Fighting Irish Thomas has been busy, busy, busy!

Tom wanted to alert his readers as to why he hasn't written lately for FIT, but he hasn't had the time to jot down a quick paragraph. His two jobs, a new third job as a high school tennis coach, and a book deal (co-authoring on the Chicago Bears) are keeping him spinning.

Tom will write again for FIT as soon as some time frees up. In the meantime, please visit our new site, Cathlete.net, where there are links to articles refreshed several times a day on Catholicism, Sports, Pro-Life and Politics.

Thank you,
[Mrs.] Fighting Irish Thomas

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Ms. FIT's Confession of Faith (in Huckabee)

Today, on the eve of the anniversary of that fateful decision (Roe v. Wade), is the first time that my wife has publicly talked about her abortion. It occurred nearly thirty years ago, before she met Fighting Irish Thomas and converted to the faith, but the act remained so painful that she has never spoken about the abortion—until now. This not only shows how strongly she feels about Mike Huckabee's candidacy, but how much she is willing to sacrifice for it, to give it everything she has to the cause while there is still hope.

It is one thing for me to talk about Romney's $50 co-pay for abortions as governor, or John McCain's watering down of the Republican pro-life platform in 2000, or both of their weak states' rights approach now. But one who has personally been to that particular hell of abortion and came back from it gains a special insight, a special ability to SEE into the candidate's soul to judge the depth of their sincerity. Anyone, including myself, can see Huckabee is the most articulate on this issue, but it takes one who has been there to completely know a man's heart.

The time is getting late. Mike, in his speech after yesterday's narrow defeat in South Carolina, says the game is only into the second quarter. And yet politics, like football, relies mainly on momentum, and if one gets down by too many touchdowns early, it is nearly impossible to come back late. May my wife's admission bring forth others from that same situation, so that a group of these women who regret their abortions, ban together in their support of Mike so that they, along with the prayers of the unborn babes, carry the day for the only candidate who will do everything on heaven and earth to remove Roe v. Wade from our midst. Go Huck!

I love you Jeanette ...

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Jeanette's new ministry for Huckabee

01-20-08

Dear Mike Huckabee … I, like the rest of your supporters, was heavily disappointed over last night’s results in South Carolina. John McCain, a 71-year-old “OLD warhorse” with no strong “life” issues to his credit, would not surpass the Dems for the top position of commander in chief, unless he resurrected Ronald Reagan himself to run as his veep.

Now, I’m a believer in “hope,” which means I have not given up on your quest for the nomination, but at this point in time, you need all the help you can get from not only Christ Almighty, Our Savior and Redeemer, but His most glorious Mother, Mary. You also need to draw upon the prayers of the aborted, even though this may not be a Southern Baptist practice. Keep in mind, if Mitt Romney had to give away one dollar for every dead baby that has been the result of legalized abortion over the past 35 years in America, he would become a poor man overnight. That’s a lot of prayers, Gov. Mike, that you would be invoking if you do call upon the most-powerfully-innocent unborn babes in Heaven to intercede for you. One of those babies is my own, and I will continue to fight to the end, to eliminate the atrocious full disregard for human life that abortion brings not only directly to the child within its mother’s womb, but indirectly to the mother herself. Remember, governor & pastor, if you go down fighting wholeheartedly for the rights of the unborn in the name of Christ Jesus, you can only finish the race victorious.

(Woe to the pro-lifer who does not endorse and vote for you.)

St. Michael the Archangel, pray for Michael Huckabee and his team!

Jeanette O’Toole
(Daily Mass Roman Catholic and wife of Fighting Irish Thomas)
Domers for Huckabee

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A Silent Irishman? Why Fighting Irish Thomas is not writing

As alluded to by my wife, Jeanette (affectionately known as Ms. FIT), lately I have been working 7 days a week (with 4 or 5 of those days at 2 jobs) just to make ends meet. Thus my time to put pen to paper has been next to nil, but hopefully, either through grants or generous blog donations or gifts, that will change soon. 'Til then, keep praying, and I'll do my best to stay in touch.

God's grace & Mary's prayers,
Tom

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St. Margaret Mary Feast, "Dr. Berman's" Neighborhood and My Daughter's Birthday: Welcome to the fight, Therese!

Due to life's deadlines, this column appears two days later than planned. Sorry for the delay!

Today, the Feast of St. Margaret Mary, the woman most responsible for devotion to the Sacred Heart, is also my daughter's 17th birthday. Sadly, it's yet another day that the Aurora abortion clinic remains (illegally) open. Meanwhile, pro-choice propaganda including Oct. 15th's (the feast day of St. Teresa of Avila) Chicago Sun-Times' pitiful Showcase piece entitled "Planned Parenthood is not the enemy in abortion fight," abounds.

This article was authored by Dr. Laura Berman in her reoccurring role as "Sex and Relationships" columnist. The column is accompanied by a cute-pretty, very youthful looking picture of the doctor, and her writing reflects juvenile naivete mixed with monstrous lies. "Planned Parenthood has arrived!" Berman gushes like a giddy schoolgirl and it "can be viewed as nothing short of a windfall." "Windfall" strikes me as an odd "choice" of word, since it is usually associated with gaining a large unexpected sum of money and Planned Parenthood is a non-profit organization ... but maybe Dr. Berman knows something we do not. Apparently so, because she goes on to say that "only 3 percent of all Planned Parenthood services are abortion related," an astonishingly low figure considering that "Evil Steve" Trombley himself, Chicago Planned Parenthood's president and master of mis-information, lists that figure at 10 percent. But Berman is no doubt better looking than Trombley which I guess allows her an even bigger leeway on lying.

