Lip Locked Ladies Assault Our Values

      Here's another story torn from the pages of  "Boiled Frog Misses Slow Incremental Water Temperature Increase".

 

        We are the boiled frog, every day assaulted by the modern culture.

 

        The new Urban Outfitters catalog has found its way into your child's mailbox.

 

        And they waste no time.

 

        Page two contains a photograph of two beautiful teenage girls.

 

        One girl is wearing a beige ankle-length sundress with flats.

 

        The other girl is wearing a knee-length aquamarine and white cocktail dress with platform shoes.

 

        The picture helps display the "Kaleidoscope" dress collection.

 

        So far so good.  

 

        The two girls are kissing.

 

        Full lips-on-lips kissing, with ankle-length embracing knee-length, the young lady on the left holding the other one's head in her hands just like Clark Gable and in Vivian Leigh in Gone With The Wind.

 

 

Urban Outfitters focuses its marketing energies on teenagers.

 

        Young teenagers.

 

        Do you care?

 

Or do we just let the cook turn up the flame one degree higher on the stove?

 

Believe it or not there are people who do care.

 

 An organization called One Million Moms dedicates itself to stamping out exploitation of children in  the media.

 

 

They have asked Americans to call Urban Outfitters at 1–800–282–2200 to  record their objection and to cancel their catalog subscription.

 

In this world in which Ellen Degeneres and Rosie O'Donnell offer friendly peeks into their modern lifestyle, it is politically incorrect to criticize the promotion of lesbianism.

 

One Million Moms is being accused of hate speech because of their courageous position.

 

Thank goodness free speech is still protected by the by those few remaining threads left in the fabric of the First Amendment.

 

        It is possible to be a loving and compassionate person who honestly believes that homosexuality is unhealthy and dare I say it, sinful and wrong.

 

Of course we must love others, including those with gay and lesbian tendencies and attractions.

 

        But it is far from loving to get swept up in the wave of  I'm-ok-you're-ok thinking that makes good people feel guilty about criticizing behavior which can only lead to ruin for the most innocent among us: our children.

 

        So hats off to One Million Moms.

 

The pornography and immorality that passes itself off as advertising these days does not fly completely under the radar.

 

        There are those that are willing to stand up and be counted.

 

        Are you among them?

 

Or are you sitting in the pot not noticing that the one cooked by the cook is you.

 

        Make your voice heard.

 

If you get cooked, who will  protect  your children and grandchildren?

       

 

       

Demolition Can't Destroy True Spirit of Peace

            The second largest nation in the world, India, proclaims its national motto proudly.

 

          "Truth Alone Triumphs"

 

          Unfortunately, sometimes whole nations fall short of this professed ambition.

 

          Recent news from Allahabad, India, tells a disturbing story.

 

          A peaceful ashram in this city of over one million  has had the unmitigated gall to refuse to pay the expected freight: bribes.

 

          The Kriyayoga Institute has for many years been an oasis for those dedicated to the Gandhian principles of nonviolence.

 

Citizens of the USA, Canada, Brazil, and many others join native Indians in quiet meditation.

 

 All religions are welcome.

 

 Christians, Hindus,  and Muslims share their quiet dedication together.

 

          The lion lays down with the lamb.

 

          Until the corrupt local police and their bulldozer arrive.

 

          Because this small compound refuses to pay the  graft, an entire building was destroyed by an armed mob who crashed the gates and destroyed  the structure housing disabled pilgrims.

 

          Local police led the attackers, despite a court order issued to stop such horrors.

 

If you can stomach it, watch the YouTube video that captures the callous  crooks of local government in India.

 

Go to YouTube and type in "India attacked by India".

 

          Women and children are forcibly removed by the corrupt officials. An American doctor from Florida suffers injuries at the hands of the determined thugs.

 

The rubble that remains at the site of the residence hall designed for the  wheelchair bound is all that is left of the building constructed without the payment of bribes.

 

          This modern Mafia story could come from the pen of the Godfather's Mario Puzo, but it is all too true.

 

We in America treasure our land as one in which our Constitution guarantees the Rule of Law.

 

Unfortunately, local life in India is highlighted by  a culture of corruption which must be embraced  even if you seek something as noble as a respite for the physically challenged.

 

          This occurs on a scale that would make Jimmy DiMora seem like a piker.

 

          Fellow Americans, our brothers and sisters in India are part of our human family.

 

Will you help?

 

          Send an e-mail to the Indian Prime Minister at manmohan@sansad.nic.in.

 

          Ask him to refer this matter to the Central Bureau of Investigation (the CBI, India's equivalent of our FBI) for a full inquiry.
        

 

          Let him know that we embrace justice everywhere and that the carnage in Allahabad  must stop.

