Man's instructions. God's instructions.

I don't know about you but I'm getting rather confused with all the instructions or rules written for us by so called experts and people in authority.

My problem is that these instructions are often unclear and open to interpretation with, for me, perplexing and/or dire results.

Let me give you some examples.

I bought a large "Family Pack" of already shelled almonds and cashew nuts. Enough for all of us to enjoy whilst watching the slimming programs on TV. It said on the packet "Once opened keep cool and dry and away from sunlight and strong odours". But it doesn't say what to do to keep the nuts fresh. How can the fact that I keep cool, dry and so on affect the freshness of the nuts?

Another confusing instruction came with a packet of quick-cook rice. The writing on the packet said “Take sachet out of packet and stand in boiling water for 10 minutes”. I did that and burnt my feet.

I also read in my Cookery Recipe Book that to avoid tears whilst peeling and cutting onions you should do it under water. It works, but you have to come up for air every few seconds.

Even my doctor can be unclear with his instructions. I told him that I get a pain in my eye every time I drink coffee or tea. He said: Take the spoon out of the cup first.

This same doctor advised a friend of mine suffering from rheumatism to keep away from all dampness. Now he sits in the bath and vacuum cleans himself. 

God's instructions on the other hand are quite clear.

When He gave us the Ten Commandments He meant just that: ten rules or instructions for us to follow in our lives.

He did not mean ten suggestions or proposals for us to debate and alter to suit our selfish modern lifestyles.

Why bother to Blog?

Here we go again. Blogging week in week out with very few, if any comments, and "followers". Makes you wonder why we bother to Blog!

We really never get to know who visits our Blogs and never leave a comment.

Comments often tend to be from the same loyal and friendly readers and, welcome as they are, we'd all like to see new visitors and commenters if we're really honest with ourselves.

It's good of course to have our loyal readers encouraging us and supporting us in what we write. And it's also good and polite for us to reply to their comments on our Blogs; and to visit them on their Blogs and comment there.

It all builds up and strengthens an Internet Community of like-minded Christians spreading the Good News of God. These are real people at the other computer far away from you; not just names and avatars on our own computer screens!

But as I said eralier, we never get to know those people who visit us and never leave a comment. The silent visitor reading what we write without our knowledge and moving away without saying a word. What's on their mind, I wonder, when they read what we've written.

To some, what we write can turn out to be very important indeed. There are many people "out there" who have never heard of God or Jesus and what we write on our Blogs could very well be the first time they get to hear about Christ.

Let us not assume that everyone everywhere knows about God or believes in Him even.

It could very well happen that what we've written starts an interest in an individual far away and perhaps encourage him or her to learn more about God. Our Blog could well be a starting point, the first few steps, of a journey of discovery into Christianity.

What a priviledge that is. To learn that our Blog has brought someone to Christ. Can you imagine that? What we've written has made someone to get to experience the love of God.
 
If only one person turns to Christ because of our writing ... just one person ... then all of our posts over the years would have been worthwhile.

Of course, we'll never know this; and the chances are we will never meet that one person who was introduced to and found Jesus through us.

But when we get to meet St Peter at Heaven's Gate he will look at his computer database - I'm reliably informed he no longer uses old parchment papers ... less reliable!

Anyway, Peter will look at his computer monitor and say "Do you remember that post you wrote all those years ago? Well, it brought one person to Christ and Heaven!"

And that should bring a smile to our face, and his.

There was a woman in my bed

It was late in the evening when I entered my hotel room. It had been a long day at work with one meeting following another, and then I had to attend a Conference where they discussed ways to extrapolate sales and costs figures against profits in order to estimate how many paper clips we’ll need five years from now. It was so exhilarating that I could not sleep at all throughout the Conference.

Anyway, I got to my hotel room late and got myself in by using one of those electronic cards you put in a slot and the door opens. I did not bother to switch all lights on. A small light shone from a nearby table-lamp and this was enough. I intended to fall into bed and dream of better days.

As I took my jacket off a man got out of the en-suite bathroom in his pajamas. Why he had an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas I do not know. Maybe he was rich and could afford an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas; whilst the rest of us have to be content with an elastic band or a cord to keep our pajama pants up.

I don’t know what nationality he was, but as soon as he saw me the man said: “Qui êtes-vous? Que faites-vous ici?”

I know exactly what he said because I remember writing it down at the time. I then took out a dictionary to translate but could not understand a word. It was an Italian dictionary.