Still, Laura does pay tribute to PP's local Dark Lord, quoting Trombley's most frightening famous fabrication word for word. "We know that the services provided at this center will do more in one day to prevent abortions than our opponents will do in a lifetime of protesting." While my feelings on this undoubtedly diabolic statement have been chronicled in a previous blog, the fact that Berman repeats rather than ridicules this incredible statement makes me recall another; something about if a lie is big enough and told often enough, it becomes (for most minds) true.

Ms. Berman then continues to spout the usual party-line lies, including calling the morning-after pill "a safe form of birth control," rather than a dangerous abortifacient. She later glowingly tells how Illinois Jr. Senator/Presidential Candidate (and possible Antichrist) Barack Obama "fully supports PP's desire to open a new facility in Aurora," then concludes with the enigmatic enthusiasm of the cheerleader-gone-bad, "Welcome to the neighborhood, Planned Parenthood!"

I'm not exactly sure what kind of doctor Ms. Berman is, or if she's really as young and carefree as her picture implies. But obviously her beautiful, youthful appearance is meant to be a Planned Parenthood selling point. Of course, I wouldn't mind this so much if they put a picture of a bloody, mangled aborted corpse next to Laura's perfect pic to demonstrate what she really advocates. On the other hand, to be 100 percent accurate, the words "BOLD FACED LIE!" would have to appear after each of her untruths, but you'd need not one column, but three pages of print to accomplish that.

Something tells me the Sun Times isn't going to go along with my suggestion anytime soon, so let me propose an alternative. How about printing a column written by my daughter next to Dr. Berman's, with Therese's beautiful, but determined face atop the page about the truth concerning the Planned Parenthood movement, complete with court documents, abortion horror stories, and Biblical or Papal encyclical quotes to drive her youthful truths home. Happy Birthday, Therese. I'm so proud to see you've joined your father in the pro-life fight! But there's much work to be done, so say your St. Margaret Mary prayer to the Sacred Heart, grab your miraculous medal, and let us together enter into the battle ...

Therese's related poem "Freedom from America" can be found on Friends of Fighting Irish Thomas. Dr. Berman can be reached at drberman@bermancenter.com.

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St. Benedict and Benedict XVI: Two Flexible But Uncompromising Writers

Just as it was no coincidence yesterday when my daughter, Therese, disappointed her dad couldn't watch her big summer swim meet because he was teaching outdoor tennis that night, pulled a "St. Scholastica" as her prayer not only brought rain and cancelled her father's job (allowing me to see her set three personal best swim records), it is also no coincidence that Pope Benedict is being criticized by the news media on St. Benedict's feast day merely for stating the truth. For if my daughter and St. Benedict's sister share some common method about getting things done, the two Benedicts are two peas in a spiritual pod as well.

When Pope Benedict approved a document released by the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith yesterday which reasserted the primacy of the Roman Catholic Church and stated that Catholicism provides the only sure means for salvation, he was saying nothing new. Not only did the document quote key passages from "Dominus Iesus," a 2000 document written by Pope Benedict himself, but confirmed Christian teachings from the earliest days of the Church which stated Christian communities without valid sacraments or apostolic succession are defective and/or incomplete. Similarly, St. Benedict's (480-550) monastic rule, which could be summed up in four words (Pray, Read, and Work) borrowed heavily from the rules of St. Basil, St. John Cassian, and even St. Augustine, but it synthesized those ideas so successfully it became THE monastic rule for the next 1000 years. Still, the Benedicts couldn't make everyone happy; for St. Benedict it was the reformers, Pope Benedict, the reporters.

"It makes us question whether we are indeed praying together for Christian unity ... and the seriousness with which the Roman Catholic Church takes its dialogue with the reformed family," stated the release from the World Alliance of Reformed Churches (and quoted by The Associated Press) while WBBM AM radio quoted a spokesman for the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod as saying, "Documents like this demonstrate why the Missouri Synod regards the office of the pope as that of the Antichrist."

When St. Benedict set up his monastery he wrote it would be "neither a penitentiary nor a school of ascetic mountaineering, but a family, a home of those seeking God." But although his monks free the majority of the day for private prayer, reading and manual work, the "family" centered around the divine office and the liturgy. Similarly, Benedict is saying those beliefs that we share with other denominations, such as belief in the Trinity and the physical death and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, doctrines which have ALWAYS been "Catholic," are definitely beneficial to the salvation of the members of other Christian denominations too. But to not accept the sacramental priesthood and not believe in and receive of the real Body and Blood of Jesus makes one's road to salvation much more difficult, while to embrace the teachings of some "Christian" denominations which make abortion and gay marriage okay leaves one's salvation in a dubious state indeed. Without the Catholic interpretation of Papal Authority, Christian morality finds itself on a slippery slope that's getting slipperier every day. But at lease the Lutheran Church's Missouri Synod representative (if not the radio station, which mysteriously took the quote off its website after receiving objections) had the guts to state the real question. IF the Catholic Church's authority to interpret scripture doesn't come from God, the Pope surely MUST be the Antichrist. But if their authority does come from God, then the other denominations' objections disintegrate into dust, and, like the Prodigal Son, its members must return home to Rome to be truly part of the family and receive all of the Father's benefits. Only then they will see it is not Christianity's "Benedict Arnolds" (Luther and Calvin) but its Saint and Pope Benedicts who got His story straight.

Happy Birthday Jim O'Toole

Pope Benedict, speaking in front of thousands at Vatican Square, interrupts his Wednesday audience to wish Happy Birthday to FIT's older brother James Joseph O'Toole.

