A beautiful spring day in Minneapolis, the first one this year in which the hum of lawn mowers in neighborhoods seems a correlative of summer.
I'm home from work after attending, this morning, the funeral of a work colleague of many years, someone I liked a lot. He was a Catholic, and after the service it was a relief to walk out of the church into the sun and past the school next door where uniformed children shouted on the playground. Inside, the median age, boosted somewhat by the two officiants, was probably 60-something. The homily was boilerplate: he'd said it a thousand times, and then the censer and incense--to me, not inured by frequent exposures, it seems creepy, repugnant. In the entryway, on shelving to the side of the casket, there were pamphlets, including "What Does the Church Teach About Evolution?" No one should care. There were prayers for the pope and Archbishop John Nienstedt, who are not favorites of mine. It would be easier to feel some sympathy for these guys if they ever seemed honestly perplexed about something. But perplexity is for the fallible. They know, for it is written, and the Church teaches.
My friend was just one of countless decent and devout Roman Catholics. I'm sure, for example, that Garry Wills is right about the nuns he has known. But he's right about the old guys in the funny hats, too. Here are some cartoons they wouldn't like. Same-sex marriage and humor--two things they can't stand. And, speaking of Wills, here is more of his good sense.