The man shouted at me and beckoned me to get out of my room. At which point an enormously rotund woman got up from my bed and she too started shouting at me “Allez-vous en!  Allez-vous en!” and waving her hands in the air. 

I wrote that down too but could not find a translation in my Italian dictionary.                             .

I picked up my jacket and as I turned to get out I accidentally knocked a large whicker basket which was on the table beside me. The top of the basket opened and a flock of pigeons came flying out into the room. They flew everywhere, trying to land on something high up. Luckily the bedroom door was shut and they eventually settled on the wardrobe, hanged from the chandelier, (it was a posh hotel), and one settled on the man’s head.

There was cooing and flapping of wings everywhere. A few feathers floated in the air before settling to the ground. The pigeons did what most animals do when frightened and started leaving deposits everywhere. Including on the man’s head.

I was totally stunned by what had just happened and stood perfectly still. The rotund woman picked up the phone on the bedside table and started shouting in broken English “pee john pee john …”

Moments later a hotel porter entered the room and disturbed all the pigeons which started flying all over again and dropping deposits all over the place.

We waited until they had settled down and then he asked me “Why do you have pigeons in your room, Sir? Pets are not allowed in this hotel!”

I was astounded that he asked me about the pigeons and had totally ignored the fact that I also had a rotund woman in my bed and a man with an en-suite bathroom in his pajamas.

He asked for my electronic card which he tested on the door. It worked. He then took the man’s electronic card. It worked too.

You guessed it. It was a double booking and we’d both been given the same cards.

I picked up my luggage and was moved to another room.

By now you may be asking why there were pigeons in a wicker basket in my room.

Simple.

I was told the man was a magician and he used the pigeons in his act by making them appear and disappear out of a hat. Apparently his wife, whilst younger and less rotund, was a stripper and she too used the pigeons in her act. For an encore the pigeons used to take their feathers off!

Blessed are the poor

Once upon a time there was an old man in his nineties living alone in a small cottage in the countryside. He'd farmed there all his life and now he spent the rest of his days there with a dog as old as he.

Once a week a friend visited him for a while for a chat and to help around the house. Just for fun, the old man gave his friend £1 a week to buy him a lottery ticket.

This went on for ages and the friend always checked the old man's lottery ticket for any winnings. One day to his surprise he discovered the old man won £2m.

He was both pleased and very concerned about this. If he told the old man of the winnings the shock could easily kill him.

So he went to the priest for advice and after much debate he convinced the priest that he was better placed to break the news to the old man. After all, priests are trained for all circumstances.

The priest visited the old man and after enjoying a cup of tea and biscuits he approached the subject carefully as the old man was seated down comfortably.

"Life certainly has its twists and turns" started the priest, "and you've certainly seen many in your life I should say!"

The old man nodded.

"Imagine" continued the priest, "another unexpected twist. Imagine ... say ... you won £2m in the lottery. What would you do?"

The old man smiled and said "At my age I've outlived all my relatives and I have few friends to speak of. I suppose if I won £2m I'd give it all to you."

On hearing this the priest had a heart attack and died.

And the moral of the story is:

When you're a certain age never play the lottery.

No ... that's not it.

The moral of the story is never give a priest £2m.

No ... that's not it either. I'm sure there's a moral here but I don't get it.

Sometimes it pays to know when we're already happy.

I carry a Cross in my pocket

FATHER FRANCIS MAPLE

Silly Dreams of Shakespearean origin

We all have dreams from time to time. Some are dramatic and perhaps disturbing, whilst others are easily forgotten or not remembered at all when we wake up.
 
Have you ever dreamt that you were a chicken wearing a pin striped suit to work and they would not let you in because your tie was the wrong color?

Or dreamt that you went to see a hypnotist to cure you of the compulsion to visit hypnotists?

Whilst at the hypnotist you asked him also to cure you of your fear of heights? He did so; and when you woke up you were on top of the cupboard?

No? Never had such dreams?

Well, neither have I.

My dreams tend to be memorable. Last week I dreamt that I was in a marshmallow factory, a bit like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory book by Roald Dahl.

Anyway ... I dreamt I was in a marshmallow factory and when I woke up I'd eaten the pillow.

I remember being told off in the morning for ruining the pillow!

The best dreams of course are those that inspire us to greater things. They can be dreams we have when asleep or indeed something we think about when awake and mull over in our minds and spur us into action.