From Tilly to Eternity: The Death of the Family Dog

Tilly O'Toole, a yellow labrador retriever of extraordinary character, departed from our clan last week at the age of 10-1/2. A lover of beauty and truth as well as table scraps (sometimes before they were officially declared to be so) Tilly will sorely be missed by not only Jeanette and myself, our children, John, Gary, Patrick and Therese, but also by our cats, Mango, Hubey and Fat Tony and our turtle, Squirtle.

When a lab hits the tenuous age of ten and its hips, eyes and bodily functions are starting to fail, you know the time is near. You also know all the answers; that while pets are precious they are NOT human beings, and that while one should be happy with their companionship, you also should not grieve them as a child when they are gone. And yet, until the day her heart gave out, Tilly was licking our hands, chasing down squirrels and excavating meat scraps and bread ends from the garbage (an act immortalized in John O'Toole's YouTube cult classic "Tilly is Hungry") for her favorite late-night snack. And though you are a devout Catholic and know dogs don't have souls, when you see your pup lying on the operating table trying to muster enough energy to wag its tail for its master one last time, you too begin to cry, asking our Lord, "Why do dogs have to die?"

Out of all God's creatures, dogs are no doubt the best at teaching us loyalty, being faithful to their masters through both the good times and the bad. Indeed, if we could always be as supportive of each other as our hounds are to us, earth would be a lot more like heaven. Which of course begs us to once again ask that eternal question, the same one the little girl asked St. Thomas Aquinas, as to whether pets join us in eternity.

"Because animals do not have souls," began the angelic doctor, "as far as I can see, they do not go to heaven." But then, no doubt looking into the little one's own puppy dog eyes, he added, "but there is no harm in believing that they do." And as much as I tend to agree with my namesake saint, at times of loss, believing a dog such as Fighting Irish Tilly will someday rush out from heaven's gates to greet her grateful human friend even does a soul some good.

The Demise of Dave Duerson: Double Trouble for "Double D"

I was a self-assured senior at Notre Dame, and he a shy freshman. "D" lived just down the hall from me in Flanner, a quiet guy who made his noise the one place it mattered most (at least to Fighting Irish football fans)—the playing field. But Dave Duerson quickly found his voice, not only going on to become an All-American defender for the Irish and an All-Star for the Chicago Bears, but a leader in the business world, a trusted trustee of Notre Dame, and a spokesman for the NFL. But lately, like a fumble that keeps bouncing the wrong way, all this seems to be slipping away from my former hallmate ...

Two years ago, to say that Dave was one of the most respected alumni of Our Lady's university would not have been an exaggeration. But after a domestic violence incident, Dave was forced to resign from Notre Dame's Board of Trustees. Then a year later, his once strong company, Duerson Foods, was forced in receivership. And neither the marital nor financial side of Duerson's story appear headed toward happy endings; his house is up for foreclosure in October, and last month he filed for divorce from his wife, after twenty-four years of marriage. Not to mention as an NFL Union rep, he is now arguing with none other than Mike Ditka about veteran's benefits.

What can be said about such a sad state of affairs, when fame at Notre Dame gives way to infamy, and faith gives way to separation. On the day when my parents celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, it seems ironic that Fighting Irish Thomas has tackled this subject so often in recent days. From Tiger Woods to St. Thomas More, the lessons seem obvious. Whether you are skeptic or believer it is easy to be in love when the world is treating you well and the money is coming in. But can a husband still embrace his wife when life calls him a loser, and a wife still support her husband when, through no fault of his own, his money suddenly stops coming?

Today, I will hug my parents, laugh with my brothers and kiss my sisters. We will remember the good times, but in our minds, we know that the good times weren't always there, or all there was. My dad's slow talk and walk, and my mom's forgetfulness and wheelchair are visible reminders of this—but to those with faith they are also reminders of something else. It shows it wasn't only through the fun, but through the sickness and strokes, financial failings and foreclosures, arguments and fights that they stayed together too, and their faith in God and His Holy Catholic Church was the reason why. Like Duerson (was), I am now nearly halfway to that golden anniversary, and as Led Zeppelin's epic ballad Stairway to Heaven suggests, "there are two paths you can go by." May I be humbled and sobered by the tale of Double D's woes, but always choose the way of support over separation, prayer over despair. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad! I'm praying for you ("there's still time to change the road you're on") Double D! And most importantly, to my wife Jeanette ... I love you!

Catholic Cats? Maybe in the Case of Blessed Maria Bagnesi!

As the proud owner of three fine felines (and for nearly a year, we actually had six!), cats have come to take a prominent place in the O'Toole household after a decade with only dogs and children. That being the case, it seemed wrong to not blog about today's blessed (often neglected in life and now even in death) especially with that cat connection. So without further ado, the story of my new favorite "cat woman," Blessed Maria Bartholomaea Bagnesi.

Born in Florence on the Feast of the Assumption, 1514, Maria was a beautiful and happy child, despite the fact she was frequently ignored by her mother. Often cold and ill-fed, Maria sometimes wandered over to the convent where her sister, a Dominican nun, resided to take shelter there. Eventually three more of Marietta's (so nicknamed because of her small size) sisters joined the convent, and she figured to do the same. However, much to her horror, Maria's father not only arranged a marriage for her but set a date without her knowledge. Upon hearing the news, Maria was so shocked she fainted, and when she awoke was unable to walk, and remained bedridden.

