Sometimes I think of the world—is that thing on? I don’t see the red light. Ah, okay. Sometimes I think of the world as a little lost bit of dust in the middle of nowhere, and it is deathly ill, and there is nobody to help us. But then I feel the presence of Christ, as if He had taken the world in His arms and was hugging us to Himself the way a father might hug a hurt child.
I think that we Americans are feeling terribly guilty about ourselves. Especially the older generation. I see the effects. One of them is that priests like me have gotten incredibly busy, and one of the things that keeps me busiest is ministering to the sad and the guilty. We’ve got three priests here at St. Francis, me and two newly ordained, as well as three deacons and four nuns. I’ve been a priest since 1975, so I’m an old hand. That rarity, the prewar religious. The rest are all new. Since Warday, my parish has more than quadrupled in size. In the past five years, I can hardly remember a Mass that wasn’t full. Even at six o’clock on Saturday morning, it’s full. Many, many kids. The children of secularized parents, rebelling against the indifference of their elders. And the elders too, now, fumbling with the St. Joseph’s missals we have in the church, saying their prayers as best they can.
But it’s in the confessional that I hear the motives people have for returning to the Church. It isn’t piety or love of God, not among the older folks. People are coming back to the Church because they feel that their own indifference, just letting things happen, was a big part of what caused the war. Remember, back in those days it just seemed like there was nothing you personally could do. The solutions now to our problems then seem obvious.
But in those days we were all very different people. We were dulled by living under the Sword of Damocles for nearly half a century. We had done the worst possible thing—gotten used to an incredible and immediate danger. The nuclear mechanism was far more hazardous to each one of us individually than, say, pouring gasoline on our clothes would have been. But it didn’t feel that way, not in those sunny, treacherous days.
We understood how absolutely deadly the bomb was, but we did not understand how helpless we were in the face of the mechanism of war. The mechanism began to run quite mysteriously, and went on until it broke down. It could as easily have destroyed the world. Only faulty design prevented that. We thought that people dickering about arms control in Geneva mattered, when what we really needed all along was a massive change of heart. How absurdly outmoded the elaborate diplomacy of the prewar period now seems. There could have been a massive shift of heart, toward acceptance and understanding and away from hostile competitiveness and ideological obsession.
The whole business of the United States and the USSR squandering their resources on territorialism seems incredibly silly now.
Our prewar mistake was to believe in rubble. We visualized ourselves as crawling out of the basement and putting brick back on brick. Places don’t just cease to exist.
You know, they say that a person set down in the middle of the Washington Dead Zone would have died within hours. Just keeled over and died. Birds died flying across it. That was in the L.A. Times after the war. It’s a forty-square-mile desert of black glass dotted with the carcasses of sparrows and larks and the occasional duck.
Before the war there weren’t even intellectual references for such things. No comprehension. The message of Hiroshima wasn’t understood. We thought that it meant devastation. But ruins have to do with the past. Modern nuclear war means life being replaced by black, empty space. It means ancient seats of government evaporating in a second. The moral question is almost beyond asking.
What are we, that we can do this? What is evil, that it can speak with such a voice? We no longer know what we are, we of the Holocaust and Stalin and Warday. We unleashed hell on ourselves by pretending that diplomacy, of all things, could control its fires. The heart, and the heart alone, is more powerful than hell.
Am I preaching? Excuse me. I run so fast, give so much advice, quite frankly I think I’ve forgotten how to talk without a degree of pontification. Sometimes I wish I had a wife to have a private life with. Someone who would say, “You’re preaching, Mike,” or “You’re talking through your hat.” But I don’t have time for a wife. Or children. I couldn’t raise kids in a life that doesn’t have ten free minutes a day. So I’m no longer uptight about the celibacy rule.
