National Past Time?

J.M.J. + O.B.T. + M.G.R.*

A hymn of praise that with two small changes---
(peace -> love and a reordering of the second and third verses)

paints a beautiful picture of how
Light, Life and Love might be

radiated to a world that refuses to accept
Jesus Christ as the Beacon of Truth.

As I silently hum this tune,
I see that it might be a "catchy" jump rope melody

for Catholic/Christian playgrounds...
Do school age girls still do that?

CHRIST IS THE WORLD'S LIGHT

Christ is the world's light,

Christ and none other;

born in our darkness,

He became our brother.

If we have seen Him,

we have seen the Father:

Glory to God on high!

Christ is the world's life,

Christ and none other;

sold once for silver,

murdered here, our brother.

He, who redeems us,

reigns with God the Father:

Glory to God on high!

Christ is the world's love,

Christ and none other;

no one can serve Him,

and despise his brother.

Who else unites us,

one in God the Father?

Glory to God on high!

Give God the glory,

God and none other;

give God the glory,

Spirit, Son and Father;

give God the glory,

God-with-us our brother;
Glory to God on high!

TEXT: Fred Pratt Green, 1968
MUSIC: Paris Antiphoner, 1681
TUNE: CHRISTE SANCTORUM
METER: 10.11.11.6.

Compare this joy-fulled strain
to the Satanic Verses,

that I tried to expose on Catholic Online
just about seven years ago.

Talk about an inversion of truth!

Satanic Verses

6/7/2005 - 5:00 AM PST

By Michael Rizzio Op/Ed

O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

Some time ago I found myself lost in a daydream, in harmless pursuit of long forgotten memories. I combed the reaches of my clouded middle-aged mind and sought to focus on any thing, any time or place, any twinkling of light—anything that evoked, color and definition, something vivid, and alive and true.

I stumbled backwards through time to my preadolescent youth, the 60's, the trenches of childhood, the playground at St. Aloyisius Catholic School in suburban New Jersey. More specifically, I was escorted back to a foggy autumn morning in a macadam parking lot that served as "our home" in the great outdoors.

This was a scene for the ages; six hundred baby boomers dressed in navy blue and white, size was the only way to tell us apart, and within families of six to thirteen kids, even that was difficult. Social circles of energy...baseball card flippers (and scalers), tag, keep away and Spauldine handball players, hopscotchers and jump ropers. Kids being picked on, or made fun of; a meek boy with a bird for a last name comes rushing to mind...he would gently "perch" on your wrist with his index and middle fingers in response to this "command" from any one of his cruel yet loving masters (my self included). Clanking metal lunch boxes and soon to be soggy paper lunch bags, book bands snapping textbooks, and windbreakers bunched in piles... books everywhere and with no apparent order...it was amazing that we were ever able to recover our own. It was just prior to the PA bell, our reminder that fun time was over and that we were to gather in columns. A second bell would then trigger mass movement, by class, into the sacred and much loved chambers of Dominican learning.

For several minutes I soaked in this whirlwind of human activity and cacophony of noise. I chewed the memory like a boy with two hour old Bazooka bubblegum, seeking to taste just a wee bit more of that sweet pleasing flavor and hoping for one last significant pop. I greeted the sweetness and quickly reestablished old friendships. I so desired to be true to the memory and not project back what I have since come to know and believe. This I found was much harder to do than to say. I strained and blocked, as I pushed aside relativistic ideas that were assaulting the truth living inside of me, what I really experienced. "No, no, that's not how it happened, that's not how it looked." This exercise of will was becoming painful.

Then with little warning, a window of light worked its way through the fog. The soft golden rays glistened and provided instant relief. I was moved to stillness and silence. My mind's eye quickened to a shaper focus—more precisely, to a small group of schoolgirls who were noteworthy in no exceptional way. They were jumping rope to a rhythmic chant and this too was only common. Yet for some strange reason there was an attraction, so I moved closer, and listened...

"Fudge, Fudge, call the judge, my momma's got a brand new baby. It isn't a girl, it isn't a boy, it's just an ordinary baby. Wrap it up in tissue paper, send it down the elevator, first floor stop, second floor stop, third floor, kit it out the door, my momma don't want that baby no more..."

Little girls only a few years older than this shy, husky six year old. They were so methodical, taking turns, jumping in groups of from one to three, over and over again...to these satanic verses. I cringed. They were contemporaries of my three older sisters, who I have come to find, can recite this memorable verse by heart today, two score years removed in time and space. They were all infected, I was too.

But did this really happen?

Google Search: (fudge judge momma) and you too will find clues as to the origin of this viral agent, how is blanketed America and how it was intravenously injected into Catholic culture.

But who started it and why?

Don't believe for a moment that our children are safe today. I know for my wife Jen and I have a five and four year old. On the contrary, it is far more dangerous and incidious...

Contraception, abortion on demand, euthanasia, and now the horrendous spectacle of stem cell research and the spare body part industry that it is culturing...an ulcerous pearl of great evil...

"Fudge, Fudge, call the judge... The New Jersey Devils are off the ice."

Sincerely yours in Jesus and Mary,

Mike Rizzio

Imitate Mary

Become like Jesus

Live for the Triune God

Seek the Light of Our Lord Jesus Christ
See you on the High Ground!

* - J.M.J. + O.B.T. + M.G.R. stands for: Jesus, Mary and Joseph;
O Beata Trinitas; Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel and Saint Raphael