Many a great idea started with a day dream, an inspiration, a word of encouragement ...

The ideal dream is to make life better for someone else. It need not necessarily be a big thing that you do. Perhaps a kindness to someone. A smile. A helping hand.

For when our time is at an end, we should not be remembered for who we have been, but for what we have done.

You're the best friend ...

You've been here beside me and shared all my dreams through the years

We’ve shared all the laughter and sometime you dried all my tears

You stood close beside me and held me when good times turned bad

I need you to know you're the best friend that I've ever had

Together we've laughed as we walked hand in hand in the rain

All the good times we've had comes back to my memory again

Now as the years pass they're turning from silver to gold

I pray we will share them together as we're growing old

You're my best friend the one friend I know will be there come what may

You're the one I depend on the one friend I turn to each day

So if sometimes I hurt you and the things that I say makes you sad

Remember I love you and you're the best friend that I've ever had

Remember I love you and you're the best friend that I've ever had.

The ball of wool

Once upon a time there was a little boy of about ten going home from school. As he crossed through the woods he met an old lady who stopped and talked to him. He told her that he was sad because he was unhappy at school. She gave him a gift of a ball of wool.

"Whenever you're unhappy" she said, "just unwind some of this wool and your unhappiness will pass away!"

For a few days he did nothing with his new gift. But one day he got home really upset because he was being bullied by the other children. He took out the ball of wool and unwound it a few turns to see what would happen.

Suddenly, he was a couple of years older, still at the same school, but no longer bullied.

He was a young teenager now, enjoying school, but he wished he could go out late in the evenings and at weekends with his friends. His parents would not let him do so however out of love and parental caring.

"If only I was a bit older" he thought, "then my parents would allow me to go out whenever I want!"

He unwound a few more turns of the ball of wool and he was soon nineteen years old; a young man able to drive and go out with friends. 

He got to like a particular young lady he met at college and wished they could date. But he was still a student, he did not have a steady job and money to buy her all the gifts he thought she deserved; and go on holidays together and enjoy themselves.

A few more turns of the ball of wool and he was in his late twenties.

Married to the girl of his dreams and with a young family. A good job and a beautiful house. But the young children were a bit of a problem. The baby up all night, the older toddler wanting to play all the time, teething problems, childhood sickness, and all the difficulties one has with a young family that obscured his real happiness and joy. He was always tired in the mornings not having slept all night because of the baby crying. His wife tried her best to raise the family and keep home, but somehow life was difficult for all of them with all the chores one has to do.

"If only the children were a bit older" he thought; and a few more turns of the ball of wool and the kids were about eleven and nine. But sadly at this time his father became very ill and died.

The young man was totally distraught and could not get over his father's death. He lost all interest in family, work, and life in general.

"Make the pain go away" he cried as he unwound a few more turns of the ball of wool.

The children were much older now and studying at University. His hairs had gone grey a little and he struggled to go to work every day, having to drive long distances and cope with ever increasing responsibilites. He also suffered from a few minor pains and aches one gets as one gets older. His mother had grown older too and was frequently unwell. As a good son he often took her to the doctor's and for frequent hospital visits. This added to his ever increasing workload.

He felt sorry for his mother in old age, he felt sorry for his wife also getting older and struggling a little with daily life, he worried about his children having left the nest and taking their first steps into adult life. He became concerned as to how much longer he could keep working with his many ailments.

He unwound the ball of wool a little more to get out of his meloncholy.

As he did so, his mother grew ever so older and eventually died.

This tragedy broke his heart more than losing his father. His children had grown up and moved away with families of their own. His wife was grey haired too and ever lovingly by his side. His minor pains and aches had developed into painful ailments and illnesses requiring constant care and medication. It was now his turn to visit doctors and hospitals for frequent check-ups.

He became ever so sad at having lost his parents and children so far away from home that he rarely saw them. He longed to be with his grandchildren but they lived so far that he could not manage the travelling involved.

Every day became a struggle as he stayed at home nursing his many ailments and being looked after by his loving wife. He regretted his state of affairs and the fact that life could not be better.

One night, sitting in his room, he held the ball of wool now no bigger than his thumb in his trembling weak hands, and wondered where all the years had gone. He cursed the old lady who gave it to him as a gift all that long ago.

In his tiredness he fell asleep and the ball of wool fell to the ground and unwound itself completely. With a last gasp of breath he died.

The little boy of ten had lived all his life in a matter of weeks.