While it is difficult to imagine becoming so distressed at the prospect of marriage that one becomes crippled (of course, depending upon what this guy looked like, maybe not) but that seems to be the case with little Maria. Unfortunately what might have been a temporary physical reaction probably turned into something permanent due to her father's penchant for sixteenth century quacks. Covering her with mud, wrapping her in big rubber bands ("I felt like a squashed raisin" was all Maria could say) and given all types of ridiculous potions, Maria got worse rather than better. Finally in 1544, she was allowed to become a Third Order Dominican, and for a time she actually could walk again. However the years of neglect led to pleurisy, asthma and kidney disease, and after a year she regressed, almost never leaving her bed again.

But her confessor, seeing her great devotion to Christ, Our Lady, and St. Bartholomew (whose name she later added) would not let her gifts be wasted, and gradually he sent pilgrims of all sorts to seek peace at her bedside. Not only did Maria's power to reconcile prove extraordinary—she consoled the sorrowing, converted sinners and healed the sick, but the area's animals took to visiting her as well. Her special fondness for cats is well documented and at times Maria too had as many as half a dozen stay in her room. One cat in particular was especially dutiful, not only guarding her songbirds but attending to her bedside needs, including fetching doctors when Maria got sick or cheese when she grew hungry.

Toward the end of her life, Maria was often caught up in holy ecstasies, but since some resentful sisters assumed she was possessed, she was reluctant to share these visions with them. However, when a young Mary Magdalen of Pazzi (who later became a saint and had mystical experiences of her own) came to visit her, she sensed a kindred spirit. This friendship allowed Maria to share them with the astute youth, and it is the younger Mary who recorded them. It is also well known that Bagnesi levitated during several of these ecstasies, although it is not recorded what the cats thought about all that! Maria died in 1577, and was not beatified until 1804 with her sainthood still pending.

Of course, if cats had souls and actually could intercede, Maria's date for her canonization would no doubt already have happened. So I guess it's up to us cat lovers to take up her cause. I just hope Hubey, Mango and "Fat Tony" O'Toole are still around to meow when it happens ...

St. Rita of Casia: The Saint of the Impossible

My mother, the former Rita Grogan, would often urge me to pray to her patron saint, the female version of Saint Jude, whenever things seemed hopeless. Mom herself became quite devoted, because raising me and my five brothers and two sisters could seem hopeless on a daily basis ...

Rita of Cascia was born in 1377 to an Italian peasant family. The most religious of her brothers and sisters, she yearned to become a nun from an early age, but was obedient when, for economic reasons, her parents told her she must marry. Unfortunately, her folks proved to be horrible matchmakers, as Rita's husband turned out to be not only extremely violent but repeatedly unfaithful; as Butler's put it, "the terror of the neighborhood." Moreover, their two sons added to her sorrows by following in their father's footsteps as village hell-raisers. Rita prayerfully (and tearfully) endured this troublesome union for eighteen years, until one night her husband met his match and came home with multiple stab wounds. These wounds wound up being fatal, but not before Rita's prayers prompted his repentance and deathbed conversion. As expected, her sons went out to avenge their father's death, but after Rita prayed that there be no further bloodshed, the boys soon fell ill and died—both also converted.

Free of family ties, Rita now pursued her original vocation, only to have the Augustinians turn her down three times due to the requirement that their nuns must be virgins. But they finally made an exception, and Rita became a model nun, both in obedience and mortification. She often meditated on the Passion of Christ, and while doing so, one day developed a wound on her forehead, which replicated an imprint of the crown of thorns. This would remain with her for over thirty years, but despite the pain, she never let it interfere with her devoted caring for the sick or skillful counseling of the convent's many visitors. Finally in 1450, when on the way to Rome for the Jubilee Celebration, the wound miraculously healed—by most accounts not reappearing until the moment of her death.

Like St. Bernadette, Rita had the rare combination of dying of tuberculosis and yet having her body remain incorrupt after death. But in contrast to the youthful saint of Lourdes, Rita lived to the ripe old age of eighty, having lived many lives—wife, mother, caretaker, mystic—any of which individually would be considered saintly. Undeniably patient in life, Rita had to be patient in death too; although acclaimed at the time of her death in 1457, she wasn't beatified until 1626, nor canonized until 1900.

While it's not entirely clear how Rita became a patron saint of difficult cases, the legend that she started out as patron of difficult marriages, and gradually took over other hopeless situations makes the most sense to me. And now that you realize that Jude doesn't have a monopoly on impossible cases, also know that St. Therese doesn't own all the heavenly roses either. Rita loved that beautiful-but-thorny flower, and when she requested some on her deathbed and the nuns found some miraculously growing in the convent garden despite being out of season, she earned the right to share that identification with the Little Flower as well.

So, Happy Feast Day, Mom. After a wayward youth, your Thomas Augustine has come home to the Church, and despite the pains I know you now suffer with age, when I'm with you, you're always smiling. You sure were right about Saint Rita, and she certainly has been right by you.

Happy Mother's Day Mom

To the left is a poem I wrote to my mom on Mother's Day—in 1968. I was in the third grade, and my Mom (who later inspired me to love my other Mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary) was the inspiration for not only my first poem but my first writing of any kind not counting penmanship practice, that is! So Happy Mother's Day Mom! You're the best.

Jim and Rita O'Toole: A Golden Day for Golden Parents

Congratulations to Jim and Rita O'Toole (my parents!) on their 50th Wedding Anniversary today. My dad inspired me early on with the love of the faith, and my attendance at daily Mass can be attributed directly to him, not to mention my fondness of ol' Notre Dame—my attendance there made it three generations of Domer O'Tooles.

