A Hell of Question

There are times when children ask us questions which make us stop and think. Our answer needs to be well thought out and considered before our mouth is engaged into action.

Father Ignatius was at the local Catholic School for his usual Catechism class. This is what happened when a ten years old girl asked him her question.

“Father … is it OK to pray for those people in hell?”

The priest took off his spectacles and cleaned them of imaginary dust in order to gain some thinking time.

“Why do you ask?” he said gently.

“Well …” she hesitated, “we pray for the souls in purgatory so that God forgives them and they go to Heaven.

“Why don’t we pray for those in hell? They were bad when they were alive but now they are dead they are in hell for ever. I feel sorry for them!”

“It’s good of you to feel sorry for them,” replied the priest, “it shows a charitable spirit … it shows you’re very kind and considerate.

“But we must remember this. No one goes to hell by mistake.

“As you say, these people were bad when they lived and they had plenty of opportunities to be good and to do what God asks. They had many chances to repent and ask God to forgive them and to do good. But they disobeyed, time and again, and they turned their back on God.

“God is merciful and He forgives … but He is just too. Those who are in hell have sent themselves there by their behavior.”

Another child raised his hand and asked a question.

“But Father … Sister Josephine when she was here yesterday, she said that Jesus told us to love our enemies. He said to God to forgive them when they put Him on the Cross.

“The people in hell are the enemy of God. Why does God not forgive them? Does He not love them?”

Father Ignatius prayed silently for inspiration before answering.

“Of course He loves them” he replied after a short pause, “God loves everybody because they are His creations. I suspect He even loves those in hell and He is very sad that they are there.

“But there are times in life when people put themselves out of God’s loving nature.

“Let me explain it another way.

“Suppose your parents bought you a puppy for your birthday. You love that puppy very much and you play with him every day. But as he grows up he becomes a little threatening and he growls at everyone. One day he bites your hand. And he continues with this bad behavior to the point where you can’t come near him in case he bites you again.

“For your own safety, and that of others, your parents decide to take the dog away and put him in a Dog Rescue Shelter where he’s looked after by other people.

“It’s the same with us. God loves us all when we’re born and we’re babies. But as we grow up, some people turn against Him and become bad. No matter how often these people are told to do good they never ask God to forgive them and they continue to do bad things all their life.

“When these bad people die they go to hell because of what they have done … God still loves them. Just as you love your dog in the Dog Shelter!

“In fact I believe God grieves for those in hell. He’d rather the place was empty and we were all with Him in Heaven. But some people put themselves in hell by their bad behavior.”

“So do we pray for those in hell or not?” asked the original questioner.

“There is nothing wrong with praying,” Father Ignatius replied, “God will listen to your prayers, as He does all prayers, and will respond in an appropriate and just way. When you pray, say to God how sorry you are that there are people in hell, and ask Him to help you be good all your life.

“Every one of us, young and old, like me, must always pray that we do not give God reason to grieve by behaving badly and ending in hell.”

Annointing the sick - Part 2

I mentioned in a previous post that, after leaving hospital, I wrote to a priest friend of mine living a great distance from me, Father Francis Maple, and told him of my experience.

He replied that I should have had in hospital the Sacrament of Annointing the sick.

I asked my parish priest and he visited me at home and after some prayers he annointed my forehead and hands with oil. He said this Scrament is important because I had been in a life threatening experience.

I did not have much time to discuss this with him.

But what is exactly the Sacrament of Annointing the sick?

When I was young there was something called Extreme Unction. Is it the same?

Does the Sacrament of Annointing the sick forgive all your sins? Like Confession?

If you die do you go to Heaven?

Is it instead of Communion? Say the patient is "nil by mouth" and cannot take Communion?

This led me to thinking. If whilst I was in hospital, fully conscious and waiting to go to the operating theater, a priest approached me to give this Sacrament. How would I have reacted? Would the fear of seeing him there resulted in a second heart attack?

How do we view a priest on such occasions? A sign that this is the end? Would we rejoice that we're leaving having made our peace with God? Or would we fear what is to come?

Does this Sacrament suffice to forgive sins? Or should Confession and, if possible, Communion also be taken for us to be at peace with Our Lord?

I welcome your comments.

God bless.

Vic M

Aunt Gertrude – Her role in my recuperation

As soon as I returned home from hospital Aunt Gertrude, an Australian relative staying with us for a (long) while, came to the door and asked me “Are you hungry cobber? I’ve just made you chicken soup. It’s also got vegetables in it, peas, carrots, corn, potatoes and pasta; more like a chicken minestrone really. But it’s good for you. I gave some to the dog and he really enjoyed it, so it must be good.”

I really couldn’t face anything to eat. I thanked her and sat gingerly in my easy chair.

From that moment onwards Auntie assumed the role of medic in our household. She’d been a nurse years ago in Australia and therefore she reasoned that she was best placed to take care of me. For the sake of peace the family let her do as she wants within reasons.

Every couple of hours she insisted on taking my blood pressure and temperature. She bought some instruments from the chemist and decided to keep a record of my progress.

“Turn your head to the side cobber,” she said as she put the thermometer in my ear, “let me take your temperature. Do you know, in my day as a nurse we used to put the thermometer somewhere else!”

I turned my head and said nothing.

“I have an old thermometer in my luggage,” she continued, “if you prefer that we use the old fashioned way!”

This amused the family but not me. I glared at her and said nothing.

“Pity …” she exclaimed, “I would have enjoyed using the old fashioned way. More fun!” and she laughed loudly as she left the room.

