The Morgan Post

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Pope Benedict XVI is stepping down and I for one am happy about the news. As a Roman Catholic, I have had my belief in the church rocked by a decade of scandalous revelations. When Pope John Paul II died, many of us looked to Benedict as an extension of his charismatic leadership, someone who would and could carry on John Paul’s compassion, understanding and leadership for a flock in need of a shepherd.

Pope Benedict, it seems, had other goals in mind.

In Benedict’s vision, the Church’s problems could be laid at the doorstep of 50 years of modernization. So rather than focus on the challenges confronting congregations, he has instead changed the wording of the Mass, making it awkward, unfeeling and clumsy. Instead of drawing Catholics together, he has alienated gays and women. Instead of addressing problems in the priesthood,  he has failed to fully understand the extent of the damage done by a hierarchy that has shielded pedophile priests rather than risk losing more priestly bodies.

In fact, the growing shortage of priests is perhaps one of the biggest obstacles facing the Church, yet it can be remedied by some very simple solutions: allow priests to marry, and permit gays and women to be priests.

The Roman Catholic Church bends for no one, of course, and change has never come easily. But there are many married deacons who would make dedicated and loyal priests, except for that one little detail — they are married. There are also many women who would love to be priests and who as priests would enrich the Church, moving it away from its chauvinistic roots towards a more motherly, inclusive organization. Instead, women are expected to be happy with their lot in religious life: as caretakers and nuns in secondary roles. In other words, men are still in charge, despite the equal gains women have made in the modern world.

The Church justifies its men-only club by pointing out that Jesus picked only men, failing of course to recognize the equal role that Mary Magdalene played in the group. Mary Magdalene was one of Jesus’ closest friends and was there at the Crucifixion. She was also the first to discover that Christ’s body was missing from the tomb, and she was the first to see the Risen Christ. Mary Magdalene was also by Christ’s side at various important events in his ministry, most notably as witness to when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.

As far as celibacy among Catholic priests go, this tradition can be traced to 304 AD, when it was decided that priests needed to act in the image of Christ, who was not married or in a relationship, and needed to fully give their attention to their duties to the Church without being sidetracked by a wife and children. At that time, even priests who were married had to vow not to have sex with their wives

And then there’s that matter of gays being priests … Pope Benedict is uncompromising in his stance that homosexuality is unacceptable, despite the fact that many Catholic priests are gay. In Benedict’s world, being gay is a choice, ignoring all the while the gayness of the priesthood.

Perhaps most importantly or equally important is the matter of pedophile priests. Many pedophiles seek job fields that offer a cloak of secrecy and protection while putting them in easy access of children, and the Catholic priesthood is no different. Here again, Benedict’s limited vision fails to recognize that the best way to remove the pedophile wall of secrecy is to open the priesthood to married men and women, single women, and gays. This would make religious life more attractive to hundreds of potential candidates, and make the priesthood more transparent.

Instead, this pope has struggled to get a handle on the pedophile scandals, priest shortages, and the modernization of a people who no longer accept the Church’s stance on moral or dogmatic issues as final and absolute. He has dug in his heels about changes that could modernize the Church while still retaining its doctrine, preferring to insist on a return to more traditional days prior to Vatican II. As a result, the Church has lost membership in droves in Europe and South America, and individual Catholic churches have been closed or forced to give up their personal identities in favor of clustering due to a severe priest shortage.

He has also dampened the dreams of many members of the Church who saw Pope John Paul as a beacon of light and had hoped this pope would continue that legacy, one that had won over the world and built bridges with peoples of all faiths.

Read more about the controversy of Pope Benedict’s papacy at http://tinyurl.com/bq9pxqq.

Find out what is in store for this year by purchasing my latest astrology calendars. Go to Amazon.com at http://tinyurl.com/aqdgned.

(First published on November 10, 2009)

I get the same email every year at this time, just as Christmas is gearing up for its spending season. A Christian – usually a friend or family member – laments about what has become of Christmas and points out all the infractions now levied against this holiest of holidays.

For example, it makes many Christians mad that school children are no longer allowed to sing Christmas carols in public school, or that the school vacation in December is now called Winter Break instead of Christmas Break. Never mind that every parent – regardless of religion – pays an equal share in taxes that support public school, or that many religions, besides Christianity, celebrate a holiday in December.

Justification for celebrating Christmas in public schools is often made by pointing out that the founding fathers were Christians and that America was founded on Christian principles; therefore, Christianity should be the law of the land. Many of the founding fathers were Christian, but they were also very clear about separation of church and state. If any Christian wants to send their kids to school where Christmas – and not the holidays in general – is celebrated, they have the choice of private Christian schools. Non Christian children in public school however, also deserve the choice of not being indoctrinated with all things Christmas.

