The old way, letting the priest do what he has to do while I meditate and commune, privately. It’s the nearest thing to heresy you can come these days. But it’s that or I lose it as far as Catholic practice and belief are concerned.

Too much going on at today’s mass: priest in my face all the time, mumbling or orating, performing, always as if I had no resources and he alone could provide them for me. Ditto the various songsters with hand raised at prescribed moments, as if hailing a taxi, and announcers, directors of all things worshipful or presumably so. I tune it out, reading St. Paul or other New Testament or Psalms or religious verse.

Currently St. Paul in a little volume from the Daughters of Same book store on Mich. Ave., where today I saw he told Timothy that we are citizens of heaven and one day will be given a glorified body such as Jesus was given after he rose from the dead — no matter what the holy Dominican let slip at the Serra Club a few years back about not believing in the former or the holy Jesuit a few decades back on the phone from Loyola about the latter.

Yuck. Why follow such leaders of the blind, themselves blind or severely sight-impaired as to the Old Religion, the only religion that keeps me focused on Things Spiritual and my duty to love my neighbor, including those whose hand I do not clasp at mass, do good to them that hurt me, etc., as I learned long ago, before the Pope of Rome took pot shots at capitalism?

Such is the age we live in!

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