Minutes later she returned and explained, “that’s why in hospital they make you wear nothing but those gowns open at the back. Easier for doctors and nurses to reach those places they need to reach quickly. One quick pull back and the moon comes out from behind the clouds!” She smiled and winked at me acknowledging my discomfort. The family laughed with her.

“Do you want me to buy you one of those gowns?” she asked teasingly, “It’ll be better than what is on TV these days.”

This teasing continued for a few days. Good natured of course but over time she showed an unsurpassed degree of dedication and professionalism in looking after me. This helped the family no end, and we’re all grateful to dear Aunt Gertrude. She means well really, although her Australian accent can be grating at times.

One day the whole family had to go out shopping leaving me alone with her. I dreaded what she would do. I was getting rather tired of her soups and constant medical checks on my health. She’d take my pulse for a minute and then declare “Yep … dead as usual!” and then she’d laugh loudly.

In order to escape her for a few minutes I went to the bathroom and had a shower. I was standing there, with eyes closed, enjoying the warm water raining over me. It was bliss. A haven away from Aunt Gertrude.

When I opened my eyes she was standing at the door.

“Ah there you are …” she said, “I was worried to death where you’d got to. Couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought you’d collapsed somewhere. Why did you not tell me where you were?”

I can’t imagine how long she’d been standing there looking at me.

I quickly covered my manhood with my hands.

“Too late cobber …” she said, “I’ve already had a very good look!”

She enjoyed my discomfort and added “You know mate, as a nurse for many years in Australia I’ve seen men’s dangling bits many times. Been married three times too. So I’m quite well versed in that department. Never seen yours before though. Quite a sight for sore eyes I must say. The memory of your assets will remain with me for ever!

“Mind you, as a woman, I’ve always thought that men in the nude look quite ridiculous. Not at all elegant!” She smiled broadly and winked at me to indicate that she was only teasing.

“Please leave …” I begged as I reached out with both hands for a nearby chair to steady myself.

“Oops … seen it again …” she announced mischievously, “the frisky little beauty! Cute but ridiculous all the same. Do you want me to help you dry yourself and get dressed?”

She noticed my embarrassment and added in her pronounced Australian accent “Don’t you worry my dear. I won’t tell anyone I saw your funny naughty bits. It will be our little secret!”

Then as she turned to go away she muttered loud enough for me to hear “… our VERY little secret!” And she laughed.

How rude! And how so untrue too!

“The sight I’ve just enjoyed will be imprinted on my mind for ever!” she teased.

But despite her mischief, I know that deep inside Auntie is a very kind hearted woman. Her help at home, and looking after me so well, have been invaluable for me and the family.

She still teases me though. Whenever we’re alone she asks “Do you want me to scrub your back and moon in the bath dear? I could do with another laugh.”

Annointing the sick

I e-mailed a priest friend of mine, Father Francis Maple, who lives a great distance from me, and told him about my hospital experience.

He replied straightaway and asked if someone in my family had asked for a priest to attend hospital and give me the Sacrament of Annointing the Sick.

No one had. I suppose they were in shock and too concerned about my health.

Father Francis replied that this is very important and a priest should be called at all such emergencies.

I write this here in case anyone needs reminding.

I'm getting slowly better. Thanx again for your prayers. I hope to start visiting your Blogs again soon.

God bless.

Vic M 

NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

**1**

 

INTRODUCTION

 

The events in this book are all true. I have omitted a lot of the medical details as they may be upsetting to some readers. I hope and pray that what I write here may be of some help to someone somewhere facing a crisis in their lives.  

At our darkest hour, or at any other time, God is near at hand ensuring that His will be done for us. All we need do is trust Him.

**2**

On 27^th September 2013 I went to my local hospital for a routine check-up. Nothing particularly serious and I had not been previously ill.

I was all ready, wearing nothing but those hospital gowns open at the back, and waiting my turn to be seen. As soon as the nurse put a needle in my arm to prepare me for sedation I felt a sharp pain in my chest. The doctor was called, they withdrew the needle, and gave me some medication.

I was put on a trolley and wheeled at speed to Cardiac Department. The pain was on and off at various degrees of hurt.

At Cardiac Department they said they’d put in some stents. Routine. No problem.

I was made to lie right down on my back and they took several X rays or whatever photos they take in such cases. I was turned to my left and right side; more photos.

I waited on the trolley. The doctors were discussing my case in Conference. Someone came and told me they were not going to put in stents. I remember a voice saying one artery is totally blocked, two are 95% blocked and a fourth is getting blocked not sending much oxygen to the heart. In effect, it’s a surprise I was still alive.

They shared my X rays with another hospital some 30 miles away via the Internet. The other hospital asked for me to go there.

I was put in an ambulance. In my daze, effects of the injections or whatever they gave me to ease the pain, I could hear voices saying “Have we got the defibrillator? Have got this and that?” And so on.

Apart from the two ambulance drivers, there were four or five other people standing around me at the back of the ambulance as I lay on the trolley. The ambulance drove away at speed with siren blaring and lights flashing. I felt every bump on the road, sudden stop and sharp turns left and right.

We arrived at the other hospital. I was wheeled in and they took several other X Rays or photos.

They decided to operate there and then. I was prepared for the operation and remember being wheeled through several corridors. It was Friday the 27^th.

The next thing, someone awakened me in the afternoon of Saturday the 28^th.

I had suffered a heart attack and they carried out a triple by-pass surgery.

My timing, or God’s timing to be precise, was perfect. I was at the right place at the right time when I suffered the heart attack. That saved my life.