MORAL OF THE STORY

Know when you are really happy and thank God for it.

No door-to-door salesmen in Heaven

A door-to-door salesman called on me the other day and he was selling doors.

He had three doors strapped on his back to show potential clients the different qualities available; and he was also carrying two suitcases. One was full of locks and handles for clients to choose, and the other case was full of hinges of different sizes and materials.

As he stooped down to place the two suitcases he was carrying on the ground, he bent forward a little, and the doors on his back hit me hard on the forehead.

I had a cut on my head and it started bleeding.

"Do you have any Band-Aid and bandage dressing?" he asked.

"Do you need some too?" I replied, "where did you hurt yourself?"

"Not for me ... for you ..." he said. "Anyway ... it's stopped bleeding now and I'm glad you didn't damage my doors."

He then unstrapped the three doors off his back and proceeded to explain how well made they were. One was made of oak, another of mahogany, and the third was cheap plastic in case I couldn't afford the other two.

"It's the de-lux economy version ..." he called it.

I explained that I already had a door which suited me quite nicely, thank you.

He suggested I buy a door as a spare in case something happened to my existing front door. Or alternatively I could replace my existing door which, he said, looked rather cheap and lowered the tone of the neighborhood.

Before I could protest at his insult he opened both suitcases and showed me all the beautiful brass hinges, or steel ones if I'd prefer, and the many locks and door handles which would fit any of the three model doors he was carrying.

It was impossible to get rid of him, even though I politely told him more than once that I had a lifetime supply of doors in my house - front door, back door and a door to every room in the house.

Eventually, he left with no sale.

But he reminded me of another soul-to-soul salesman. He is more subtle in his technique. He leads us to believe that what he is tempting us with is actually what we really want and need and desire. He finds out our weakness and vulnerability and in time makes us believe that what we wish for is really not a sin at all.

I bet he could sell us as many doors as he wants and make us feel that we could not possibly do without them!

I then wondered! Are there cloud-to-cloud salesmen in Heaven? Will they call on me and offer to re-tune my harp?

Distant Kings? Distant God?

 

At prayer meeting the other day a newcomer, a middle aged man we’d never met before, said he was about to celebrate his 27th Wedding Anniversary. We all congratulated him.

He said like all marriages, his had its ups and downs, including arguments and silent treatments, but overall it was OK. For their 25th Anniversary he took his wife to Paris. He said the last two years were the happiest of his marriage.

“How will you celebrate your 27th?” he was asked.

“I’m returning to Paris to bring the wife back!”

Absence makes the heart grow fonder – they say. Or - out of sight out of mind.

It all depends on your point of view.

Sometimes, wrongly, we feel God has ignored us. He is not listening. Abandoned us even. So we give Him the silent treatment. Stop praying. Stop going to church. And eventually we may drift away. We become distant. Out of sight, and out of prayer, is out of mind too.

If only we stop and think. When we feel distanced from God it is only because we have moved away. He has not left us. He is always there. Ready to welcome us back in His arms with love and forgiveness.

The three wise men followed a star and travelled a long distance to find God. May we too follow our Faith and realise that God is only a prayer away.
 
I will be with you always, to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20.

SANTA - As you've never seen him before!

Joseph's Legacy

Joseph is not mentioned often in the Bible. We read about him before the birth of Jesus when the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and asked him to take Mary as his wife. (Matthew 1:18).

Imagine his dilemma. He was engaged to Mary when she found out she was due to have a baby by the Holy Spirit. At first he considered doing what many men with a pregnant girl friend whose baby is not theirs would have done - run a mile in the opposite direction.

Being an honourable man he decided to break the engagement privately so as not to disgrace her.

Then the angel appeared to him in a dream; and based on that dream alone he decided to marry Mary and raise her son as if He were his own.

He was there when Jesus was born in Bethlehem and we read about him when he took Jesus and Mary to Egypt to escape from Herod (Matthew 2:13) and then when they returned to Nazareth (Matthew 2:19).

He is also mentioned when the boy Jesus was twelve years old and found in the Temple in Jerusalem (Luke 2:41).

So as Jesus' foster father he was there during His early years protecting Him from Herod and providing a loving family for the Son of God.

What a wonderful man he must have been. Working quietly in the background, without much recognition, doing God's will in raising His Son on earth.

So, what is his legacy to us?

Obedience and trust.