Before Warday I was well on my way to losing my vocation. I wanted to get married. I think I might have become an Episcopalian. But then came Warday and, afterward, the Reunion with the Anglicans and the Episcopals. Then, most of all, the tremendous upsurge of need for my services. I got the feeling that Christ was very close to us religious people, full of forgiveness and need, asking for our help. I want to be Christ’s servant. Now when I’m feeling alone I take my soul to Mary, who is His mother and therefore the mother of all mankind. She’s what the witches call the Mother Goddess! I just kneel before her altar and say the rosary.
She never fails me, Mary. The rosary is far better for me than, say, meditation. It’s not only meditation, with all the repetition, it’s humble and it’s a request for help. She was once a human being.
She knows what we suffer. She is always there, anytime, for anybody. Mary doesn’t care a fig about the details. She loves and respects you because you exist.
The witchcraft movement talks about taking personal, individual responsibility for the condition of planet Earth as if they invented the idea. But it’s also a Christian and very specifically Catholic notion. At least I think it is. My saddest, guiltiest parishioners say that they sinned terribly by not taking some kind of personal action on behalf of peace between the United States and the Soviet Union. They say they should have demonstrated against this or in favor of that. But I tell them no, the sin was that we did not accept one another in our hearts, neither side. Our leaders hardly even knew each other. The two greatest nations on earth, with almost total responsibility for the fate of planet and species, and they hardly even spoke! They should have made it their business to be close personal friends. And there should have been as much commonality of policymaking and government as possible.
Instead the two countries were separate islands, distant from, and mysterious to, each other. That was the sin of pride, doing that.
What a price has been paid for the pleasure of such indulgence.
When I think of what our generation did, I pray very, very hard that the future will somehow accept us and find in the Body of Christ the love and understanding that will enable them to say, “Our ancestors chose foolishness over wisdom and hostility over acceptance, but we understand and we forgive.”
Now I’m not your deep thinker. But I do try. I’ve read the Catholic philosophers, and the Greeks, and most of the moderns. I mean to say, I’ve read my Whitehead and my Hegel, my Aristotle and my Plotinus.
You know, throughout history, philosophy centered on the concept of being rather than the ethics. That was fine until recent years, when we began to try on some pretty bizarre concepts, and to hell with the ethics of it all. Nazism and so forth, I mean. And the concept of nationhood that allowed us to think we had the right to build such things as nuclear bombs.
The American and Russian peoples should never have allowed their leaders to play the game of overstating the threat to justify exorbitant military expenditures. We were supposed to be seeking a balance of terror, weren’t we? But the United States in fact got so far ahead of the Russians technologically that we were about to send up a satellite that would have made their missiles useless against us. And they had no similarly effective weapon. So they were forced to start the war. They were backed up against the wall.
I’m just a priest in a medium-sized parish. Nobody on high would ever have listened to me. Before the war I had eight hundred in my parish. Now I’ve got close to ten thousand frightened and suffering people. In some ways I’d rather have had eight hundred and the old world than ten thousand and the new.
Let’s see now, you asked me for an idea about how
my day goes. What I do. Well, I get up at five-thirty and I run like a madman until midnight, then I sleep like the dead until five-thirty the next morning. I’ve got my schedule for last Wednesday. I’ll read it into the record:
5:30 A.M. Arose and said breviary.
5:45 A.M. Breakfast of corn soup and milk.
6:00 A.M. Said Mass. Gave out communion to 230 people.
6:30 A.M. Meeting with my staff. Discussed the reroofing project. Looked over Father Moore’s report to the bishop on the feasibility of splitting St. Francis into two parishes. I hope that this is done!
7:00 A.M. Met a parishioner who has just been diagnosed as having stage-three Hodgkin’s and has been triaged. Has a wife and three teenage children. Is fifty-two. We prayed together and he cried. He paced like a trapped lion. Prayed for him and put him in the Mass list for Sunday.
7:20 A.M. CCD leaders met in my office to plan a bake sale.
They have thirty pounds of flour, six pounds of sugar, some apples, some molasses, and so we are very excited. Thank God they also have Sister Euphrasia, who is one good baker.