As for my mom, her cooking early on inspired in me a love for frozen pizza. Just kidding mom! True, I fed Whimsey, our dog, a great deal of the meatloaf that I was served over the years (no wonder she lost control of her bowels at age 10!) but you also gave me my wacky sense of humor, not to mention a love for my other Mother, Our Lady, as well. Raising six boys and two girls couldn't have been easy for you, especially when we were all (including Whimsey) in the station wagon at the same time en route on our nine-hour summer vacation excursion to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (and Whimsey started passing gas) but somehow you managed with flying colors. Congratulations, or, as Our Lord would say, "Well done my good and faithful servants." You're the best!

Love,
Your son,
Tom

Josh Hancock and John O'Toole: Their Separate Peace

“The Lord deals death and gives life; he casts down to the nether world; he raises us up again."
–I Samuel 2:6

As many of you, at least the sports fans among Fighting Irish Thomas readers, are aware, St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Josh Hancock, 29, was killed in an automobile accident Saturday night. But up until now, none of you know that John O'Toole, our 21-year-old son, was almost killed in a car crash last night, as a driver inexplicably swerved off the road and nearly hit John (who was walking home from the Elmhurst train station) finally smashing through a storefront window.

Both Josh and John were single. While one earned millions of dollars and the other was a college student with but a couple of bucks in his pocket, there were many similarities. Both were pursuing what they truly loved; Josh baseball and John acting. Both were open and outgoing and while neither was particularly devout, both had hopes for the future, on this earth and beyond. Neither was perfect; John often kidded about his weight, gaining 20-25 pounds on his six foot frame during the winter only to lose it all caddying during the hot Midwestern summers. And Josh was actually cut by the Cincinnati Reds for being overweight last spring. But the Reds loss was the Cardinals gain, as Josh lead St. Louis in relief innings pitched, attaining a World Series ring in the process. Just a few days ago, Josh worried his teammates by missing the pre-game warm-ups, only to arrive just before game time, wearing the sheepish grin of a youth who overslept. Meanwhile this morning, John, who understandably couldn't sleep last night, finally dozed off and woke up late; for the first time in years, I drove my self-reliant son to the train station. Yet one lived and one did not ...

"Josh was a guy who went out and played his heart out every single day he stepped on the field. You honor him by doing the same," said Brewer manager Ned Yost, explaining that while cancelling Sunday's Cardinal-Cub game was appropriate, postponing last night's Cardinal-Brewer game would not be. "There's a lot of sadness and grieving," said Cardinal manager Tony La Russa, whose players all wore shoulder patches with Hancock's #32 to commemorate their fallen teammate, "but you have to go on." Ironically, Jeff Suppan, the Brewers starting pitcher Monday night, pitched with Josh last season, winning the MVP of the Cardinals National League Playoff Series in the process. "Jeff was a great teammate," said Suppan, a devout Catholic who serves on the Pontifical Council of Church and Sport (and visited with Pope Benedict this off-season). "I'm not saying it was easy. I just went out and tried to do my best," 'Soup' said after beating the Cards in a masterfully pitched 7-1 complete game. "Of course, we managers always worry about the wins and losses," said Cubs manager Lou Piniella when his Sunday game with the Cards was cancelled, "but when something like this happens, it puts things in perspective rather quickly."

Meanwhile, John's dad whose Champions of Faith book sits on the Vatican shelves where the Pontifical Council of Church and Sport meet, still has the awesome task of counseling his lucky, if slightly shaky son. "He's a friend and will always be in my heart," said pitcher Jason Marquis of ex-teammate Hancock, whom he also described as "fun and generous." "My thoughts and prayers are with him ..." Funny, that was almost exactly what I will say to John. The only difference is I can still say it to his face.

The War on Abortion, Part I: Building Upon the Partial Birth Victory

For pro-life activists, the battle against legalized abortion could be described as a war with Satan himself. So while Wednesday's Supreme Court 5-4 decision upholding the Partial Birth Abortion Ban (signed into law by President Bush in 2003) certainly gives the pro-life forces a toehold in the land of the unborn, be aware that Satan is always most dangerous when he is wounded.

Justice Anthony Kennedy, speaking logically for the (finally!) Supreme Court's moral majority, wrote that opponents of this ban "have not demonstrated that the act would be unconstitutional in a large fraction of relevant cases." Meanwhile Ruth Bader Ginsburg, mouthing platitudes for the dissenters, found the ruling "alarming," "failing to respect the court's abortion precedents," and "deprives women the right to make an autonomous choice, even at the expense of safety." Certainly on the surface the "safety" claim is ludicrous. But unfortunately there is some serious sinister sneakiness in this bitter old lady's (I have trouble referring to Ginsburg as "Justice") safety claims.

While some of Ginsburg's objections to the decision, such as her criticism of Kennedy for "referring to surgeons who perform abortions not by the titles of their medical specialties but by the pejorative label 'abortion doctor'" (would she prefer "baby-killer?") are laughable, the health issue is not—and here's why. While typical partial birth (D&X) abortion which involves dilating the cervix and removing most or all of the baby except the head, then puncturing the baby's skull and removing its brains, is never a totally safe procedure for the mother (not to mention it comes perilously close to crossing the line of infanticide) some procedures are even more dangerous. Pro-aborts sigh that since this ruling is "vague" (or in pro-life language "definitive") enough to include late term intact dilation and evacuations (intact D&Es) perhaps the only way they can now legally perform (i.e. get around the law) late term abortions is non-intact D&Es (chopping the baby into pieces within the womb and then removing the pieces and the baby is dead) or perhaps poisoning the baby and then removing the murdered fetus intact. Obviously both of these procedures usually carry far more risks for the mom during her last trimester when the child is close to birth weight, so don't be surprised if some monsters from Planned Parenthood or the National Organization of Women propose a plot to put some naive teenage girls in jeopardy with such procedures, hoping a few young mom deaths will gain them some solidarity with the fence sitter, not to mention sympathy from the devil.