Despite what his common sense told him to do, he did not walk away from Mary. He trusted God and decided to stay with Mary. He decided to provide for her and a child who was not his. He taught the child carpentry and raised Him up as his own.

May his obedience and trust be an example to us all.

This prayer to St Joseph is said to be over 1900 years old. It was found in the fiftieth year of Our Lord Jesus Christ. In the 1500's it was sent by the Pope to Emperor Charles when he was going into battle. It is a novena to be prayed for nine consecutive mornings for anything you may desire. It has seldom been known to fail.

“O St. Joseph whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the Throne of God, I place in you all my interests and desires. O St. Joseph do assist me by your powerful intercession and obtain for me from your Divine Son all spiritual blessings through Jesus Christ, Our Lord; so that having engaged here below your Heavenly power I may offer my Thanksgiving and Homage to the most Loving of Fathers. O St. Joseph, I never weary contemplating you and Jesus asleep in your arms. I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press him in my name and kiss His fine Head for me, and ask Him to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of departing souls, pray for us. Amen.”

John's Legacy

A man wandering in the desert, dressed in clothes made of camel hair, and eating locusts and wild honey. (Mark 1:4-8).

Not exactly sartorial elegance. More of an eccentric if you ask me.

Yet this was a man with a mission.

His mission – to tell everyone about Jesus. To prepare them for His arrival.

His name – John, the Baptist. In case you confuse him with another John.

An outspoken man who feared no one in his quest to do what God had asked him. He even dared to criticize the king, and paid dearly with his life for doing so. (Mark 6:14-29).

His legacy to us?

Courage and Obedience.

Despite living in dangerous times, this man had courage to speak out and tell the world about Jesus; and dared tell the King that he was wrong.

How often are we presented with the opportunity to speak about God, about our religion and our Christianity. Do we shy away and miss a good opportunity to witness for our Lord? Or have we got a tiny fraction of John’s courage? And obedience?

CHRISTMAS AT THEODORE’S

It had been a busy year for Theodore Luxton-Joyce, the lovable eccentric millionaire businessman, and he hadn’t been in touch with Father Ignatius for some time. So it was a surprise for  the priest when the phone rang early on Boxing Day, the day just after Christmas, and he heard the familiar voice.

“Is that yourself Padre?” asked Theodore in his well pronounced posh English accent.

“Yes … it is. Merry Christmas Theodore to you and your lovely wife Rose …”

“Yes quite … jolly good … what?” interrupted Theodore, “I was somewhat concerned at getting that other French priest on the phone. You know the one … you’ve had him visiting lately …”
 
“Yes … Father Gaston. He has gone back to Paris”.

"Jolly good I say … what? Never liked the French … Father Gaston being an exception of course … he was rather quiet and said very little … just as I like the French to be … what?”

Father Ignatius smiled and said nothing whilst Theodore continued totally unaware of what he was saying.

“Right … now that I’ve got you on the phone rather than that French fellow, I need you urgently to help me out! Terrible spot of bother … old boy … terrible I say!”

 
The priest frowned fearing the worst. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“Well … Rose and I had arranged a quiet after Christmas get-together for this evening and we’d invited the Mortimers … you know them? He’s a businessman working in the US most of the time. Very nice fellow and his wife too. Jolly pleasant both! But of course you don’t know the Mortimers. I've never introduced you to them.

"Have you ever been to America Padre? I’m sure the Vatican has opened a few Branches over there. Nice place America; I've visited often. America that is. Not the Catholic outlets over there.
 

“Anyway … as I was saying ... back to the Mortimers. They’re over here right now for a few days … visiting family … that sort of thing. Rose and I thought we’d invite them for a spot of dinner this evening. Disaster old boy! Disaster I tell you!”

 

Father Ignatius smiled again.

 
“Well, as it happens …” continued Theodore never stopping to pause for breath, “the Mortimers can’t make it tonight. Jolly bad show don’t you think? We’ve got most of the food prepared and all … well, Mrs Frosdick, the cook, and her staff have everything prepared anyway. And the Mortimers can’t make it for dinner. They’re stuck up North because of the terrible snow storms we’ve been having over Christmas. Totally snowed in and cut off from civilization and a decent drop of whisky I shouldn’t wonder! Terrible being without whisky at Christmas; or at any other time, I'd say!
 