7:45 A.M. Had coffee and listened to the Vatican U.S. Service on the shortwave.
8:00 A.M. Went to Holy Cross Hospital for my visitations. I’m glad I took Father Moore, as my list was sixty names long! I had an hour there, and because he took half my people, I was able to spend two minutes with each patient. I blessed, I prayed, I heard eighteen confessions and gave out thirty Holy Communions. I gave the Last Rites to twelve patients on the critical list.
9:15 A.M. Returned to the rectory. Did youth counseling until noon. We have seventy young people who are converting, and an active Sodality and CYO. But these were all special cases. I gave each kid half an hour. Saw six troubled kids. A girl who is pregnant. A boy who is in love with a younger boy. A girl who says she sees visions of the Virgin, and indeed may. Another girl who has beaten her mother and father so badly that they want her out of the house. Where does a petite girl of sixteen get such titanic anger? Two boys who steal. I warned them very sternly. They must remember, these children, that we have a looting law here in California, and they are liable to be shot on sight if they’re caught. It isn’t like the old days. There is no due process at the end of a gunsight.
12:15 P.M. Lunch of soybean soup, lettuce with vinegar and oil, and a delicious Budweiser.
12:30 P.M. Met with Parish Council. We are going to try to expand our food program this winter. Last year we distributed 31,280 meals to the hungry. This year we are going to try for fifty thousand. Mrs. Cox said that the baby boy found behind the rectory last week was just fine, normal in every way, and has been placed with the Tucker family. They are at risk for having children, so they are terribly grateful.
1:00 P.M. Met with Joe O’Donnell, who is thinking about running for chief of police. The most powerful job in the Valley. Will he do it? He’d do a very creditable job, I feel sure. I promised to call the bishop on his behalf. There is certainly nothing wrong with having a Catholic in that job, and Joe is a good man.
1:15 P.M. Back to the church for fifteen minutes of prayer.
Spent it with Mary and had wonderful, intimate communication with her. Has our need somehow made our connection with deity stronger? Sometimes I feel as if Christ and Mary are here, alive, almost in the flesh. This, I suppose, is faith.
1:30 P.M. Catechism with my eighth-graders. Fifty kids. What a bunch of jokers! I love that class. We might be in hell, but kids are kids, always. What did I find in the question box? “Father, if you couldn’t consummate marriage any other way, would it be permissible to use an Erector Set?” Kid’s humor. We are into sex education. Some of these children are sterile.
2:30 P.M. Adult counseling for two hours. I took a Charismatic study group for half an hour, then a disturbed couple, then a woman who has bone cancer and is contemplating euthanasia. Personally I detest the practice, but I can see if I get a really rough cancer I might want to turn to it myself. His Holiness and the Archbishop of Canterbury have agreed that it’s no sin to withdraw life support if the person is beyond hope. I promised to attend her.
4:30 P.M. Spent ten minutes with my breviary.
4:40 P.M. Went to the church and said Benediction. Our choir is just wonderful. Who would have thought ten years ago that I would have a full choir for weekday afternoon service? Not to mention two hundred people in the church. Christ has not failed us.
He is awakening our hearts.
5:00 P.M. Heard confessions for an hour. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” How I love them, my dear parishioners. I will not speak of their sins, except to say that they are good people, and I know they are forgiven their little transgressions. I tell them to make penance a sacrament of self-discovery. Confession should be a joy.
6:00 P.M. Supper. Vegetable goulash with nice big pieces of sausage. Another Bud. Much laughter and joking around our big table of men and women. We have a lot of fun together.
7:00 P.M. BBC Overseas Service News. The U.K. has recognized the Kingdom of Azerbaijania. We looked and looked on the map, but we couldn’t find it. Somewhere in the former Soviet Union, but where?