With so much at stake, we cannot expect the enemy to play fair. Momentum is on our side and with several state legislatures now writing laws to enact laws banning abortion as early as twelve weeks, and a South Dakota (Remember O Most Gracious Virgin, South Dakota) law (requiring doctors to tell women seeking an abortion that the procedure would "terminate the life of a whole, separate unique, living human being") currently before the 8th Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals, the pro-life victories have a potential to snowball. But we MUST seek reinforcements.

So today I ask the enlistment of all young people, especially young women, to aid us in this life or death task. Do not be duped by the tired cries pseudo-leaders like Senator Hillary Clinton, who moans, "this decision is an erosion of constitutional rights ... a dramatic departure of four decades upholding a woman's right to choose." Instead be swayed by the words of fearless 16-year-old (and my daughter) Therese O'Toole, who declares (in a letter to a local abortion mill), "Since 1973, abortion has been called a 'choice.' However, when one chooses abortion, what is really chosen is the killing of a human being, their baby ... The choice is killing a baby, or letting them live, rather the choice should be who will care for them; you or another deserving family ..."

You may be too young to run for president—or even too young to vote. But you are never too young to choose the road that leads to the title of "Saint."

The Morning of Mourning: Our Take on Tech

By now you have all seen the images of horror on cable TV, or read newspaper accounts of the carnage that was Virginia Tech yesterday. I do not feel it is my place to examine the university's handling of the situation, or try to place the tragedy's blame. I do know that the forces of good and evil are at war with each other, and we underestimate the enemy if we think such incidents will cease with quicker or more clever police work.

Today, I can only offer the feelings of two distinct college students, each physically far away from the situation—yet emotionally by both age and situation—quite near.

My son Patrick is a freshman at the University of Illinois. He is studying engineering—as were most of the victims at Virginia Tech. I called him yesterday; Patrick had recently passed out after giving blood (a rare but not dangerous reaction). I called to ask him how he was, if he was having any lingering effects from this incident. Although neither of us said it, we both knew this was not the real reason for the call.

"I'm doing fine, Dad," Patrick reassured, but after small talk about gambling (Patrick likes to play poker, low stakes of course) and grades, the talk turned to the day's awful events.

"I haven't watched much news coverage," Patrick confirmed, "mostly just what I heard from everyone ... no, U of I hasn't issued any statements, or started any new security procedures ... at least not yet ... okay, Dad, I'll see you soon. Thanks for calling." Patrick, an intelligent kid who nearly always knows the right thing to say, is also one to somewhat hide his emotions. Although he succeeded at this once again, his tone betrayed the fact that today, he was as happy to hear my voice as I was his.

Demetrius Jones, you may recall, is a sophomore at Notre Dame and a candidate to take over the Fighting Irish quarterback job vacated by the graduation of All-American Brady Quinn. While it would be unfair to call him the leading candidate, not only because Coach Charlie Weis guards this secret better than the Defense Department guards its nuclear weapons, but because Weis' gag-order on freshmen has not allowed new-kid-on-the-block Jimmy Clausen to prove himself to the press. Still, one has to be impressed by the way Jones (who recently shaved an ND logo into his hair) has handled himself with a microphone. Not only with confident statements like, "I didn't come here to be anybody's sidekick," but with his insights on current events, including yesterday's VT campus shootings.

"These are things eighteen- or nineteen-year-olds think about when they sleep at night," Jones said. After acknowledging to the press that Weis had addressed this issue to the team in a somber pre-practice meeting, Jones admitted it was still on his mind. "College football players may be big and tough but we have feelings too. We cry."

When thirty-three college students and faculty die, Demetrius is right in saying it is alright to cry. But we can never give up. For "never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided ..."

The Saint of "St. Patrick's Day"

Come, and from now on, walk with us.
–the voice of the Irish in St. Patrick's dream

Surein' you're all celebratin' today whether you're Irish or just wish ya were. But don't ya think it a wee bit wise to know a little about the man you're all celebratin' over?

As with all legendary figures, there are plenty of legends surrounding St. Patrick that need to be sorted out. Truth be told, Patrick probably didn't drive the snakes out of Ireland. But he did even better—he drove the human snakes, the heretics, out, and converted all the rest! And Patrick, well, he wasn't even a native of Erin! Born in the bosom of Ireland's dreaded enemy England, Patrick was kidnapped by Irish pirates as a teen and forced to work as a Shepherd-slave for six years before escaping back home.

But as Patrick confessed later, this captivity was to be a blessing in disguise. Faced with hunger, cold and loneliness, Patrick was humbled to the point that prayer became Patrick's sustenance, and God his only companion. By the time a vision in a dream told him a ship was waiting for his escape—nearly 200 miles away—Patrick didn't hesitate. And after landing, the crew (who was a bit unsure about the over-enthusiastic youth to begin with) told Patrick their food was out and challenged him and his God to produce some grub. Patrick proclaimed, "Just turn with faith to the Lord my God, to whom nothing is impossible." Almost instantly, a herd of swine came running by, and while they trapped a few, they came upon wild honey for desert!

