Vaticanologist as Talking Head, Part VIII
OK, snowflakes, so Amy got to see me -- and, now, you'll all be able to see me sooner than expected.
Just took a call from a national cable news outlet, asking your humble writer for an hour next week, live in prime-time to discuss clerical celibacy.
I was born for the stage, so this is yet another homecoming. Unlike most dioceses, media doesn't make me skittish.
Time to start talking up that slippery slope again....
-30-
Just took a call from a national cable news outlet, asking your humble writer for an hour next week, live in prime-time to discuss clerical celibacy.
I was born for the stage, so this is yet another homecoming. Unlike most dioceses, media doesn't make me skittish.
Time to start talking up that slippery slope again....
-30-
posted by Rocco Palmo at 16:06
1 Comments:
Well, just in case you need a shaggy-dog story to kill any dead air-time:
A young man joins the monastery, and is assigned to the document scriptorium. He is doing well, but after six months or so of copying texts he goes to the monk in charge and asks a question:
"Reverend Father, I know that I must make every effort to ensure that the text I am copying is accurate, but how do I know the source I am using is also correct?"
"Do not worry my son, the text you are working on is accurate."
"But, excuse my impudence, I cannot see how that can be."
"What do you mean?"
"I am creating a new copy of this text from a copy that was itself copied from still another copy, and so on down the line. Is it possible that some small error may have crept in over the years?"
"My son, the work we do is divinely inspired, but to show you the power of our faith, I will take the copy you are working from, and bring it down to the locked vaults. There I will compare it to the original, and they will be the same. Will that not prove the power of Our Lord?"
So, the brother takes the copy down to the vaults, where no-one but he and the abbott are allowed. He's gone for days. The other brothers in the scriptorium, and eventually the entire monestary become concerned. But they dare not disturb the vaults. Finally, they go to the abbot and explain the situation. he leads the group down to the vaults. They knock several times but receive no answer. Finally, the abbott unlocks the vault. They find the brother sitting at a reading desk, the two versions open in front of him. He is emaciated and hollow-eyed, there are obvious tear streaks on this cheeks, the text closest to him has become water-damaged, his habit is rent and torn, and there are clumps of hair on the floor.
"Brother, brother, what is the matter? What is the meaning of this? What has happened?"
He looks up with an expression of utter dispair and futility ....
(wait for it)
"The word was 'celebrate'!"
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