How do you circumvent the ticklish decision presented by a pro-abortion Catholic's public approach to the Communion minister at Mass? Simple. You arrange for the pol to say planted and dispatch the minister to him. From the Washington Times's account of the Nationals Park Mass:

Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, a liberal Massachusetts Democrat, got a personalized delivery of Communion, said Dan Skehan, a businessman from Lancaster, Pa., who sat in Section 216 directly above the senator.

Minutes before the rest of the enormous crowd lined up to receive the sacrament, Mr. Skehan and his two sons spotted a priest making his way down the steps to the senator to hand him the consecrated host.

"It was obviously prearranged," Mr. Skehan said, "maybe out of regard for his girth and lack of mobility. I turned immediately to both my sons and said, 'Oh my gosh, look at that.' Everyone in my section, which was filled with people from Lancaster, said, 'That is outrageous. How could they do that?'"

"How could they do that?" Pastorally, folks, pastorally. We should presume that anyone seated in the left field grandstand is a Catholic in good standing and by his own lights a worthy recipient of the Eucharist. Therefore we wouldn't be comfortable failing to anticipate the ticket-holder's good faith desire to receive the Eucharist, and it's only good manners to pre-arrange a one-on-one. Provided, of course, he's not making a public display of disobedience by kneeling or such.

Look at this picture-- no fair peeking at the web address-- and tell me what you see.

It's recreation time at the Old Folks' home, right?

Wrong! It's a scene from the closing liturgy at the West Coast conference of Call to Action. This, my friends, is the cutting edge of progressive Catholicism. These are Easter People, and when they make plans to celebrate the liturgy, they mean celebrate.

To do this properly, you'll need a Buddhist meditation to set the mood, and you'll need "larger-than-life puppets" that "call us to be larger than life in our work."

Ready for more? There's a video.

Here's my challenge to you: Watch the first couple of minutes (if you can last longer, your stomach is stronger than mine). Call a Catholic friend or neighbor, and describe in your own words what you have just seen. Now-- here's the tough part-- convince your friend that you haven't been drinking.

"This is a book by a good pastor who knows his sheep and accepts them as equals." So reads a blurb written by a professor of theology in praise of Aussie bishop Geoffrey Robinson's new book.

In most Anglo-American jurisdictions, as we know, a shepherd can be sent to prison for treating his sheep as equals. But there's a more interesting theological point to be made here.

To call a man a pastor is to assert a "species gap" between him and his flock. From the flock's point of view, this is not a flattering distinction. In fact, it would intolerable for one of our fellow men to tell us: "my relation to you is that of a rational human being to a beast of an inferior species" -- intolerable, that is, unless it were true.

In what circumstances could it be true? Only, I believe, if the man had been changed so as to belong to a different order, a supernaturally different order. Note the paradoxical corollary: the stronger one's belief in the extrinsic ex opere operato action of the sacrament of Holy Orders, the firmer ground one has for tolerating a human being as a pastor to others. Moreover, since the order (diaconal, sacerdotal, or episcopal) is wholly unrelated to the individual's learning or ignorance, virtue or vice, the sheep in this equation are all the freer to remind their shepherd where the species gap does NOT apply.

Look at it the other way around: where the sheep are the equals of their shepherd, the shepherd in question is superfluous.

In a Time magazine article titled "Is Liberal Catholicism Dead?," David van Biema proposes that the American era of progressivist Catholicism is coming to a close. He reasons that liberal Catholics rejected unpopular teachings in favor of the values of the ambient culture, and, in so doing, "liberal Catholicism has been a victim of its own success. Its positions on sex and gender issues have become commonplace in the American Church, diminishing the distinctiveness of the progressives." Hard to argue with that. More provocatively, van Biema maintains that outrage generated by the sex abuse crisis acted as defibrillation paddles on moribund liberal Catholicism, jolting the movement back to life for a few shaky years. Pope Benedict's U.S. visit, he claims, pulled the plug on the outrage, whence the artificially delayed death will follow.

I wish van Biema were right. Yet he fails to consider that well-placed ideologues can control institutions long after they lose their capacity to vivify them (think of the Brezhnev Politburo) and that the ideologues base reward and punishment on one's willingness to enthuse about the success of their own endeavors. Once forged, that loop is hard to break.

