Vegetarianism is one of those subjects on which reasonable people really can’t disagree. An irksome indulgence of the much to be endured urban elites, a mere sigh and head shake answer for the fading big-O bumper sticker crowd. But what of our sisters and brothers in the Faith who admit to joining the frequent tofu tribe? No politeness, be it ever so carefully cultivated, could avoid the private eye roll in reply, but it has begun to strike your scribe that this particular variant of inculturation dips dangerously into thou really ought not territory.

Listen, I know the sputtered well, but really has arisen into the reader’s liberty loving thoughts, yet say honestly: are spitted mushrooms and formed protein patties worthy of a defend to the end treatment? I say no. In the privacy of the home an honest preference for Cain’s gifts to Abel’s may be indulged if it must, but in society it must be — how shall I say it gently? — deplored. Continue reading

Anyone so hearty of spirit still to be visiting this forlorn site so long after its spirit passed into memory and vibrancy into dust is unlikely to be among the dead-eyed minority that I will now briefly criticize, so please join with me in that very human and yet unendorsable activity of shared ridicule of the less fortunate. The object of my objection is a phenomenon, inexplicably still common and most unfortunately chiefly found among the, ah, otherwise wise and tasteful precincts of traditional faithful: the publication of huge, indeed seemingly endless, photographic galleries of liturgical occasions.

When Pope Benedict finally gets around to saying the old Mass, sign me up for a photograph or two; but please do not fool yourselves, oh ye who post such pictures, that anyone of good sense, breeding, and taste is truly interested in viewing yet one more photo of the old Mass said in your local Historic Chapel by a dignitary of moderate fame wearing Really Quite Nice Vestments. One of the glories of the old Mass is that is, you know, pretty much always the same. And while I yield to none in my embrace of finery and pomp in the celebration of the Sacred Mysteries, they really aren’t of the character that lends itself to flickr representation. The Mass is an action. When one is in attendance and praying the Mass, it is a glorious thing. But that puff of incense or liturgical procession you so cleverly captured with your Canon Powershot? Bully for you — I don’t give a damn about seeing it. Even worse, of course, are numerous photos of the backs of the clerics, resplendent though they naturally are in embroidered silk and gilt. Where is the drama that makes a photographic still worthwhile? It is not there.

A photograph stops motion in seeming; the Mass stops time in fact. We fool ourselves and bore to tears our polite and well-meaning friends and fellow Catholics when we make the mistake of thinking that another set of photos is really necessary. Pray the Mass, photograph your kids, and leave the stopping of time to God.