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When I got back from class, as always, I checked the news--I'm an addict, I admit it, and I don't want help.
Anyway, there it was. I wish, as one dear friend did, I could report that I rejoiced. Instead, my reaction was "Shit--that was too damn fast." With that I assumed that the cardinals had done what politicians usually do. I was sad, not hopeful. I sin mightily.
About an hour later, there was still no word on who, so I made a quick dash out of my office hours to cross the quad and grab something to eat to take back to my office. As I hit the glorious sunshine I was wondering--what name would he pick, whoever he was (though I had a suspicion). Benedict, I thought. The Rule. Order. Doctrine. Rigidity.
Then I thought of the Benedicts, some noble and kind, some brutal and severe, some other combinations of the four.
Then I thought, Benedicite. Benedicto. Good words. God's blessing. Well spoken.
When I got to the snack bar, there he was, Benedict XVI. And, yes, I'd pulled the right name out of the red hat.
My response--"We are so screwed."
And then I remembered--benedicite, benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini--or in this case, in the shoes of The Fisherman. Perhaps not so much sinning on my part after all.
Dona nobis pacem. I am tired.
Anyway, there it was. I wish, as one dear friend did, I could report that I rejoiced. Instead, my reaction was "Shit--that was too damn fast." With that I assumed that the cardinals had done what politicians usually do. I was sad, not hopeful. I sin mightily.
About an hour later, there was still no word on who, so I made a quick dash out of my office hours to cross the quad and grab something to eat to take back to my office. As I hit the glorious sunshine I was wondering--what name would he pick, whoever he was (though I had a suspicion). Benedict, I thought. The Rule. Order. Doctrine. Rigidity.
Then I thought of the Benedicts, some noble and kind, some brutal and severe, some other combinations of the four.
Then I thought, Benedicite. Benedicto. Good words. God's blessing. Well spoken.
When I got to the snack bar, there he was, Benedict XVI. And, yes, I'd pulled the right name out of the red hat.
My response--"We are so screwed."
And then I remembered--benedicite, benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini--or in this case, in the shoes of The Fisherman. Perhaps not so much sinning on my part after all.
Dona nobis pacem. I am tired.
