Archbishop's Notebook:God On The 50-Yard Line

Furman Bisher, local sports columnist, ended a list of “things I could have done without in 1966” with this comment:

“Prayers, before games and races, really, is that the proper place?”

Our answer is No! And so is that my favorite letter writer who comes from Altanta’s beloved West End. He writes that it shows no “sense of measure,” especially when a local coach came to blows with his opposite number across the field. In the name of the school’s patron saint?

My correspondent admits that this is not only an American habit of doubtful propriety. He cites Italian soccer players kissing a medal when they score a goal; and ladies of little virtue in some countries who start their work with prayer for profits. Man has discovered some weird ways of “Christianizing the society” in which we live.

Let us pray for health, for safety, for fair play, for refrain from violence, even for victory. Here is a place for quiet private prayer or perhaps team prayer.

I offered a prayer once at a local college game. When I finished, one jolly bystander applauded, and said, “That’s the shortest sermon I ever heard. Preacher, you can come back again, you hear?”

I doubt it.

Greeley’s 1965 Christmas

It occurs to me that toy makers are missing a real market if they don’t develop a new line of toys with a special “Catholic” appeal. As my part of contributing to a joyous Christmas for all the little children, I present a list of suggestions for such “Catholic” toys.

The New Breed Doll—you wind it up and it has an identity crisis.

The Catholic Existentialist Kit—made up of horn-rimmed glasses, paperback copies of Gabriel Marcel’s Journals and The Courage To Be, by Paul Tillich, several cans of espresso, and a false beard to be worn whenever needed. Jazz records are optional at a slight extra cost.

The Suburban Parish Erector Set—all that a young administrator needs to build a two-million dollar church, palatial rectory and elaborate school, complete with thousands of parishioners to cram the church on Sunday—all of them white of course. All included are lots of make believe brick and mortar to build a wall around your own little world.

The Catholic Press Association Game—complete with one lecture on responsibility and one lecture on the need for honesty.

The game is a pleasure for all because everyone wins; there are more awards to be passed out than there are players in the game.

The Do-It-Yourself Honesty In the Church Kit—subscriptions to Commonweal, Cross Currents, The National Catholic Reporter, Ramparts and the Sheed and Ward Trumpet plus, at no extra cost, an anticlerical magic decoder badge and pictures of selected members of the American hierarchy at which to throw darts.

The Pastor Doll—you wind it up and it makes mistakes in the new liturgy. Also moves slowly and cautiously.

The Monjunior Uniform—for the young man who is tired of being a cowboy or a jet pilot, authentic red robes, complete with rochet. Great for developing vocations.

The Catholic Traditionalist Set—subscription to the National Review, the Brooklyn Tablet, the Wanderer. Also included are a Latin dictionary and a desk calculator so you can keep track of how many pastors and bishops are on your side.

The Picket Line Art Kit—just what the young lady with artistic leanings is waiting for. Includes placards, red paint, false beards and pony tails, dirt to smear on your face and suggested designs such as “Mother Superior is a Fink,” “Pastor is Unfair to Organized Curates,” “Father Rector is a Right Wing Revisionist” and “The Most Reverend Ordinary is a Trotskyite.” Slight extra charge for gasoline cans to be used for self-immolation on chancery office parking lots.

The Devoted Parishioner Set—includes large collection of anonymous form letters to send to pastors, as well as signed threats to stop contributions and to withdraw children from school. Advanced model contains obscene letters and is not sold to children under eight. Specify whether liberal or conservative set is desired.

Andrew Greeley in his syndicated column,

Paul J. Hallinan

Archbishop of Atlanta