**3**

The next two or three days left me in some sort of daze. I was cared for by an excellent team of doctors and nurses. I was in a room with five other beds – Critical Care Department. By each bed there was a computer on a stand and a nurse or two there at all times. As each nurse left they handed over to another nurse who logged in on the computer and read my progress. Nurses checked me every two hours day and night – temperature, blood pressure and so on. A team of doctors visited at least once a day. 

They tried to get me to eat something but I couldn’t. Eventually I had a couple of spoons of ice cream.

**4**

On the third or fourth night after the operation I awoke with a start in the middle of the night. It was just after 1.00 in the morning. I was in a cold sweat. Suddenly I had seen my reality in a dream. There I was lying on my back in bed unable to move my arms or legs or anything. Motionless and wide awake.

All my life I had been very active and self-assured. Able to make managerial decisions at work and provide for my family. Always in control and always planning ahead and prepared for most eventualities.

And now I was lying there motionless like an insignificant squashed insect. Unable to move.

The thought frightened me. The words “insignificant insect” reverberated in my mind again and again. I felt vulnerable. I remembered Paul on the way to Damascus. Powerful leader of men persecuting Christians, when suddenly he was off his horse and blind. Totally helpless, vulnerable and unable to do anything without someone’s help.

In my tiredness I must have switched off.

Half an hour or so later, the same dream, the same awakening in a start. It was about 1:30 am on the clock on the wall behind the nurse standing by the computer at my feet.

Insignificant insect.

And again and again it happened. Just after 2.00am after 2:40am and so on three or four times. It was as if the message had to be imprinted and understood in my mind.

The nurse approached me and said “You’re having a bad time sleeping. Are you in pain?”

I replied “Do you believe in God?”

The nurse certainly did believe. So I asked “Why did I not die? I could have died at my local hospital when first observed. I could have died in their Cardiac Department. In the ambulance on the way to this hospital. On the operating table. Any time. Why did I not die?”

“It is not your time yet!” was the calm reply.

God must want something of me, I thought, as I fell asleep once again.

**5**

The following night another revelation repeated itself in my mind. I awoke again and the words “Unless a grain of wheat is crushed …” repeated over and again. Just those few words. I remembered Christ’s words about a grain dying to produce a plant and more wheat. But in my mind only the short unfinished sentence repeated over and again until tiredness took over and I fell asleep.

**6**

The following night another dream. I must stress that the dreams did not involve sceneries and people I knew, or various situations like normal dreams. It was just a sentence I could see written clearly in my mind’s eye.

Last night it was “Unless a grain of wheat is crushed”.

This time it was “To know yourself you must get to know yourself.”

What could this possibly mean? The sentence repeated there in my mind until I fell asleep. When I awoke it was still there.

Over and over again the words remained in my mind as I tried to make sense of them.

Eventually, as if someone was explaining it to me, the sentence clarified. Do we really know ourselves? Not our names, our background, family lineage and so on. But do we really know ourselves?

When you meet a new person, a new friend perhaps, you “get to know them” over time. Their likes and dislikes, their views and opinions, their life experiences and so on.

But do we ever “get to know” ourselves? What are our views and opinions based on? Our prejudices even; because we all have prejudices no matter how well we hide them from ourselves. Our views on other peoples’ beliefs, dress styles, hair styles, accents, backgrounds, social standings and so on. What are all our views based on? Are they based on others’ opinions which we follow blindly? Or are they based on well thought out and evaluated criteria, based on right and wrong, based on good wholesome values, based on peoples’ behaviours and actions rather than on their looks.

Basically, what exactly makes us tick? Why do we behave the way we do? Blind prejudice or well thought out opinions based on facts?

“To know yourself you must get to know yourself.”

Who am I? Why did I behave in a certain way in the past? Or thought and acted in a certain way?

Do I really know myself? Now’s the time to get to know oneself.

God certainly know us even if we don’t know ourselves.

**7**

My fourth dream was just as strange a day later. Again no sceneries or storyline. Just a sentence there in my mind.

“The dichotomy between our own free will to behave and do as we want and God’s will be done.”

Now this sentence was really strange. For a start, never in my life did I use or would have used such a word as “dichotomy”. I don’t even know what it means. So where did this phrase come from? Had I heard or read it somewhere and now it came to the surface in my mind?

As before, the sentence repeated in my mind making no sense at all as I fell asleep again.

Eventually, as if someone was explaining it to a child, a thought developed in my mind.

We have all been given a free will by God to behave as we wish. He did not create a race of robots following His every wish, but free people able to decide freely for themselves whether to believe in Him and follow Him or not. That is His gift to us.

However, as we “get to know Him” and love Him our free will is, or should be, that in everything His will be done.

Wow … that thought overwhelmed me. It should be my free will to trust Him so much that to accept that in all eventualities His will be done. It’s as if I’m returning His gift of free will to me and saying “thank you, but I trust you so much that I accept Your will in all events.”

No matter whether the outcome of a situation is good or bad. I should accept His will be done in full confidence and knowledge that it will work out for the best. No ifs, no buts, no not withstanding the afore mentioned clause, or any other legalise you may wish to add. 

In all situations we should trust Him so much that we freely accept that His will be done.

The amount of self-control and trust to give all situations totally to God must be really enormous and require great concentration.

**8**

It didn’t take long for God to test my new resolve. Again, without mentioning any medical details, a few days later I was lying on my back in bed and listening to medics talking in their own language.

Of course I was frightened. What’s to happen now? But I concentrated as much as I could concentrate, “Thy will be done. No matter the outcome. Good or bad. I trust You. Thy will be done.”

Eventually, all went well.