 

Friends, I stayed at this ashram during my recent Indian excursion.

 

          I am shaken.

 

          Please join me in this international effort.

 

Peace doesn't just mean the absence of war.

 

          It also means defending truth and encouraging compassion.

 

          "Truth Alone Triumphs"

 

          Shame on you, Allahabad  Development Authority.

 

          Truth has not triumphed.

 

It has been destroyed by a bulldozer.

 

          Let's rebuild it.

Don't cry for them, Argentina: Say Thank You

This true story is gripping and it happened just last week.

 

In the City of Resistencia, Argentina, the humid tropical air makes for sticky summer days and winters that are short and only somewhat cooler.

 

Developed in the late 1800's,  this town has grown up, transforming itself from an agricultural to a service economy, the population just a tad smaller than Cleveland, Ohio.

 

As a result, Resistencia, like Cleveland, has developed as a first-rate medical center where the doctors are top-notch.

 

That's why Analia Bouter and her husband Fabian resigned themselves to accept God's will.

 

The outstanding obstetrics staff did all they could but sadly, the little baby girl didn't make it.

 

One of the greatest medical teams in the world tried its best but that tiny sweet face belonged to a corpse, stillborn.

 

Mom and dad finally left the hospital, toting an empty car seat, brokenhearted.

 

Red-eyed, grief stricken.

 

The time passed slowly at home, but that delicate countenance wouldn't leave their hearts.

 

Sleep would not come, the vivid image of their dead daughter haunting them both.

 

Finally, 12 hours after the doctors signed the death certificate, they could take no more.

         

They had to see her again.

 

One last time.

 

Analia brought her camera.

 

Maybe a snapshot would help preserve the memory that would be all they would have left of the little girl they had named Luciana Abigail.

 

In silence, they drove to the morgue.

 

The attendant led them to a room full of little drawers designed for infants who never saw their first steps.

 

          Never shook their first rattle.

 

As the drawer slid open, Analia reached to open the cover of the little coffin.

 

          She heard something.

 

It startled her.

 

A whimper. Crying.

 

She's alive!

 

The attendant called 911 and the ambulance raced to that same hospital, the parents singing God's praises.

 

Incredible miracle.

 

The parents changed the child's name to Luz Milagros, which translates to "Miracle Light".

 

The Argentine government has initiated a full investigation of the hospital staff.

 

The team in the delivery room has been suspended.

 

"They will have to answer for this",  said Rafael Sabatinelli, Undersecretary of health for the Argentine Ministry.

 

The parents aren't looking to blame anyone.

 

Why?

 

They know that talented doctors gave their very best effort.

 

They just happened to receive the gift of a miracle.

         

Are we so jaded that when a baby becomes Lazarus, we can't just accept it?

 

What about you?

 

Are you open to the possibility?

 

I hope so.

 

Be like these parents and not like the bureaucrats.

 

Miracles do happen and no one's to blame.

 

Well, there is someone to blame: God.

 

If you look hard enough, you might find some miracles in your own life.

 

The marriage that's survived challenges.

 

A son who has defeated addiction.

 

 A life prolonged despite a deadly diagnosis years ago.

 

A daughter who has forgiven a flawed parent.

 

Don't look for someone to blame. Look for someone to thank.

 

The same someone who gave the world Luz Milagros.

 

Peace.

What's On Tap for the Anti-Christian Culture

Lately, our culture has  become so crass that examples of abject spit-in-your-face disrespect for people of faith just scroll past our lives almost unnoticed.

 

It's  like that irritating crawl  moving from left to right at the bottom of the screen during a cable news broadcast.

 

Sometimes you have to look at it and realize what's really happening.

 

I found this one to be outrageous so let's see what you think.

 

          A few months ago a beer company called Stella Artois began to run a series of commercials supplemented by billboards with the following slogan: "It's a Chalice, not a glass."

 

          The television spots feature a glass goblet treated with deep respect because of the golden liquid it contains when the Stella Artois light lager is poured.

 

          For Christians, the word "Chalice"  refers to that which holds the precious blood of Jesus Christ.

 

          The Holy Grail referred to the original vessel shared by the Son of Man with his disciples at the Last Supper.

 

          I'm offended.

 

These advertisements border on blasphemy as they conclude with the so-called "chalice"  presented to young men and women at a bar.

 

Sacrilegious.

 

Can the Madison Avenue crowd be so insensitive that they are willing to demean one of the most important symbols in all of Christendom?

 

There are different versions of this commercial and some even go further.

 

In one edition, the viewer is instructed regarding the proper method of pouring the Stella Artois into the "Chalice".

 

One step is called the "purification", a clear reference to Catholic ritual.

 

          Unbelievably, the consumer  in the next phase is asked to honor the "sacrifice"  in serving this beverage.

