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Back to the Future, or Ahead to the Past

Shortly after the waters from the Great Flood receded, in
about 1966, my family sold its birthright for a mess of suitcases,
and followed me to Tübingen, Germany, where I intended to
learn German, and to do graduate research for my dissertation.

Among the people we met there was another American,
who had found religion and became a Baptist minister, who
found religion and became an Episcopal priest, who found
religion and became a Catholic priest; a married, with-children,
Catholic priest.  His parish was a cranky little congregation
in a small town just outside of Tübingen.  Small glory, there!

There were almost a dozen such married converts in Germany
and the Netherlands.  We returned to Chicago after a year,
and we heard that the often-converted American parish priest
left town, too, with the Italian student at the University
who played the organ in his parish (so to speak). 

In the grand scheme of things, the incident left almost no scar.
Today, Pope Benedict XVI, often affectionately and fondly
called "God's Rottweiler", for his German ancestry and his zeal
for defending all things true, red-slippered, and medieval, is
extending an invitation to disgruntled Anglicans to study the
Catechism and become Catholic priests; wives, and children,
and all.  Or almost all.  No gay priests!  No married bishops! 
The line has to be drawn somewhere!  If nuns are asked,
they don't have to tell.  And it would be nice if they could bring
a couple of those fine, old cathedrals with them,
if the endowments are adequate the roofs don't leak. 

(I have not read anything about the status of female, Italian
organists, or even whether they are any more.  It would help.)

The Church of England and the British Royalty have been
playing such a game for centuries!  The Monarch has to be
Anglican.  England is Anglican.  But no one goes to church.

It might be just as well for all the pretense to end.
The British could cut the Monarch's allowance by 98%,
and they would still be left with a splendid royalty,
just like Norway, in a little yellow castle up the street.
Harry could get a job managing a costume shop,
and Philip could shoot pheasants, or pop cans.
The cathedrals would remain unchanged:  museums!
And the Rottweiler could buy a new pair of slippers.

I don't want to get all dewy-eyed and teary about all of this,
but I do suspect the end times might be near, or just behind us.
Personally, I am looking for a used copy of Father McGuire's
New Baltimore Catechism:  none of this new-fangled stuff;
St. Joseph, and all that!  "From ghoulies and ghosties and
long-legged beasties, and things that go bump in the night,
good Lord deliver us!"  Or, at least, keep them all together!

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