Sometimes in malls and parking lots we come upon those demented women pushing strollers containing dolls instead of babies, which they pathetically invite us to admire. The American Church has its own Tenders of the Flame who croon to and cosset that lifeless dummy which is Liberal Catholicism. Most Catholics are prepared to dismiss or ignore the importunities. When the Tender of the Flame is a bishop, or a seminary rector, or the chair of a theology department, however, and the Catholic is question is seeking a good that only the apparatchik can dispense, the supplicant may be inclined to humor his superior by playing along with the fantasy. For this reason the 1960s project will remain part of our lives in spite of its lifelessness.

Leftism is a program for social change. But the engine that makes it go is a conviction -- a dogma, in fact -- that the desired changes are going to happen. To be a democrat (or a monarchist) means that, win or lose, democracy (or monarchy) is good. But to be a Leftist entails the further belief that Leftism will triumph. A heroic embrace of Leftism as a noble but lost cause would be a contradiction in terms. This means that Leftism is axiomatically incapable of admitting that its wishes will not be fulfilled, and that means that real-world evidence to the contrary is simply rejected out of hand. Now what is misnamed "liberal" Catholicism was an inflammation of Leftist sentimentalisms fascinated with secular progress in science and social emancipation, which declared as inevitable that the Church would change in a predictable direction, making her own a democratic apparatus of doctrine-making, relaxing sexual restraints, and abandoning her claim to be a privileged transmitter of certain and unchangeable truths.

Didn't happen. A Catholic would say it couldn't happen, on the dogmatic grounds that the church which changed in that direction had by definition ceased to be the Catholic Church. That's to say, the conflict opposes a dogmatic certainty of change against a dogmatic certainty of that defined doctrine is unchangeable. This explains why Catholics regard liberals with suspicion and despair, and why conservative Catholics save their harshest words not for progressives but for self-styled moderates who say of some proposed apostasy, "The Church isn't ready to go there yet." The "yet" gives the game away.

And the madwomen with the strollers are still among us. They have seen the future and they know that it teethes, and they'll have no back-talk from you, either. Hence the disproportionate energy spent in the wrangles over symbols of progress that are relatively peripheral in themselves. The vehemence with which the music of Michael Joncas or Marty Haugen is defended against its detractors is bewildering to younger Catholics. "Look, you had it your own way for forty years," they tell the aging libs, "why are you so upset about letting us have a turn?" But of course it's not a question of "win a few, lose a few"; the future of the future is at stake. If Dan Schutte's star is no longer secure in the firmament, what about the inevitability of women's ordination or Church-approved contraception?

Van Biema concludes his essay in a vatic strain:

Unless Benedict contradicts in Rome what he said in New York, the Church may have reached a tipping point. This is not to say that the (over-hyped) young Catholic Right will swing into lay dominance. Nor will liberal single-issue groups simply evaporate. But if they cohere again, it will be around different defining issues. "It's a new ball game," admits [Peter] Steinfels. As [Terrence] Tilley wrote recently in Commonweal regarding his fellow theologians, "A new generation has neither the baggage nor the ballast of mine. Theirs is the future. Let's hope they remember the Council as the most important event in twentieth-century Catholicism."

"Let's hope they remember the Council." Fair enough. If they not only remember it but read it, they'll discover a curious fact: that the documents of the Second Vatican Council have footnotes in which they anchor themselves on authority, and that those authorities are entirely -- one hundred percent -- "pre-Vatican II" in origin. In other words, the only reason to take the Second Vatican Council seriously is that the preceding councils (definitions, sacred texts ...) are worth taking seriously. If they can grasp that point, it won't matter what music they listen to.

She's responsible for a great deal of the disfigurement of the visual aspects of American Catholic life. She began her career as Sister Mary Corita Kent, and ended up, famously, as Corita. Seldom has ingenuousness been so carefully affected. Never was infantile spontaneity more rigidly codified. Her abandonment of her habit, her vows, and her critical distance from faddism might have been contrived as an allegory of the 1960s Church. Those with a morbid interest in cultural decay can indulge in a visit to the Corita Art Center. They'll find little, regrettably, that's unfamiliar.

In his 1956 presidential campaign against Eisenhower, taxed with criticism from Rev. Norman Vincent Peale (the "Evangelist of Optimism"), Adlai Stevenson retorted: "Speaking as a Christian, I find the apostle Paul appealing and the apostle Peale appalling."

Stevenson's quip deserves to be remembered because it marks its author as the last Democratic presidential candidate to display accurate and unscripted acquaintance with a biblical author. He knew that Paul wasn't a Pollyanna.

In saying this I find myself in the unfamiliar position of agreeing with Lefties -- at least with those who argue that the flap concerning Senator Obama's preposterous "pastor" is captious and overblown. Like Hillary, Obama is an Ivy law grad. Like Hillary, Obama is a national-level Democratic pol. Of course they don't know what their parsons believe. How could they be expected to? Why would they care?