“So I thought of inviting the Hendersons … now I’m sure you know them Padre. They live about a mile or so from us, just up the hill. I thought I’d introduced them to you some time ago. Not Catholics you know … but decent people all the same. Better than many Catholics I know, I should say! Anyway … dash it all … they’ve decided to spend Boxing Day with the in-laws. Now what kind of nonsense is that? I tell you. Who’d wish to spend Boxing Day with the in-laws? It’s just like being in Purgatory I imagine … what?”
 
Father Ignatius smiled once more at Theodore’s continuous rant and wondered what all this was leading to … and then it came.

 “Well Padre … as neither of them can make it tonight, I thought of you. Would you care to join us for a quiet spot of dinner this evening? We’re having a goose and Brussels sprouts you know … traditional fare for this time of year sprouts … and I’ll be playing the latest musical instrument I’ve mastered … the harmonica … much less stressful than the bagpipes. I can now play Chopin’s piano concerto on the harmonica as well as the pipes!”

 

The priest was amused at being the third choice as guest at the millionaire’s luxurious mansion in the country, but he knew that Theodore meant no malice by it.

“It’s so nice of you to think of me …” he said quietly, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline too. The problem is that this evening St Vincent’s Church hosts the annual Christmas Dinner and get-together for the old folks of the Parish. We bring them to the Church Center and Father Donald and I and a few of the nuns from the Convent prepare a Christmas meal …”

“Bring them along too …” interrupted Theodore with no hesitation, “we’ll make a party of it … we’ve plenty of room over here …”

 
Father Ignatius knew that there was little point resisting Theodore’s generosity and enthusiasm; so plans were hurriedly changed to reschedule the venue of the Parish Christmas Dinner to the mansion on the hill.

 

And so it was that about fifty people including the nuns from the Convent went to the millionaire’s house to enjoy Theodore’s and his wife’s genuine kindness. They all gathered in the grand dining room, which had been festively decorated at short notice, where they enjoyed the best food and drinks sumptuously prepared by the catering staff.

Theodore dressed up like Father Christmas to give each guest a gift and then he entertained them with a sing-along which featured him playing his repertoire of the classics re-arranged for the harmonica!

 

The following morning, Theodore Luxton-Joyce as eccentric as ever jumped into his car, despite the heavy Christmas snow making most roads impassable, and sped towards St Vincent Church.

Half an hour later he was in Father Ignatius’ office, having barged through Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper who opened the front door, mumbling about some emergency or other.

 
“Padre … we have a problem …” he exclaimed to the astounded priest sitting behind the desk, “I tried to phone you this morning but you were permanently engaged … I thought you were probably hearing some late Confessions from sinners who couldn’t make it to church because of the snow! Anyway … here I am. Got in the car and came over as quick as I could!”

“Sit down … take a deep breath. What is the problem?” asked Father Ignatius fearing the worst.

“I was in the library this morning … You know, the room annexed to the dining room where we had the old folk’s Christmas Dinner last night?”

 
The priest nodded.

“Well … just by the section where we have the books of Sir Walter Scott. You must have read him Padre! Scottish novelist, playwright and poet … you know … Ivanhoe, Rob Roy, The Heart of Midlothian and so on …

“Anyway … just by those books I found this beautiful gold necklace on the floor … what? Looks pretty expensive to me … must belong to one of the old ladies you invited to our Christmas party! Must have dropped it when they all went to the library for a spot of Darjeeling. The poor lady, whoever she is, must be beside herself having lost such a valuable piece … I’d say!”
 

Father Ignatius took the necklace from Theodore and said, “I’ll keep it in case someone phones and asks for it!”

“I’ll hear none of it …” interrupted Theodore, “the poor lady who lost it must be looking everywhere for it … under her bed … or behind the piano … or wherever old ladies hide their jewellery! We must get in touch with them all and ask them if they’ve lost this necklace!”

Father Ignatius looked up in disbelief. “There were about fifty old people there … most of them women … you’re not suggesting …”

Theodore was suggesting just that! And for the next hour or so they phoned most of the old ladies to find the owner of the necklace; with no success.

“Well that’s all of them … except these six who are not on the phone,” remarked the priest, “I’ll ask them when I next see them at Mass on Sunday!”

But Theodore’s concern would have none of it.

"I have the car out there …” he said, “why don’t we visit them right now? I also have a bottle of brandy in the car to keep us warm … always prepared what?”

 
Father Ignatius said a silent prayer in his mind seeking forgiveness for what he thought about Theodore right now. Then as a self-imposed penance he decided to accompany the eccentric millionaire on what would no doubt turn out to be a wild goose chase.