I heard a thought in my mind, “Don’t forget to say thank you!”

I asked God “Why do You test me so much when you already know how I’ll behave?”

I wonder what He made of my impertinence.

**9**

The day finally arrived for me to go home and recuperate. On that morning, at about 6.00am, I felt terrible pains down my spine, across my shoulders at the back and front, and in various places on my chest. I called a nurse.

Again, no medical details, but I was soon surrounded by half a dozen nurses and doctors, all working together to sort out what had happened.

In my pain I prayed “Thy will be done. No matter the outcome. Please make the pain go away.”

Then I asked myself, “Is it OK to say make the pain go away?” Is this not taking back control from God?

Then I remembered that many people asked Jesus to make their pain go away. The deaf, the mute, the blind and the lame. Many people asked for his help and He did have pity on them and healed them.

So it’s OK to ask for help from God and it is not contrary to His will being done.

Eventually the medics sorted me out. They said my timing (God’s timing) was again perfect. What happened to me could well have happened after I left hospital.

I am now at home recuperating. God’s will be done.

**10**

I am not saying or claiming that these dreams or messages were from God. They may well have been. I do realise that many people don’t even believe in God and they may well have their own theories and opinions as to the origin or source of these dreams. Some may even mock; in which case I am glad I gave them the opportunity to smile or chuckle.

I believe in God, and I report here just what happened.

At no time in my “near death experience” were there bright lights, visions of angels or saints or dearly departed relatives or friends. Just the dreams as mentioned.

There were not many prayers either. Repetitive Rosaries or other petitions. Just the full knowledge, with all the concentration I could muster, that “Thy will be done”. This, somehow, seemed to suffice.

**11**

I would like to thank all the medical staff at my local hospital as well as the one I was transferred to, and the ambulance team, for their professionalism, experience and for looking after me so well.

I would also like to thank family and friends for all they have done, and are still doing, since my ordeal on 27^th September. I am also appreciative and thank my Internet friends for all their prayers for me.

God bless you all.

Victor S E Moubarak

WWW.HOLYVISIONS.CO.UK

NOTE: The above post has been produced in PDF Format as a booklet. If you wish to have a copy FREE which may be of help to someone please contact me at enquiries@holyvisions.co.uk

 

Victor Moubarak - Medical Emergency

MEDICAL EMERGENCY

This website will return to normal shortly.

God willing.

Please pray for me. Thanx.

God bless.

Le fruit du silence

"Cette nuit, j’ai écrit une lettre à mon ancien mari…. Je ne sais si j’arriverais à la poster. Les mois et les années ont passé depuis notre séparation. On m’a dit que le temps aiderait à panser la déchirure de cette plaie profonde. Je pense que ces mots, sensés atténuer ma douleur, avaient un certain fondement. Pourtant, à l’époque, je ne pouvais l’entendre. Maintenant, je dois reconnaître qu’il y a heureusement une part de vérité là-dedans, même s’il demeure impossible d’effacer le passé, de faire comme si l’on pouvait oublier. À cela s’ajoute culpabilité, regrets et des souvenirs joyeux qui rendent plus difficile encore la solitude des jours actuels."
Une femme fait le point sur 20 années de vie conjugale et s'interroge sur les causes de son divorce.


Une nouvelle qui entre en résonance avec "Couple en crise".
Disponible sur Amazon / Kindle

Is anyone listening?

 

It is said that we have been on this earth for millions of years. I know it feels like it to me sometimes when I experience aches and pains … but that’s another story.

So let’s stop interrupting and get back on course.

For all these years, as long as man could reason and comprehend … (some women believe this has never happened).

I really must stop interrupting myself.

As I was saying … for all these years, as long as humanity could reason and comprehend, God has spoken to us and shown us the Way back to Him.

No generation has been left without a sure sign of His existence and the Way back to Him.

At first, God spoke through people like Abraham, Moses, Elijah and other prophets. He spoke through the many poets and songsters who wrote the psalms. And through ordinary people so that their contemporaries could understand.

Had God appeared on earth as a majestic Divine Ruler, Creator and King of the whole universe, omnipotent, all knowing and all powerful; He would most probably have caused havoc, fear, awe, and eventually total submission.

Hardly the acts of a loving Father.

So God at first chose the gentler way of speaking and teaching the people. He spoke through enlightened open minded leaders like Moses. People who could translate His message to generations in a language they could understand.

He taught them of His love for them, and for His plans to come to them in person, as often prophesised in the Old Testament.

But many did not listen.

Later on, when they were ready, God sent His Son on earth as a human in the shape of Jesus.

He showed them many signs of His divinity through healing miracles and raising of the dead. He died for them and us, and was raised from the dead.

But many still did not listen or believe.

After Jesus was raised to Heaven He sent the Holy Spirit to guide us, help us, and be with us every step of the eventual Way to the Father.

The Holy Spirit is with us today. Right now. A reality not just a figure of speech.

Many have received Him with open hearts.

But as for countless others …

They’re still not listening ... perhaps they'll never will.

Does God play tennis?

In the UK, every summer, we have a major tennis tournament called Wimbledon. My American readers will know all about it since their tennis champions have won it many times.

Years ago, I had an employee who always took his holidays during Wimbledon fortnight because of the tennis. We always thought he was very dedicated and he certainly knew a lot about the game and the many competing players.

I once asked him if he enjoyed the games and which ones did he attend.

"None ..." he said, "I didn't go to the games. I never do!"

This surprised me and I enquired further. Maybe he watched the games on TV? No ... he didn't do that either.