But alas, not long after Patrick was home safe and sound in his native land with mom and dad, he received his even more famous dream, in which the Irish appeared and bid him to return. After becoming a priest, Patrick did just that, and the rest as they say is history.

In his best selling book, How the Irish Saved Civilization, author Thomas Cahill argued that as a missionary, Patrick might have had an even greater impact than St. Paul, for not only did Patrick convert nearly a whole country, he and his monks copied the Bible and preserved Christianity in written form as well to assure the Lord's message wouldn't be lost. While vikings and vandals overran Rome and the rest of civilization, Patrick, by his duel ability to establish both monasteries with permanent monks and inspire missionary monks to preach to the rest of Europe, ensured the faith's survival during a time of constant war and upheaval. And he did so by winning to the faith almost every chieftain in Ireland, some by his courage in the face of torture or death, some by his uncanny knack of relating to and attracting youth (a la John Paul II) and some merely by his humble sense of humor. Patrick, who thought of himself as nothing but an uneducated useless sinner, was constantly amazed by his success declaring, "I am greatly a debtor to God who has bestowed on me such grace that many people through me should be born again to Him." But what Patrick thought a liability was indeed his greatest asset; taught not by men but directly by the Holy Spirit, Patrick's unsophisticated but unwavering faith was irresistible to a country whose simple but hopeful people were always ready for a good story—especially one with a happy ending.

About the only dream of Patrick's that didn't come true was martyrdom; Patrick had converted too many beasts as well as chieftains that his desire "that my blood be poured out for his name, and my corpse be torn limb from limb by dogs, wild beasts and fowls of heaven" was not about to happen in his beloved Ireland. Instead, it was his soul that spread to every corner of the earth; as Butler's sums up, "Wherever Irish missionaries have gone, they have taken with them devotion to the apostle or Ireland." And now as my own three sons, Patrick, the engineer, John, the actor, and Gary, the Navy man, are setting out on their own as today's saint did so long ago, I ask that he be with them on their various journeys—and they always return with tales of love, laughter and conversion.

From St. Patrick's to Son Patrick: (Happy Birthday!)

Yes, my youngest son Patrick (in a dated photo, playing the saxophone) turns 19 on the 19th this year. Down at the “U of I,” I'm sure he'll be in great spirits among good friends tonite, for like the Saint, Patrick was always good at making (and keeping) friends, through is kindness and humor. The following is a poem I wrote about him some five years ago, when he was a mere lad of 14.

Two Sons

Patrick
You once complained
Life was pathetic
Both punished
By our poverty
And untrusted
Thru parental lack
Of understanding
Treated young
And Growing old
At the same time

Brilliance
Was your given
But Wisdom
Was your goal
Though you didn't know it
Because those voices
Blocked out the Beauty
As you traded Truth
for comedic comebacks
And then bowed
To the wrong crowd

But one-day
As Capitalism's Clown
And Illness's Insight-er
(Your dad and mom)
Fatefully looked on

You looked up
Saw His Cross
Realized your role
Took up your Bible
And became a Man
Like Him

A Little Humor ...

Continuing with our holiday blog theme, here's one that's a tribute to the kindness and comic sense of my brother-in-law Gary Ohlin. Both generous and insightful, Gary (our second son's namesake) is officially agnostic but you can think of him as "The Curt Jester" before his conversion, or The Good Samaritan if "Sam" was played by Steve Martin. Here (through a sample of the cards he gives our kids) is a sample of his humor.

Awaiting the Word -- from John

It was the afternoon of the Feast of The Immaculate Conception. I had just arrived home from my teaching job in the Elmhurst public schools, and was listening to the radio trying to catch the weather report as my Friday night job, helping with the park district Holiday Walk, was held outside. But instead of the weather, a special report cut in ... something about a lock down/murder/hostage situation at the Chicago Metra Station. Usually I have a way of tuning out the bad news but THIS was the station my SON used for his train downtown and back. Was John there now, or worse, was he ...

Of course, we tried his cellphone, but we only got his recording. While I prayed, the radio/TV news stations were spewing more misinformation than (as it turned out) facts; "... at least three people were dead including two on the commuter level and one in the building's upper offices." The gunman had a hostage and the Metra Station was on lock down. No one was getting in or out. No trains were running, nor would they be for hours. And still no call.

By the time I had to leave for work for my second job, the suspect had been shot (and killed) by police, and whereas the commuter train spokesman maintained trains wouldn't be running for hours (and all 50,000 commuters should find an alternate route home), within ten minutes of that first announcement people were boarding trains again. I personally didn't find out that the four people who had been shot (3 killed, 1 wounded) were all in a law firm on the upper floors, far from the commuter level, and that my son -- "I usually take the afternoon train home dad, but there was a party after school today," stayed late at Columbia College and was totally unaffected by the incident. But there were hours of waiting ... and worrying ...

In today's Gospel for the second Sunday of Advent, the people were waiting for word of "The Word" (John 1:1) and they were hearing this word from John the Baptist, "A voice of one crying out in the desert 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths'" (Luke 3:4). But St. John himself was prophesied by Isaiah (40:3-5), and after years of waiting for the Savior, while some Jews certainly stood firm hoping against hope with the words of this latest (and greatest) Messianic prophet, many had no doubt given up hope, and when Christ indeed did arrive, failed to recognize him.

I, on the other hand, had only a few hours, tense as they were, to await word that my son would come home, but His message was loud and clear.