And a waste of time it certainly was. At every house Theodore insisted on accepting the invitation for tea and biscuits, or mince pies, or home made cake or whatever other delicacy the old ladies had prepared for Christmas. And at every house he regaled them all with stories about Sir Walter Scott and other Scottish writers and famous people, not forgetting to mention time and again his Highlands lineage and the fact that he could play Chopin’s piano concerto on the bagpipes!

“Where does he put all this tea?” thought the weary priest to himself, “and he hasn’t been to the toilet once!”

Eventually they returned to Father Ignatius’ office at the Parish House both very cold, dejected and exhausted.

“You don’t think we can have a drop of tea to keep us warm?” asked Theodore to Mrs Davenport as she came in to collect the empty cups from this morning.

Father Ignatius held the gold necklace in his hand and admired it pensively.

“You don’t think it belongs to one of the nuns who came to the party?” asked Theodore rather stupidly, “do nuns wear necklaces under their habits Padre?”

The priest smiled and shook his head. “It’s a beautiful necklace with a lovely little rose here in the middle …” he said, “You don’t suppose it belongs to your wife … Rose?”

 
“Dash it all …” cried out Theodore standing up from his seat, “I forgot all about Rose! That little flower on the necklace should have reminded me …
 
“I bought that necklace six months ago for Rose’s birthday in January. I hid it in Sir Walter Scott’s book Rob Roy, which I was reading at the time. I thought no one would find it there … no one ever reads the books in that library … what? The necklace must have fallen out yesterday when someone picked up the books.
 
“I’d forgotten all about it … and for the past three weeks I’ve been wondering what to buy Rose for her birthday next month. I got her a bracelet … I know that for sure … the thing is I don’t know where I’ve hidden it …old boy!”

Father Ignatius sought forgiveness from the Lord once again for what was going through his mind.

He gave the necklace back to Theodore and followed his enthusiastic rush to the car and waived him goodbye as he sped back to his mansion on the hill.

More stories about Theodore in the FREE downloadable E Book HERE

Silence the priests

Whether Confession is in an old style Confession Booth where the priest does not see the parishioner, or whether it is in a face-to-face situation; there's no doubt that in a number of cases the priest knows full well who is at the other side of the curtain.

This being the case, what is a priest to do when he knows more than what is being said in the Confessional.

Here are some scenarios:

SCENARIO 1 - The priest knows that a married parishioner is having an affair with another woman. This sin is not confessed, and the priest knows that the behavior continues.

Does the priest raise the matter in the Confessional?

Does he give absolution for sins confessed, knowing full well there are others not confessed and not repented over?

By giving absolution, is he making a mockery of the Sacrament of Confession?

By giving absolution, is he condoning the sin; by turning a blind eye to it?

By giving absolution is he being fair and right to the injured party (the wife and children)?

Is it his job to "interfere" or should he just give absolution to the sins confessed and ignore others which he knows about?

SCENARIO 2 - Is the priest influenced by what he hears at Confession? Should he be? Can he NOT be?

He is supposed to "forget" the sins he hears, but is this really possible?

A man confesses that he often steals from his employer. Small things like stationery, ink cartridges, that sort of thing. He also steals from shops - a bar of chocolate every now and then.

The man applies for a job at the church - church secretary, or such like admin job.

Should the priest be influenced by what he heard at Confession?

If he ignores the confessed sin and gives the man the job; and the man subsequently steals from the church; where does the priest stand?

Was he true to God in offering the man the job?

Was he true to the church and his bishop by putting the church at risk?

Should he tell the bishop he knew of the man's habitual sin?

SCENARIO 3 - the priest knows that the man who manages the Sunday collection is stealing from the plate. He has hard evidence of this.

No doubt he has a duty to raise the matter with the individual in order to protect church funds.

The man is repentant and confesses this in discussion, and again, subsequently at Confession. He is absolved of his sins.

To keep him away from temptation he stops dealing with the Sunday collection.

The man applies for a job and asks the priest for a reference.

Does the priest mention the collection wrong-doing in the reference he is to write?

If he does not, is he being truthful to the potential employer, and in the eyes of God?

If he does not mention the man's bad behavior, and the man gets the job, and is caught stealing, and it is discovered that the priest knew of this habitual practice when he wrote the reference; where does the priest stand in the eyes of God?

Just three scenarios for now. No doubt you can think of others.

I'd welcome your views.