Apparently, every day he went to the local park not far from his home and listened to the games on his small radio. He said by not watching the games on TV he could sit there and imagine what was happening at Wimbledon and enjoy the atmosphere better.

Now I wonder, would we show as much dedication if our God asked us, once a week, to go and visit Him in church?

Aunt Gertrude’s Wild Life

It is said that in millions of years from now man will become extinct. This is because there is something wrong with the male chromosome which means that for a while humans will only produce female offspring; and then human beings will no longer be able to reproduce.

Well, I don’t know about you. But if the world had no more men who would take the spiders out of the bath tub?

The reason I mention this is because I am a hero in my own household.

The other day there was a big spider in the toilet and the whole family panicked. I was sent in to capture it and take it out in the garden.

I basked in my new found glory until Auntie Gertrude came home from her walk in the park and was told of my intrepid exploits.

“Is that all cobber?” she said deflating my ego like a burst balloon, “once when I was in the bush I found a snake in the dunny.”

“Really? What did you do?” she was asked as all the family’s attention deserted me and turned to her.

“Only one thing to do mate” she exclaimed, “I stood on its head and killed it. I wasn’t going to give him a front row seat in the audience whilst I sat on the dunny!”

As the family ooohed and aaahed in amazement Auntie went on “On another occasion whilst I was having a shower at home I saw a small lizard looking at me and counting my wrinkles. Fortunately I only have one wrinkle, the one I sit on!”

The family laughed as Auntie Gertrude continued to entertain her audience and dimming the limelight which hitherto shone on me. I mean … tackling a spider is quite a feat you know.

“In Australia we have all sorts of wildlife” she declared, “I once found a baby koala in the kitchen. The door was open and the poor mite came in. He was weak and starving the little fella!”

“What did you do Auntie?” they all asked.

“Oh I phoned the animal rescue people and they took him away,” she went on to the delight of her attentive audience.

“A neighbour of ours has a lizard for a pet” Auntie explained, “the creature is always perched on his shoulder as he walks around the house.”

“Did his parrot die?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, he has a parrot as well,” she replied having missed my comment completely, “and a dog, two cats and a white rabbit.”

“Tell us about them …” they all cried in unison.

At which point I left the room and let her enjoy her moment of fame. At least whilst she is entertaining the family she is not getting at me.

At Peter's Gate

Saint Peter sat at his computer, cleaned his spectacles, scratched his beard, tapped on the keyboard and shouted "NEXT!"

A diminutive little man came in trembling in hesitation and carrying his copy of the Catechism.

"Oh not another Catholic are you?" said the Saint frowning at him.

"Yes Sir ... your Sainthood ..." mumbled the little man.

"I thougth so as soon as I saw your Catechism," continued Saint Peter, "yet another Catholic trying to get in here."

"Is there a quota, Sir?" asked the man fearing the worst.

"No, of course not!" replied the Saint raising his voice a little, "there is no quota as such. Everyone enters Heaven on his merit. But Catholics can be ... ehm ... let me explain. Sit down over there for a minute.

"Now tell me. What do you understand about Vatican II?"

The man felt his throat and mouth go dry simultaneously. He tried to talk but no words would come out. He gulped once or twice and then said, "I have been married for over 25 years and I still don't understand my wife. How can I understand Vatican II?"

The Saint smiled, "precisely!" he cried, "precisely!"

"You see ..." he continued, "down there on earth there are many Catholics still arguing about Vatican II. What it meant and what it did.

"Jesus and I look down on them and smile at all their debates. They argue about which Form of Mass is better and more valid. Whether the priest should face the altar or the congregation. Whether it is OK to sing in Latin, or have guitars in church or female altar servers!

"Phooey ... that's what I say ... Phooey.

"Our Lord, my Master, said it plainly enough. Not everyone who calls me Lord, Lord will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.

"In other words people should love God with all their might and love one another as Jesus loved them. His sacrifice on the Cross was not a prelude to endless debates amongst His followers about the technicalities of religion.

"Deeds ... action ... compassion and love. that's what God wants of people. Not sanctimonious Pharisees debating the finer points of religion." 

The Saint scratched his beard again.

"Don't misunderstand me ... many of these eternal debaters are good at heart really. They do good in life and many find a welcome in Heaven. But oh ... their endless display of knowledge makes me reach out for the headache tablets!"

The small man smiled feebly and said nothing, grateful that he never had the intellect to understand let alone debate the many intricacies of religion.

Saint Peter tapped at the computer keyboard and stared at the monitor for a while.

"I read here that you've been a good man ... trying your best as you got on in life," he said finally, 

"Your wife has been quite a handful I see. I understand now your earlier comment about not understanding her ways." he chuckled.

"She misses you ... you know. She means well and she appreciates you more now that you're gone."

The man wiped his eye with the back of his sleeve.

"Yep ... all is in order." declared the Saint, "you can come in. But take my advice. Always carry with you a tin of sardines in your pocket. Some Catholics in here still insist on eating fish on Fridays.They keep asking me if I have a haddock. I remind them that I gave up fishing long ago."

Confession Explained

Missing Without A Trace

I’ve been missing for three days. Without a trace. No one knew I was missing … except me of course. I suspect none of you noticed my absence.

On Tuesday the family decided to take Aunt Gertrude down South to visit friends leaving me at home alone with the dog, the cat and the goldfish. Oh bliss … a whole three days without Auntie's Australian accent grating on my nerves. Without a family demanding this and that and volunteering me for all sorts of things.


As long as I can keep the pets well fed I’ll have a peaceful break all to myself. Although at times the goldfish can be quite noisy when they chatter and laugh at me from their fishtank.