During the 2004 election cycle there was a mini-flap when candidate Howard Dean revealed that he left the Episcopal Church over a dispute about a bicycle path (he also maintained that the New Testament character he most admired was Job). And back in the early 1990s, Hillary herself, after circumstances obliged her to remember she'd been a life-long Methodist, told us that her favorite book of the bible was The Beatitudes. Embarrassing, briefly, but everyone understood the gambit. Her adopting a faith-life was a move no more momentous than her dumping the Cubs and donning a Yankees ball-cap prior to her New York senate run.

Here's what happens. Candidates issue a formulaic campaign bio including standard personal information. Before it's released some staffer notices the Religion/Church line is blank and realizes that the press might take the wrong kind of interest. So they send some flunky to the Yellow Pages to come up with a denomination, a church, an address, and the name of a pastor. If the pastor in question has shared the podium with the candidate at a fundraiser barbecue, so much the better. That's the extent of the spiritual pollenization. Nancy Pelosi's goofy quotation of a non-existent "biblical" verse nicely illustrates the range and depth of the transaction.

These are Democrats. They view Christians as nature's gammas. At their best, some ministers of religion may be regarded as useful idiots, beneficial for neutralizing the "values vote." To suggest that a Methodist clergyman had concrete influence on Hillary's political beliefs would be as ludicrous as claiming that Ernie Banks shaped her theology. By the same token, the contention that Senator Obama and the Reverend Wright share an interest beyond the politically advantageous disbursement of government monies is itself an exercise in cynicism.

For obvious reasons, Obama's political opponents are making maximum capital out of the wild pitches of his pastor-of-record. No question but that his staffer typed the wrong name in that bio blank. Detesting his positions as I do, I hardly regret the damage done to the momentum of Obama's campaign. But it's a mistake to confuse political expedience with the facts of the case. You want to know what a progressive Democrat believes as a matter of spiritual conviction? Find out what pop music he listened to in high school.

Anglican Bishop Gene "Don't Change the Subject" Robinson, while launching his autobiography, puts aside his customary reticence and submits to an interview:

"I've met, what, probably 300 gay, partnered clergy here in the Church of England, and I could tell you stories that would make you weep about what life is like for them, and the fear with which they live."

Fear of a book contract?

The current NCR features a review of a new book on the history of the American Jesuits:

Fr. Schroth, a Jesuit himself and a familiar NCR contributor, proceeds chronologically with 15 chapters spread across four sections. Founded in 1534, recognized by papal bull in 1540, the Society sent missionaries from Rome to North America and around the world. The Society's European origins provide spiritual and historical foundations for its American expansion in the 19th and 20th centuries. The final chapter includes a sobering assessment of the Jesuits' graying (median age 67.6 years) and dwindling membership. Fr. Schroth suggests the U.S. order might have only 1,100 members by 2050, down from 8,338 in 1960. Before that, though, comes a rollicking good story.

So what made it rollick? More to the point, perhaps, what made it stop?

Your Inner Arapaho in need of healing? Feeling anxious about the future of the Beta Star Bundle? Not to worry. OTR's got you covered. A faithful reader, having peered into the offerings of the Catholic Action Network, found herself routed to Missouri's Rockhaven Ecozoic Center, whence she sent along a precious link to Wind Daughter:

Wind Daughter is the adopted daughter of BearHeart, a Muskogee Creek elder. Among her many duties, Wind Daughter has pledged to Spirit to act as Keeper of the Beta Star Bundle and Caretaker of the Black Lodge and its altars. In addition, she serves The Bear Tribe Medicine Society as its Medicine Chief, following in the steps of the late Sun Bear and Wabun Wind.

Since beginning her journey with her gift of song many years ago, Wind Daughter has built a program of experiential workshops and retreats to facilitate others in renewing their relationship with Mother Earth, and to reach within themselves to sustain their spirits. As a trained ceremonialist, Wind Daughter works with regional circles and groups, as well as national events, to assist others in the path of healing. Wind Daughter facilitates an entire range of women's teachings, as practiced in the West Winds Women's Gatherings and workshops.

It's that traditional Choctaw toenail polish that elevates Wind Daughter above inferior and derivative facilitators. Not only is it biodegradable by most residential septic systems, but it coordinates with the blood of her oppressors.