 

I also do not believe it was a coincidence that this advertising campaign was released almost simultaneous to the Pope's new directive substituting the word "Chalice" for the word  "cup" in the new Catholic Missal.

 

So what can you do about it?

 

For those that care, I offer some marching orders.

 

First of all, boycott the product and encourage your friends and family to do the same.

         

Our values don't mean very much if we protect them for ourselves but allow others to stomp all over them in some kind of wild dance where the dancers wear stilettos and penny loafers, barely able to stay on their feet in an alcohol-induced stupor.

 

Secondly, use the commercial as a valuable teaching tool.

 

 Give others the knowledge of your faith by explaining the eternal value of that which is contained in the Chalice  held high by the priest in that most solemn moment  re-enacting the events of Holy Thursday.

 

Third, communicate with the folks at Stella Artois and let them know you're feelings.

 

 Believe it or not e-mails and especially handwritten letters are important to the public relations department. You can bring about change.

 

          I cherish what a real chalice symbolizes.

 

Stella Artois doesn't.

 

          Mr. Bartender, make mine a Bud.

 

          Beer lovers should not stand for such an outrage.

 

          Will you?

Politicians Have To Ponder Surprises Behind The Door

        The other day I saw a story about security costs for big-city mayors.

 

        It's shocking to see how taxpayers spend hundreds of thousands of dollars or more to protect his or her Honor.

 

        Years ago, as Mayor of Euclid, I would be confronted by a personal security concern every now and then.

 

        Three stand out.

 

        My first term as mayor began with layoffs to balance the huge deficit that greeted me my first day in office.

 

        I answered  the door one Friday evening  at home and before me stood a mountain.

 

        His name was Steve and he was on the layoff list in the service department.

 

        I ushered him into our dining room where he tearfully expressed concern for his ability to support his family.

 

        He could have crushed me with his bare hands.

 

My wife was worried and called the police.

 

Not necessary.

 

Steve left peacefully after a few minutes. He just had to get a few things off his chest.

 

He had to see the top man.

 

I get that. Everything was okay.

 

A second incident was more threatening but almost comical.

 

After I supported a tax increase (rare for me), I received an interesting letter.

 

The gentleman who sent it  said that he was determined to respond to my tax position by punching me in the nose.

 

He said he attended my church and would not be deterred from carrying out his objective.

 

Here's the part that gets weird but also sort of funny.

 

The letter writer signed the correspondence, provided his address, and even included a photo of himself.

 

I turned the matter over to the police and the punch never materialized.

 

This last story really  is a cautionary tale for politicians everywhere.

 

An attractive young woman began attending Council meetings.

 

She became active in the community, speaking up at town hall sessions and generally and sincerely seeking to influence municipal policy.

 

One night, I was alone in my office, working on a budget proposal.

 

There was a knock on the door to the Mayor's office which led directly to the outside parking lot facing the police station.

 

I opened it.

 

There stood that young woman.

 

She smiled and whispered something unintelligible.

 

I leaned in to understand her better.

 

She leaned in also.

 

And kissed me right on the lips.

 

I backed away, closed the door on her, and called the police chief to report the incident.

 

It was kind of scary and surrealistic.

 

It  reminded me of the scene in the  film   The Natural when Robert Redford opens the door and there stands Barbara Hershey with a loaded derringer in her hand.

 

That night, my wife and I discussed future strategies in opening doors without knowing who is on the other side.

 

Well, my days in politics are long behind me.

 

But the truth is that people in political life  have to worry about security, from City Councilmen all the way up to the President of the United States.

 

There are plenty of wackos out there.

 

Maybe there's one waiting for me at church this Sunday.

 

Put a peephole in your door, politicos.

 

 It's always a good idea.    

 

 

From the Mouths of Babes Come Important Lessons

Lent is a time for introspection and contemplation.

 

          Many of us prepare for the celebration of the resurrection by sharing in the passion of Christ during these 40 days.

 

          One traditional method of participating in the Savior's  suffering is by creating some degree of sacrifice in our own lives.

 

 No matter how small, each little thing we deny ourselves helps unite us with the mission of Calvary.

 

          So it was with great respect and reverence that I read through the short essays posted on the walls of Mater Dei  Academy in Wickliffe.

 

          The children in the early primary grades were asked to describe their efforts during the Lenten season.

 

          Here are the highlights of a few of these reflections.

  

          James P.  wrote,  " For Lent, I will not eat suckers because they are unhealthy. I'll give them to my sister who is sluggish and thin."

 

          What a guy.

 

          Mary S. also was concerned about candy.  She said, " I have decided to give up gum for Lent. In this way I can give the money I save to the homeless. This will permit me to donate $6.54."