Let me explain that we live in a very old Victorian house which has a cellar spanning the whole floor area of the property. You enter the cellar from a door just under the staircase.

We don’t use this basement often, it’s mostly a storage area nowadays where we keep half a dozen bottles of wine lying lazily on a shelf which I built myself … slightly leaning to one side mind you … but still OK if you wedge a book at the end and it stops the bottles from rolling off.

We also keep some foodstuff down there, mostly tins of soup, various tins of vegetables and fruits and other household goods like detergents, washing liquids and so on. And books. plenty of books. I built a few more shelves in one corner which I call the library and we've put annumber of books which we refer to every now and then. You get the idea … it's just a storage area for things we use now and then.

The basement used to be a small apartment for a servant or butler in years gone by … it has a small kitchenette and bathroom still fully plumbed in and in working order, and a tiny living/sleeping area. Originally I wanted to send our guest from Australia, Aunt Gertrude, down there; but I was over-ruled, as often happens in our houshold, much to the amusement of the goldfish.

Now where was I? In the basement … or about to enter the basement to be precise. I needed a book about Australian parasites so off I went downstairs as one would in such circumstances. 

As I got to the corner where the books are, there was an almighty crash in the house as the dog started chasing the cat who followed me down in the basement. 

The dog … huge as he is … did not quite fit in under the staircase where the basement door is situated, but his immense stature slammed the door shut. That’s when I heard a clunk … clunk … clunk … sound all the way down the stairs and at my feet.

Perhaps I should have mentioned that the door handle has always been a little loose. I’ve always planned to fix it … Lord knows I’ve been told often enough … but with that and the leaning shelves it was all a question of priorities. Which one to fix first … and neither was done!

I picked up the door handle and tried to open the door. No use … it would not work. And that’s how I went missing without a trace in my own house.

No one knew I was there. No use shouting for help. No one would hear me. No point in phoning for help. I didn’t have the cell-phone with me.

Try as I might to open the door but it was all in vain. An hour or so later I heard the phone ring in the house and the loudspeaker on the answering machine said “Hello … we’ve arrived safely … Oh … you must be out. See you Thursday evening. Bye!”

Great … what a prospect. Trapped in my own house for three whole days.

Now it is said that in such circumstances of extreme trauma one should sit down calmly, take deep breaths and concentrate. No need to panic.

Calm down and concentrate.

And nothing aids concentration more than a drop or two of wine.

Fortunately we have plenty of that here. Or beer if one prefers … which is also easily to hand.

After an hour or so of concentration I still had no idea on how to get out of my prison.

My mind was getting a little hazy … perhaps it’s the lack of air down here. There’s a small window at the far end of the basement leading to the back garden of the house. It’s at ground level when you’re out in the garden … if you see what I mean. It’s too small to get out of; and it is barred anyway. I did tell you wine aids concentration didn’t I?

Now then … if I could get the cat out of the window he could go for help! (Hic ... pardon me ... hiccup!)

I could tie a message to his collar! No that won’t do … he doesn’t wear a collar. Too dangerous you see, he could get caught on a tree branch and injure himself. So we’ve never put a collar on him. Perhaps I could go out and buy him a collar. Ooops ... I can't get out ... hic!

Perhaps I could tattoo a distress message on his body … a bit extreme I must say! It’ll stay with him for life. “HELP … I’m trapped in the basement!”

The problem is I have no tattooing equipment whatsoever down here, and I’ve never tattooed anyone in my life let alone a cat.

What if I cut a message in his fur with scissors? Like some people do with their hairstyle when they cut their hair in different patterns? Would the cat stay still long enough until I finish cutting his fur I wonder?

I think I need another drink … hic!

Ah … I got it. This is certain to work. I could empty all these tins of peas … well some of them anyway … no one likes peas. I could tie them to one another with a long string and tie that to the cat’s tail.

He’d make such a noise running all over town that someone is sure to find him and read my message which will be written on one of the tins.

I emptied about a dozen tins. Peas taste awful when eaten cold you know … even washed down with beer. 

I tied the tins together. Wrote a message on several tins to make sure it is read. 

I called the cat sleeping happily in the corner. I tripped on the Australian book lying on the floor. The cat suddenly got up and shot out through the window.

Typical of that cat … un-cooperative to the last. He just would not help me in my hour of need.

I was found fast asleep on Thursday evening.

More stories about my cat in my FREE E Book  

"FELINE CATASTROPHES"

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Cops Encounter of the Gertrude Kind

 

I really wish that my Australian Aunt Gertrude would learn to keep her mouth shut. Since she’s been holidaying with us her loud Australian accent and innate shatter has got me in trouble more than once.

Last evening she decided to stay late in church after the Prayer Meeting to have a cup of tea and a chat. Nothing wrong with that, except that at about ten o’clock I was made to volunteer to go and pick her up. I had just got home after a long day at work, I had not eaten since I don’t know when, I was a little tired and yet … when you are volunteered … well, I’m sure you understand!

On our way back from church my stomach rumbled once or twice.

“Swallowed a frog have you cobber?” said Auntie with a laugh.

I apologized and let the incident pass. But a few moments later, there it was again, a louder rumble.

“I heard better noise from the depth of my billabong!” she exclaimed, “Trapped wind is it? Well don’t let it out in the car mate!” 

I ignored her and prayed that we’d get home soon. But my prayers may have been mislaid in a pending tray somewhere in Heaven because a few yards later we were stopped by a police vehicle parked up ahead.

“Good evening sir, mam,” said the policeman, “We’re conducting a routine vehicle check. It won’t take a moment!”