Ironically, when I thought about what to name our first born over 21 years ago, the passage in Luke 1:57-66 came to mind, for although neither me nor my dad nor any of my five brothers were named John, I just knew it should be his name, just the same. I actually picked the name John not just for Zechariah's son. I also chose it for the fact that there were more St. Johns than any other saint -- so whether it was the boldness of the Baptist, the benevolence of the Beloved Disciple, or the creative contemplative-ness of this week's Carmelite, John of the Cross -- my actor/writer/comedian son would be the beneficiary of their intercessions!

I did not have to wait long to hear of my son John's safety, just as I do not have to wait very long for a St. John feast day to arrive. But in this season of waiting, in the five days of the year (between the Feast of The Immaculate Conception and Our Lady of Guadalupe) when Mary's intercession (indeed, Our Lady gave me peace that John was safe before I heard his official "word") is perhaps its strongest, this incident was a reminder to me to always wait with hope no matter how dim the situation may seem. True, just as our prayers aren't always answered in the way we had desired, Hope in Christ isn't always rewarded in the way we predict it will, but in the BEST possible way to further His Kingdom. Welcome home, John! Come, Lord Jesus!

I can't WAIT 'til Christmas ...!!

The Journeying Jesuit:The Many Missions of St. Francis Xavier

"For there is danger that when the Lord God calls your Highness to his judgment, you may hear angry words from Him, 'Why did you not punish those who were your subjects and who were enemies to me in India?'"
-St. Francis Xavier in an angry letter to King John III of Portugal, chastising the King for his Christian nobleman's ill treatment of Indian slaves.

St. Francis Xavier, the patron saint of missionaries and one of St. Ignatius Loyola's original band of seven Jesuits, logged perhaps more sea miles than Columbus in his quest for Christian converts. And between his frugal means and the harshness of 16th century ocean travel, it can be said that, while he wasn't exactly a martyr, he certainly did it the hard way.

After a short career as a secular nobleman, Francis met Ignatius, another officer of noble birth, who convinced the fellow Spaniard to instead become a soldier of Christ. The band of seven were ordained priests in 1534, but it wasn't until his 35th birthday, April 7, 1541, that Francis set sail on his fateful trip to India, and the eleven years he spent in the East would change the world forever.

Although Francis' last years were in some ways an endless journey, he barely survived his maiden voyage. Riding on the Portuguese flagship, Francis' vessel contained the new governor of India, his crew, European merchants, as well as slaves and convicts, and Francis' prayers and preaching were the only thing that held the crew together through a 13-month trip of cramped conditions, scurvy and brawls. But that was nothing compared to the colonial abuses Francis found in India itself, where the Christian-in-name-only Portuguese masters actually counted (on their rosaries) the blows they gave their frequently flogged slaves.

While the indefatigable Francis didn't have great success with either the wealthy Europeans or rich Indians, the poor natives (and all children) loved him, and his inspired preaching and life of poverty converted many. One of the greatest stories in Francis' string of Indian successes came in Travancore, a settlement that was originally converted by the apostle Thomas. He was immediately received there with joy (the people still had faith but no priests) but the joy turned to jubilation when Francis turned back a marauding northern tribe with only prayer and a crucifix.

Francis then turned his thoughts to the far East, where Christ had never before been preached.

After some initial success in Nagasaki, Xavier went to Miyako to see the Japanese Emperor himself. Told he could not meet him (or remain in Japan) without a monetary gift that far exceeded the missionary's modest means, the innovative Xavier instead presented the Emperor with a music box, a pair of spectacles and a clock. The amazed ruler was so dazzled by these inventions, he not only let Xavier stay, but gave him an old Buddhist monastery and let him preach unimpeded. Within months, Francis had baptized 2,000 enthusiastic Japanese, and he now set his sights on the biggest fish in the East, the mainland of China.

But the long trips and harsh life was catching up to Francis, and while awaiting passage to China, he grew very ill. When the ship finally arrived, Francis tried to make the trip anyway, but he became so seasick the crew unceremoniously dumped him on shore. There Francis began to bleed profusely, and died in the arms of a faithful Chinese servant named Antony who insisted on getting off the boat with him. The man who converted thousands was then buried in a strange land with only four souls (including two slaves) attending his funeral.


Besides his great impact on the Indians and Japanese, Francis has left his mark on both the O'Tooles and the Irish. My son Gary's birthday is also Francis' feast day, and now that "Navy" Gary too is a soldier of the sea, Xavier's patronage of Gary as he turns twenty seems only natural. Especially since the simple servant Antony (Gary Anthony O'Toole's namesake saint) was the one who cared for Francis when he was left for dead ...

As for the SFX/Notre Dame connection? It involves that truly famous Irish grad who, as a Hollywood personality, has led countless entertainment missions himself. You know him as Regis, but his full name is (you guessed it) Regis Francis Xavier Philbin. In Hannah Storm's Notre Dame Inspirations (see previous review), Regis describes his early globe trotting days before he made the big time. A sports show in Denver, a talk show in St. Louis, a morning show in Chicago ... and finally in 1974, an interview for the national show "Good Morning America!" Regis thought he had the gig sown up, but instead was turned down. Despondent, he went back to visit Notre Dame, and there his spirit was revived and he soon went on to his current fame and fortune.

But as many others in the book, Regis is vague about the source of his ND inspirations, "Everything that's good and decent and fair is right there on that campus," Philbin pontificates. "I can feel it in the air." Let's pray that the Holy Spirit inspires Regis to denote something a bit more concrete -- say Jesus Christ and Our Lady -- when he next talks about the positive forces of his favorite university. And, if St. Francis Xavier really wants to have some fun, he can get that other ND grad (you know, that Champions of Faith author) a booking on "Live with Regis and Kelly ..."