You're too late, alas, to join Wind Daughter at Rockhaven, but you can catch her at the Thirteen Original Clan Mothers workshop in September, if your MasterCard's still good. The Ancient Teaching of the Sisterhood (WD's phrase) can be yours for $210 plus travel.

As for the Catholic Action Network, from which our journey toward healing began, a sampling of its liturgies shows that neither its members nor its priestess-chaplains feel constrained by the tiresome obligations of monotheism. And Sun Bear says the same.

Gallup New Mexico Bishop Donald Pelotte has finally been retired under the Canon 401-dash-2 provision. The demands of trust and transparency being what what they are, we can expect a candid explanation of the circumstances toward the end of 2023.

Cardinal Jean-Louis Tauran, President of the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue, strikes a courageous evangelical blow for whatever. The occasion is the Buddhist celebration of Vesakh. From the Vatican website:

On a practical level can we Christians and Buddhists not do more to collaborate in projects which confirm the responsibility that falls to each and everyone of us? Recycling, energy conservation, the prevention of indiscriminate destruction of plant and animal life, and the protection of waterways all speak of careful stewardship and indeed foster goodwill and promote cordial relations among peoples. In this way Christians and Buddhists together can be harbingers of hope for a clean, safe and harmonious world.

His Eminence's long-awaited Pastoral Instruction "On Not Over-Feeding Goldfish" is rumored to be released in July.

Back in January of 2005, Boston priest Jerome Gillespie, while drunk, accosted a woman and her 12-year-old daughter in a restaurant. Stiff charges were knocked down and eventually dismissed; the Archdiocese says: "Father Gillespie is currently assisting parishes on an interim basis. It is expected that he soon will receive a formal assignment within the Archdiocese of Boston." Here's an excerpt from the Globe's account:

In 2005, most of the charges were dismissed, but Gillespie admitted sufficient facts, which is not the same as pleading guilty, to a charge of annoying or accosting a person of the opposite sex. A judge continued the case, without a finding, for two years, and said the case would be dismissed if Gillespie completed a substance abuse evaluation, underwent a comprehensive mental health evaluation and a sex offender evaluation, and completed any treatment recommended as a result of those evaluations, according to Jake Wark, a spokesman for Suffolk District Attorney Daniel F. Conley. ... The charge was dismissed in 2007, Wark said.

SNAP is denouncing Gillespie's return to ministry on the grounds that he represents a potential threat to children. Ironically, this plays into the Wilton Gregory maneuver, which succeeded brilliantly in keeping the wrong men in their jobs. By this ploy, the mantra "It's about the children" was used to divert public outrage into channels marked-out by the bishops' child protection programs, such that any attempt to uncover the "failures behind the failures" -- e.g., in the bishops' own appetites and conduct -- was dismissed as a distraction from the real issue.

Now in spite of SNAP's saber-rattling, most people won't believe Gillespie is a Geoghan. And that's where the Wilton Wobble kicks in. If Gillespie is not likely to commit any sexual felonies -- if it's NOT about the children -- is he therefore suitable for priestly ministry?

Especially dismaying -- six years after the Boston Meltdown, and less than a week after Pope Benedict's stressing the moral and spiritual failures at the bottom of sexual abuse -- is the canned 1987-style justification by the Archdiocese for Gillespie's return to work. "The archdiocese noted," reports the Globe, "that not only were the charges dismissed, but that the priest submitted to court-ordered evaluations for alcohol, psychiatric, and sexual problems." These are psychological evaluations. Gillespie could get satisfactory scores on them and his spiritual life might still be a shambles. Was there no penance exacted, no reparation offered? Perhaps Gillespie truly is ready to resume priestly work; but shouldn't the Archdiocese make it clear that the green light involves more than his therapist and his parole officer, that there was a failure in Christian life that needed to be remedied?

In its statement yesterday, the archdiocese cited alcohol in describing the incident as "inappropriate remarks he made while intoxicated."

Inappropriate? Had Gillespie been a welder with a noseful, his lawyer might describe his remarks as "inappropriate" (his wife wouldn't). But surely somewhere in the bureaucratic apparatus of the Archdiocese of Boston someone could be found -- if only a receptionist or a cleaning lady -- who recognizes that notwithstanding his intoxication Father Gillespie, a Catholic priest and pastor of souls, offended against more than standards of good taste by importuning a 12-year-old and her mother. The courts don't want to jail him for it, fair enough. But don't his parishioners need to hear that there were moral failings to confront, spiritual disorders to be put right, deeper debts to be paid?

The archdiocese responded by defending the cardinal's commitment to protecting children.

The learning curve is flat.