Before I could say anything Auntie Gertrude, sitting in the passenger seat beside me, said “I can assure you he hasn’t been drinking officer!”

I froze in my seat and did not know what to say. My stomach spoke for me with a loud rumble.

“At least I did not see him drink,” continued Auntie, “I’ve been in church you see. He picked me up so I doubt he would have drunk and driven at the same time, cobber!”

The policeman looked at me and asked. “Have you been drinking sir?”

“No, of course not …” I replied in a dry throat, fearing where all this would lead to.

“Would you to get out of the car please?” he said sternly.

I got out and so did she. The policeman went to his car and spoke with his colleague. I asked Auntie to get back in the car but she wouldn’t.

“Don’t worry mate! I’ll get you out of any trouble. I get stopped by the police all the time in Adelaide!”

The two policemen came back to our vehicle and explained the procedure involved in taking a breathalyzer test.

I blew in the bag and it was negative, as indeed I expected and hoped for.

“Is this your vehicle, sir?” asked one of the policemen.

“Yes …” I nodded.

“No it isn’t, cobber!” retorted Auntie, “you told me it was a company vehicle!”

I explained as calmly as I could that it was the firm’s vehicle registered in my name.

“Has he done something wrong?” asked Auntie, “because I can vouch for him. He is not the brightest penny in the universe; but he gets along poor soul.”

“Please mam,” said one of the men, “would you return to the car whilst we talk to your husband!”

“She is not my wife!” I protested.

It’s bad enough having her for an Aunt, an elderly one at that, than to have her mistaken as my wife.

“She’s a visiting relative from Australia” I explained.

“Are you going to do the good cop bad cop bit?” interjected Auntie again making a bad situation worse, “I doubt he’d know which is which; the poor wallaby!”

One of the policemen stayed with her by the car whilst the other one took me aside towards his vehicle. He checked my identity and paperwork and explained that it was a routine check and all was in order. He explained that he had to breathalize me following Auntie’s comments, and sympathized somewhat with my predicament. “Some elderly folk like to be seen to help!” he remarked.

As we drove away Auntie commented with a gleeful smile, “They had to let you go, cobber! I told the policeman who stayed with me that in the dictionary the word wimp has a picture of you next to it!”

Gertrude and Caruso

My Aunt Gertrude from Australia certainly does not miss an opportunity to embarrass me.

We were having tea and coffee in the Parish Center after Mass and got into a discussion about singing and music with other parishioners. One admitted that he was totally ignorant about music to which Auntie quickly retorted "if ignorance is bliss, how come there aren't more happy people in the world?"

I gulped my coffee and said nothing.

Later on she suggested to the choir master "You need some new talent in the choir mate!"

 

The choir master, a man whom I have secretly christened Caruso because of his posture and loud voice when he stands up front and sings, replied politely that indeed he needed new volunteers for the choir.

“Don’t look at me cobber!” she exclaimed, “I’m from Adelaide you know and I’d be going back soon!”

“Not soon enough” I thought rather unkindly.

Before my mind could enjoy the thought of Auntie going back to her billabong in Australia she burst my moment of happiness by adding, “If you want someone for your choir why not have my nephew here. It’ll make a change from hearing him sing in the bath. His voice is a bit croaky mind. But he's so loud that the neighbours have often invited the police to enjoy the fruits of his vocal chords!”

Before I could say anything the choir master agreed and Auntie promised that we’d be at their next rehearsals.

We all met at the Parish Centre and were welcomed by Caruso.

He started by taking down our names and asking us about our singing voice – some said tenor, others said contralto, some said soprano and so on.

He asked me about my voice range. I did not know what to say. Whenever I sing in church on Sunday, God reaches out for the headache tablets and Jesus puts cotton wool in His ears.

Before I uttered a word Aunt Gertrude suggested “his voice is more like a strangled cat … but I’m sure you can make him improve!”

Caruso smiled and said nothing. He scribbled in his notebook and then asked me to do something embarrassing in front of all those people.

He said “sing FIGAAAARO, Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaaaarooooo!”

I told him I did not know that particular hymn. I thought I’d be part of the choir and we’d all sing “Amazing Grace” or whatever hymns are scheduled for that Sunday.

He insisted he wanted to test my voice range.

So rather than sing I said a few times weakly “Figaro!”

He said “Yes … quite!” and walked away.

I felt somewhat patronized by his “Yes … quite” and I was ready to leave when Auntie interjected, “I told you he’d be a good laugh cobber! But beggars can’t be choosers can they?”

Caruso got us together and we practiced a few hymns to help him gauge how good we were and how much work he had on his hands to improve the bad lot he had as volunteers.

After an hour or so we had a short break and Caruso suggested I stand at the back of the choir and sing softly, almost miming, as if I was singing a lullaby for baby Jesus to go to sleep.

I took that to mean he didn’t think much of my voice range and power. I nodded and made a mental note not to go to any more rehearsals.

On the way home in the car Auntie Gertrude remarked “well at least we’ve solved one mystery tonight cobber!”

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“You’re as talent less when singing in the bath as when hiding amongst a choir. A frog with laryngitis would do a better job! There are plenty in our billabong back home who can testify to that.”

For a moment I wished and prayed that she was in that far away billabong.

Take up your cross

 

The sermon in church today was from Matthew 16:21-27 where Jesus says to his disciples: “If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and follow me”.

When I got home I thought I’d do something nice. I gave my wife a big hug and a kiss, and carried her indoors.

Startled she snapped "What’s wrong with you, have you gone crazy?"