7:30 P.M. “Moon Over Morocco,” a cigarette, and a cup of coffee. My half hour of indulgence! That’s a delightful radio show. I must admit that I miss TV. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to feast my eyes on “M*A*S*H” just one more time. As a semipublic institution, we have some chance of getting a TV before too much longer.
The BBC is already beaming shows over here by satellite, and Ted Turner is getting organized again in Atlanta and L.A. Also, HBO and the networks are coming back. Soon, please, and don’t neglect the half-hour format, because that’s all I have time for!
8:00 P.M. Meeting of the Charismatics in the basement of the church. I’m glad that Sister Euphrasia and Father Booth are both members of this movement! I can’t begin to speak in tongues. I can’t keep up with their intensity. Their faith is like fire. These are God’s people, these Charismatics. We are going to have to move our group upstairs. Three hundred people are too many for the basement. Might even be a fire hazard.
9:00 P.M. Meeting of the Knights of Columbus in the school cafetorium. Full-dress affair. I led prayers. We are making elaborate plans for the Christ the King procession upcoming.
10:00 P.M. A call from the man who was diagnosed as terminal Hodgkin’s yesterday. Met him in the church and we said the rosary together. He told his family over supper. He says they spent the evening singing and talking about how close the Lord is to them now. I suggested they go to the Charismatic meeting tomorrow night. They heal each other all the time, maybe they’ll heal him.
But I didn’t say that to him. I said, if he feels Christ in him so strongly, he belongs among them, and so does his family.
11:00 P.M. Breviary for fifteen minutes, and another fifteen reading the new Mailer book. Ghost Dance is a great statement on our lives now.
11:30 P.M. My five minutes in the shower. Father Moore snapped me with a towel. How I would like to be twenty-three years old again! These old bones…
12:00 A.M. Lights out at the St. Francis rectory. Silence. My cross, a darker shadow on my dark wall. The wind moaning past the eaves. Sleep, and a dream of long ago.
Documents from the Civil Defense
There goes the night brigade
They got no steady trade…
—Ezra Pound
HELPFUL HINTS FOR THE UNAFFECTED: BLUEGRAMS
You probably don’t know about Bluegrams. I certainly didn’t see any in Texas during the war, and Whitley doesn’t remember them from New York.
They are apparently called Bluegrams because they are printed on light-green paper.
There is an element of practicality about Bluegrams. Their distribution, however, appears to be limited to areas where they aren’t needed.
So, in case you might find them useful, I include here the two most practical ones we picked up.
One sees Bluegrams in all sorts of places, pinned to community
bulletin boards or left in stacks on the counters of luncheonettes.
We could have included Bluegrams on control of radioactive roaches or on the washing of hot cars with sponges attached to fishing poles, but we decided to limit ourselves to material of at least some interest to people who live in the communities for which they were obviously intended in the first place.
Why don’t areas of genuine need get Bluegrams? Maybe the Civil Defense officials responsible don’t want to upset us, or—more likely—they’d rather stay in California than set out with their little blue trucks to that softly glowing world beyond the Sierras.
CIVIL DEFENSE BULLETIN
December 13, 1988
HOME OR BUSINESS PROTECTION FROM RADIATION
In the event that the United States sustains another nuclear attack, you are advised to seek the best protection possible for yourself and your family.
If you live in or near a city, you should receive advance warning of an attack. It is possible, however, with the current emergency conditions, and with only partially repaired communications, that an attack warning will not be given or will be brief at best. In some cases, you will learn of an attack only after it has occurred.
IN EITHER CASE, YOU MUST TAKE PROTECTIVE ACTION IMMEDIATELY AND IN THE STRUCTURE WITH THE HIGHEST PROTECTIVE LEVEL AVAILABLE TO YOU AT THE TIME.
Different buildings and structures vary in the level of radiation protection offered. In general, basements or rooms underground offer the best protection. In an emergency, however, you and members of your family may have to make quick judgments as to the best and most accessible place available to you at the time.
The following examples list structures along with their respective protection factors. The higher the factor, the better the protection.
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