Sic
This Space, as often
the case, resists all Christmas cheer here
By MICHAEL J. FARRELL
If Sic were you and in need of a
non-challenging theological fix, we would dally over the tabloids at the
checkout, one of which recently said the Dead Sea Scrolls had predicted an
uncommonly severe winter for 1997.
Sic, who values our reputation highly, wishes to deny that we
ourselves read these tabloids, but the local TV station regurgitates them on
Tuesday mornings while we are eating our All-Bran.
* * *
Even more sensational was the
tabloid election news missed by the other media: that President Clinton was, in
fact, a son of Bob Dole. To date no one has denied this story.
* * *
London's Catholic Herald
tells of a hip Church of England campaign to entice young people to church for
Christmas. There is a Picassoesque drawing of the Three Kings, and the message:
"You're a virgin, you've just given birth, and now three kings have shown up."
Members of the various churches, stiff upper lips aquiver, expressed
"reservations."
* * *
Sic's friend the philosopher writes
of the ongoing relevance of John Henry Newman's On Consulting the Faithful
in Matters of Doctrine. Yet, says the philosopher, "none of the eight
infallible people who have graced Rome since publication has consulted the
faithful before making infallible pronouncements." This, he goes on, is a great
chance for Sic ("who has already made history by being only the second human in
history to declare himself infallible") to improve on the other infallibles --
presumably by consulting the great unwashed -- or y'all.
While the philosopher's democratic bent is admirable, this poll
approach betrays a lack of insight into how we infallibles operate. True
inerrancy is experienced rather as a sensation, a sort of tic, in that goofy
area behind the knee, or sometimes in the armpit, sending a tantalizing frisson
up the spine and into the infallible part of the brain, where it affects
different infallibles in different ways: Some immediately proceed to dance a
hornpipe; others dash off to the nearest cathedra for a -- but why belabor the
matter, you just know the last word on something or other is about to kick
in.
No harm to Cardinal Newman (who, by the way, is dead), but this
egalitarian stuff could spell the end of Catholicism as we know it.
* * *
Writes Sr. Rose Tillemans from
Minneapolis: "Did you know that a merchant named Mr. McDermott had a booth at
the bishops' conference where he sold attire for bishops only?" McDermott
purveys the usual stuff, according to public radio: robes, miters, rings,
crosiers. Price for a complete set of duds, with the trimmings: $4,000. This
shows that, even if he had the theology right, Jesus could never pass muster as
a modern bishop.
* * *
From the Internet under "funnies":
The National Rifle Association recruit looked at his rifle and
then at the target. He looked at the rifle again, and then at the target again.
He put his finger over the end of the rifle barrel and squeezed the trigger
with his other hand. The end of his finger was blown off, whereupon he yelled
toward the target area: "It's leaving here just fine. The trouble must be at
your end."
* * *
Sometimes Sic thinks nearly every
cute or clever conversation stopper has already been said. For example:
"Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you to recognize
a mistake when you make it again" (F.P. Jones).
"As your attorney, it is my duty to inform you that it is not
important that you understand what I'm doing or why you're paying me so much
money. What's important is that you continue to do so" (Hunter S. Thompson's
Samoan attorney).
"May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house"
(George Carlin).
"Life may have no meaning. Or even worse, it may have a meaning of
which I disapprove" (Ashleigh Brilliant). (Sic, a suspicious entity, thinks
this Ashleigh may be a fiction; if Sic had a name like Brilliant, of which
there was never any chance, we would get it changed).
"Drawing on my fine command of language, I said nothing"
(Anon.)
"For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow
but phone calls taper off" (Johnny Carson).
* * *
Sophia from Farmington, referring to
Cardinal Ratzinger's recent attack on relativism in Catholic doctrine, wants to
know if that's absolute relativism or relative relativism.
* * *
At that point, John N. Pfeffer of
Sequim was driven to a paroxysm of verse by the "sticky wicket" created by the
pope's headlong embrace of evolution:
The book of Genesis Never did menace us, About when the
soul was inserted. We hope no one connects us, With pithecanthropus
erectus, She was hairy and I'm sure unskirted. The "men's club" will
gather, With full ecclesial lather, To consider this soulful chore,
They'll tell us in cobwebby Latin As stiff as the chairs they sat in,
And we'll understand less than before.
* * *
Here's a sentence to conjure with:
"Rock assemblages within these terranes can differ widely in theology, and
these differences may affect how strain accumulates and is released along the
Cascadia megathrust."
This, according to Alfred Kracher of Ames, "explains why ecumenism
is so difficult: Even the rocks can't agree on theology."
Kracher goes on to suggest the word might be rheology, "which is
the resistance to being bent out of shape, but theology probably amounts to the
same thing."
* * *
A sad note: "The very first bomb
dropped by the Allies on Berlin during World War II killed the only elephant in
the Berlin Zoo."
NCR's Teresa Malcolm received this and other true trivia
from an anon. friend who wishes to stay so:
"The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher." (Is this
a great column or what?)
"The housefly hums in the middle octave, key of F."
"Los Angeles' full name is 'El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina
de los Angeles de Porciuncula."
"Only one person in two billion will live to be 116 or older."
(But it could be you.)
"The company that provided the liability insurance for the
Republican National convention in San Diego was the same firm that insured the
maiden voyage of the Titanic."
"Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture
dealer."
"The longest recorded flight of a chicken is 13 seconds."
While some of this stuff may sound trivial, we rest our case on
the words of St. Paul: A bird in the hand is worth two.
National Catholic Reporter, December 20,
1996
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