 

  A future accountant, no doubt.

 

          Joseph J. expressed damage control by saying, "I have decided that I will stop insulting people during Lent. That will help everyone I know."

 

          Jacob  R. said, "For Lent I am giving up spitting."

 

          That's nice.

 

          Margie W.  said,  " I am giving up playing the violin for Lent."

 

  So much for practice.

 

          Sometimes habits are hard to break. Mark W.  said, " I have decided to give up hitting my brother for Lent. Normally, I hit him every day."

 

          Timothy L. was thoughtful in telling us, "I am fasting during Lent because when I see Jesus,  I take dying on the cross seriously.  My brother isn't giving anything up but he needs to know that sacrificing things isn't a joke."

 

          Stewart G. tells of a drama in his household.

 

 His paper reads, "For Lent I am going to stop taking other people's stuff in my family because in the end it doesn't go well for me. I don't want to make mom and dad mad. No one wants that."

 

          No one indeed.

 

          David H. demonstrated that sometimes you have to make a choice: " For lent I had to choose between being nice to my brother or giving up pop.  I decided to give up pop because it is too hard to be nice to my brother."

 

          Matthew S.  provided my favorite one. This is a young man who understands the heart of St. Francis.

 

          He proudly proclaimed,  " For Lent I have decided to give up wrestling my dog because it hurts him and makes him limp."

 

           I have the feeling that at Matthew's  home, Fido is somewhat apprehensive. The dawn of Easter Sunday may signal the opening bell of round one, with the family mutt stuck in a hammerlock little Matt learned watching Wrestlemania.

 

          This last essay was very short but also very poignant, written by William M.

 

 He said, "For Lent  I am going to spend some time talking to my deaf and autistic brother. He likes to talk."

 

Now that's the true spirit of Lent.

 

          Me?

 

 I'm giving up ice cream.

 

          It's just too hard to be nice to my mother-in-law.

What's It Like When Children Lose a Friend?

            Chardonites are asking about the impact when a young person loses a dear friend.

 

          The impact is significant.

 

          I know.

 

          I lost my best bud Brian Doyle when I was seven years old.

 

          Here's the story.

 

          Brian and I both attended St. Ann School at Coventry and  Cedar in Cleveland Heights.

 

          Sometime in 1963 we bumped into each other walking home a fair distance east of our elementary school.

 

 It was not unusual in those days for seven-year-olds to walk a mile or two to get home.

 

          There were two second grade classes at St. Ann's back then, each with almost 50 kids.

 

Brian and I were not in the same class but that walk home together with Brian became the highlight of my day that year.

 

          Brian and I quickly became fast friends.

 

          Our walks down Stillman Road or Coventry if we were daring became our own road to  Emmaus.

 

Brian's hopes and dreams. My hopes and dreams.

 

          We discussed girls, the scary nuns(Sister St. John  terrified us), the foibles of our classmates, and the finer points of blood ball. Blood ball was a ruthless keepaway game played during lunch recess on the asphalt parking lot of our school.

 

          When our routes home finally diverged, Brian went his way and I went mine, day ended.

 

          We never went to each other's houses, so our families never knew about this friendship.

 

          But there was no doubt,  Brian Doyle was my best friend in the world.

 

He knew me and I knew him.

 

We both had lots of brothers and sisters and we knew that growing up together at St. Ann's held the promise of great times together, loyal friends through thick and thin.

 

 The spring of 1964 came along and our thoughts turned to baseball in the schoolyard and outdoor gym class.

 

 

          Suddenly, Brian wasn't there.

 

          Our teacher announced  that Brian Doyle had drowned  visiting a hotel while his family was traveling near Cincinnati.

 

          My soul mate was gone.

 

I wanted to tell the teachers, my classmates, and my family that I had lost my alter ego.

 

          But I was a second grader.

 

          They didn't have grief counselors for us back then.

 

          It seemed  that my friendship with Brian was a secret he would take to the grave.

 

And I would carry this sense of loss with me, privately, forever.

 

The whole second grade went to the funeral.

 

I blended in with all the rest.

 

Anonymously shuffled through the service, quietly, in agony.

 

          I imagined Brian's fear in his last seconds and shared those moments with him tearfully, he in the arms of Jesus while I plodded along, alone.

 

 I remember closing my eyes and talking to him again.

 

          Well, life moves forward, but Brian makes himself known to me on a regular basis, creeping into my consciousness and into my prayers.

 

          What's the impact on young folks when they lose a friend?

 

          Massive.

 

          Especially if that friend is  Brian Doyle.

 

I cherish those memories.

 

And I look forward to a reunion in heaven.

 

That dismissal  bell rings and we're bounding eastward on Stillman, adventures along the way.

 

A friendship to be fulfilled, together, finally.