quite cold. Thankfully, at one picture stop we were able to get a cup of tea and warm up. I felt really Berber in my sweater drinking tea in the mountains. However, as you will see in one of the pictures, the roads were incredibly windy; thus, I was approaching carsickness. Fortunately, one of our cars soon encountered some technical difficulties so we had to stop. We picked a nice little hotel/restaurant as our stopping point. Behind it lie tall hills, a dry river way, and small brook running parallel to its ailing older sibling. Here the soft breeze and gentle babbling of the brook returned us to equilibrium as the hard science of banging rocks on an engine was applied to fix our vehicle…no pasa nada.
Continuing on, we crossed the aforementioned “road” to get to the first Casbah. On the way, we encountered a large herd of sheep minding their own business in our desired path of travel. This being a foreign sight to us and mildly humorous, bajamos (we got out) and took some photos. I never got quite the shot I wanted, but nevertheless a great experience. The most profound moment of this encounter though occurred when their shepherd appeared, somewhat out of nowhere, and whistled to them. In an instant they began running to him. “When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice. But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers” (John 10: 3-4). If only I could respond to Christ’s call as such.
The first Casbah, Ait Ben Haddou (Ait, son of Haddou), is named after Marrakech’s first Pasha, or warlord. To get there is an experience in itself. After crossing the arid, desert road, you have to cross a small river on horseback or donkey. “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey”—kind of an appropriate passage when your approaching a warlord’s stronghold (Zechariah 9:9). In this village, there were lots of cool rooms to go in and a breathtaking view. From the watchman’s outpost you could see for about 40 km in any direction. Also, besides being a really cool village and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Ait ben Haddou boasts a prominent film credit. In Gladiator, it was the site of the African combat arena where Maximus first earns fame as Spaniard.
Lunch was delicious. I got try another Berber specialty—their omelet! With the dominant flavor being tomato, it wasn’t anything crazy or off-putting, instead it was simply delicious.
When we completed the snaking and guardrail-less road to the second Casbah, the sun had drooped somewhat and what romantic sentiments the fortress would inspire were sure to be multiplied. At the request of our guide, a friendly man from the town brought out the most legitimate key I have ever seen. Nearly eight inches in length, and inch in diameter, and possessing the typical hole-at-one-side and two-teeth-at-the-other shape, this key was probably a replica of the original that opened the main door of the Casbah. Though the Casbah was a bit run down, history still vivified its walls. From the west-facing window of dining room there were breathtaking views of the almond trees and village below us.
As great a note to end our tour of Morocco as this was, it was also the most heart wrenching. As we were leaving this village we were hounded by the local children, eager for a taste of the bourgeois life whence we come. This was obvious when Emily shared her water and cookies with them. Sent into a frenzy by these gifts, they ravaged and horded instead of thanking and sharing. It was hard a sight to withstand without being overcome by emotion. It was evident though, that their lack of resources and education did not damper them from living joyously. While this certainly no reason to settle and be complacent in the battle against poverty, it is a reason for us to take a deep breath sometimes and realize that sainthood has no requisite social status. Poor, rich, or somewhere in between, all are called to don the same garment of spiritual bridehood that prepares us for union with Jesus in the Eucharist and in Heaven.
Sadly, Maeve, Melissa, and I had to catch an early flight out of Marrakech on Sunday, so that was the end of our adventure. However, it was quite a jam-packed 48 hours—two days exploring the mysteries of a land heretofore shrouded in them. However, as with all mystery, scratching the surface only exposes another set of mysteries to contemplate. The mystics all say this about God. The more we get to know him, the more we realize we know very little. In one of the most difficult times of my life, a good priest emphasized this point to help me through my struggle. God will always be a mystery to us and this is what we must love about Him. He always wants to keep searching, to keep listening for his voice as we find our way home.
New York's New Curveballer
From Whispers:
[Archbishop Tim Dolan], Asked if he will use St. Patrick's Cathedral as a bully pulpit to advocate Catholic views on national social issues - including opposition to abortion - the burly Irish-American cleric said firmly, "You can plan on it."
!!!
And the Church shall rise...
Oh he's gonna fit in reeeeeaaaal good...
Morocco post coming soon!
[Archbishop Tim Dolan], Asked if he will use St. Patrick's Cathedral as a bully pulpit to advocate Catholic views on national social issues - including opposition to abortion - the burly Irish-American cleric said firmly, "You can plan on it."
!!!
And the Church shall rise...
Oh he's gonna fit in reeeeeaaaal good...
Morocco post coming soon!
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