"No my dear,” I replied. "Didn’t you hear the sermon? Jesus said pick up your cross and follow Me".

I got a slap in the face and severe backache. No Sunday lunch either!

From bad to ...

Jack was a lovely man. Well loved by his wife, three children and four grand-children, as well as his wider family and friends.

When they all went to church together they filled the two front rows on the left of the Altar. But that wasn’t often, because they usually attended different Masses at St Vincent.

One day, out of the blue, Jack was taken severely ill and admitted to hospital. The whole family was devastated and it is fair to say that their Faith took quite a beating.

But not Jack. He remained calm and somehow, accepted the will of God. Of course, he was a little scared, but accepted what was happening to him willingly, trusting God that all would be well.

Father Ignatius visited him in the hospital often, and was greatly humbled by the man’s Faith and cheerfulness, despite the obvious pain he was in at times.

Jack remained in hospital for a while, receiving family visitors as well as his priest every now and then.

One day, whilst Father Ignatius was the only visitor Jack said to him:

“See that man over there Father, in the bed just opposite me?”

The priest nodded silently.

“He doesn’t believe in God Father …” continued Jack, “and he’s scared to death. He has the same symptoms and the same problems as me … and to be honest the doctors don’t hold much hope for either of us …”

Father Ignatius held Jack’s hand.

“Hey … I know what’s what Father. Both of us will have an operation soon and the chances are … well, I wouldn’t bet my shirt on it …”

Jack laughed weakly.

“You know what I did Father …”

The priest shook his head.

“Yesterday, I went over to that man. His name is Larry. And I said to Larry that Jesus will look after him. I told him that everything will be OK and he is not to worry about the operation.

“I don’t think he believed me, or in Jesus … but I think it calmed him down a bit.

“At least I’ve noticed that he’s stopped crying. He used to sit there and wipe his eyes and feel sorry for himself. He’s stopped that now. Maybe Jesus has started working on him … hein?”

Father Ignatius nodded weakly. He prayed silently for Jack and thanked the Lord for this man’s Faith in such adversity. Not only to believe in Christ’s healing power but to announce it boldly to someone who didn’t believe at all.

“Hey Father … you’d better give me Communion now; before the family turns up … you know how emotional they get … especially my wife ...” said Jack with a weak smile.

The priest prayed with Jack for a while after giving him Communion and waited until his family arrived before leaving the hospital.

A few days later Jack and Larry were operated on. Both operations were successful and after a period of recuperation in hospital and at home both fully recovered.

Jack and Larry became friends. Larry and his wife and daughter became Christian and attend church at St Vincent.

Jack’s severe illness and his stay in hospital were the channel for a family of un-believers to get to know and love Christ.

(Based on a true story).

When disasters happen

“We interrupt this programme to bring you a News Flash …” blared the radio in the kitchen.

Father Ignatius stopped his cooking for a minute and listened attentively. There had been a train crash not far from where he lived. Somehow the train was de-railed and fell down a steep embankment into a nearby river. There were a number of casualties as well as many injuries.

The priest rang the emergency number given by the radio announcer to enquire how he might help. He was asked to go to the local hospital to donate blood, and also to help comfort some of the not seriously wounded.

An hour or so later he was consoled that many of the town’s folk had responded to the appeal and a long queue had formed to donate blood.

That disaster had shaken the town’s morale badly. Father Ignatius decided, unconventionally as it might seem, to make the train crash the subject of his sermon on Sunday.

He approached the lectern and said: “Let us pray for the victims and the injured of the train crash which happened a few days ago; as well as for their family and friends.

“This train crash has come as quite a shock to all of us, especially as it comes so close to the tragedy last week when a bus driver lost control of his bus and killed several school children walking on the sidewalk.

“When such disasters happen, some of us get a little confused and ask why God made it happen. Some even blame Him for the disaster believing that a loving God should have prevented it.

“I say … Praise the Lord!”

Father Ignatius paused for a while to allow the murmurs in church to die down.

“I can see from your faces that some of you think I’ve gone mad,” he continued.

“Father Ignatius has lost his marbles … he is a few Hail Mary’s short of a Rosary … his little grey cells have turned to ashes … and whatever other metaphors you wish to make up to describe my sanity or lack of it.

“Of course I recognise and I'm deeply shocked by the terrible tragedies that have befallen this town in the last few days. Especially when we consider as well the severe economic crisis we’re living through and how it is affecting many families facing loss of work and income. And how misery tends to enjoy company and has visited many local communities lately.

“Please don’t misunderstand me … when such disasters happen we must help in every practical way we can.

“But I also wish to ask you to consider this … Where do you think God is when a disaster happens?

“Is He hiding behind the settee cringing in fear at what is happening in the world today? How it’s all gone wrong and He can’t handle it anymore?

“Or is He still in control of all that is happening in the universe?

“When we praise Him, we’re not doing so because of the disaster, but because He is still in control of this and every situation.

“In doing so, we acknowledge His greatness, His omnipotence and that His will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

“By praising Him, no matter what the situation, we somehow open a channel for His grace to shine upon us and, if it is His will, a good outcome will result from a bad situation.

“The alternative of course is to rebel and blame Him for the bad situation that befalls us. And where will this lead us I ask you?

“How dare we … insignificant minuscule little creatures that we are … how dare we question His will and in so doing distance ourselves from His love and mercy?

“Of course we’re hurt and shocked by what has happened recently and we’re confused. We wouldn’t be humans if we weren’t.

“But I urge you, having prayed for the victims and their families and friends, having helped practically where we can, let us now stand and confidently praise the Lord that He is still in control of everything.”