TABOOED BY ANXIETY

There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision. William James

Ed. Note: One of the most straight-forward ceremonies of the Church is the Ordo Ad Faciendam Aquam Benedictam (rite for making holy water), printed in both the Roman Ritual and the Roman Missal. Outside Mass, the rite requires the bare minimum: a book, a dish of salt, some clean water, a loaded aspergil, a surplice, a violet stole. You don't even have to light a candle.

The ordo itself is a study in simplicity: a mere five prayers. You can bless both the water and the salt or the water alone, if exorcised salt is available. If you're just blessing water, skip the first two prayers and begin with the third. After the fourth, take salt in your closed hand, drop some into the water three times, tracing three crosses as you say the formula Commixtio salis etc. Then, recite the salutation Dominus vobiscum, and finish up with the final prayer. Voilà, l'eau lustrale! Should the priest lack sufficient training to understand and execute the brief rubrics, vernacular explanations may be found in readily available handbooks.

Easy, right? Not if you're a completer of the diseased swampland's MHT Clerical Vocational Program. Read on, and either weep or burst out laughing:

Our French priest (see Feb. 20 post) shares with his Mexican and Argentine classmates their abysmal ignorance of sound priestly praxis. They all learned at the feet of the infamously unable Anthony Cekada, so there should be no surprise here. Certainly the oppressive malformation at dysfunctional MHT has produced a soul racked by paralyzing self-doubt and crippling second-guesswork. His pathetic sermons are no more than labored "readings," not painstakingly crafted, heart-felt messages to the soul; his confessions are 20-30 minute marathons of aimless uncertainty. In sum, he is a man bereft of confidence, as you will read in the following report:

According to an overseas reporter, one Sunday after Mass, a French parishioner asked our MHT dunce to bless some holy water for home use. The knowledgeable layman understood the MHT alum had been crushed under the intellectual and moral burden of the priesthood, so he helpfully assembled all the basic materials: a Rituale Romanum, a bottle of water, and some already exorcised salt.

The MHT underachiever, with his customary affected gravitas, returned to the little sacristy to gather his surplice, stole, and another copy of the Roman Ritual. He came back looking somewhat embarrassed, behaving as though he were missing something. He hesitated. He gestured clumsily; his posture seemed uncertain while he readied--or steadied--himself to conduct what is one of the simplest of rituals. But just as he started to pronounce the opening versicle, he melted under the fervid heat of his torrid doubts and burning scruples.

He first fretted whether it was permitted to use salt that had already been exorcised. If so, he wondered aloud whether he could omit those prayers. Then, in irresolute self-torment, he debated exchanging the blessed salt for unblessed salt. Next, he agonized over the diameter of the neck of the water bottle: Was it so narrow that he might not be able to make the sign of the cross as he introduced the salt?

"It would have been easier," he lamented feebly to the astonished layman, "to have poured the water into a large bowl in order to make the sign of the cross while simultaneously commingling it!"

After this paroxysm of doubt had abated, he returned to the opening versicle and commenced, insecurely, fearfully, hesitatingly. His pace was numbingly slow. At length, after 15 long minutes (!), he removed his stole. With a look more of relief than of satisfaction, our shaken, malformed MHT simpleton gasped, "Voilà, it is finished!" Then, beset once more by a plague of refreshed uncertainties, he added waveringly: "I hope it's valid."

Sick! Sick! Sick! These guys don't know what they're doing.

Reverend Rector: Close that pesthouse down!