Another thing that gets many Christians riled up is that many cities now call their Christmas trees “holiday trees.” While I agree that this is ridiculous since no Jew or Muslim looks at a decorated evergreen as anything but a Christmas tree, a more appropriate compromise of taxpayer dollars would be to share the Christmas tree with a Menorah and other religious symbols. But it seems that even that gesture infuriates many Christians. Anything that takes away from Christmas – or involves sharing Christmas with other religious holidays – is a sign that Christmas has been diluted and that Christians are being persecuted.

Apparently, many Christians have been seething about these politically correct changes for years, despite the fact that everywhere you go, there is Christmas: stores are decorated in Christmas-oriented decor, Santa is a popular figure at the malls and often has his own display, Christmas songs and carols are played nonstop on the radio, and holiday shows abound on TV. Imagine being Jewish, for example, and having to drag your kid down the street where Christmas and Santa Claus are in your face on every corner and in every shop window along the way. I’ve had Jewish friends tell me that it is a difficult task, but also an opportunity to teach their children about the beauty and mystery of Hanukkah.

Perhaps the biggest slight for many Christians it seems is the simple wish of “Happy Holidays!” I can’t tell you how many emails I’ve received from fellow Christians promoting the idea that we need to step up, drop the “Happy Holidays,” and say, “Merry Christmas!” to all – regardless of whether or not we offend someone who may not be Christian. One email I received stated that we need to stop worrying about whether or not we are hurting anyone’s feelings, including non Christian children. In other words, it’s time we took our holiday back. This kind of logic goes against the grain of what Christianity is supposed to be about: sensitivity towards others.

Besides, there’s a simple solution here: if you know someone is Christian, then, by all means wish them a very Merry Christmas. But if you aren’t sure what their religion is or what they celebrate, then what is wrong with wishing someone a happy holiday?

This, of course, is an affront to all those Christians who say today Christianity is under attack. I say, if Christians really want to know what it feels like to be truly discriminated against, ask someone who survived a concentration camp,  been judged on the sound of their name, or who has been racially profiled.

As for those Christians who cry foul and claim that Christmas is being watered down, well, common sense should tell them that the sheer dollars involved in gift giving guarantee that Christmas isn’t going to go away anytime soon.

And if they truly believe in what the holiday is about, then Christmas isn’t going away ever.

Lil Bit died this past Friday. We called her Bitty and she had hyperthyroid disease. She was twelve years old and all black, save for a little white tuff on the front of her neck. She was sleek and lean and yet, like her birth sign Taurus, as heavy as a Bull.

She was a lover and she was a biter, drawing blood when she wanted your attention or to wake you up when she demanded to be fed. Those needle-sharp teeth would also sink into your ankles when she wanted you to throw a post-it-note for her to fetch.

We found her under a bush when we lived in Florida. We had been looking for a new cat after our two cats died within months of each other, but none of the felines at the shelters clicked with us – and then, we met Bitty. She was the perfect combination: all black, like one of our newly deceased cats; a Taurus, like the other. Some pets take a while to adjust to your home or to work their ways into your heart. But with Bitty, we soon forgot what life was like before she crossed our path.

She had a penchant for climbing high up on the tops of cabinets, armoires and any space just out of reach, meowing loudly until you’d notice, biting you while you tried to get her down. I soon realized that if I ignored her, she’d descend on her own. Her hi-jinks were simply a way to get attention, and demand attention was what she did best.

Bitty was ten months old and our daughter, Sydney, was three when she came to stay forever. She moved with us to Virginia in 2003, settling into hotel life for the first five months after we arrived. As long as she was with us, she didn’t care where we laid our heads. Still, she was grateful to leave those cramped quarters when we finally found a home.

One afternoon, a few months after moving in, I realized that I hadn’t seen her all day. We tore the house a part looking for her, until it became apparent that she must have silently sneaked past me when I opened the front door to pick Sydney up from school. She was gone all evening and despite my best attempts at biking the entire neighborhood, she was nowhere to be found. On into the night I searched, but finding a black cat in the dark seemed an impossible feat, and I finally had to return home without her.

That night I put Sydney to bed and we said a prayer for Bitty’s safe return. It seemed odd to me that Sydney didn’t seem upset that Lil Bit was lost. I put it down to her being only six years old and perhaps unable to grasp that Bitty might not ever be coming home.

We had a motion light on the back deck and around nine o’clock I saw it go on and off and then on and off again. I raced outside, but no one was there. I went back in and the light flickered again, and again I bolted out into the yard. “Bitty!” I called into the dark, and then a faint meow came from off in the distance. “Bitty?” and here came Lil Bit, sauntering up to the deck as if nothing had happened. I grabbed her and brought her inside and shouted, “Sydney, Bitty’s home!”

Sydney came out of her bedroom and stood waiting at the top of the stairs. I handed her the cat and her tears turned on like water faucets. “Bitty,” Sydney said and I realized that up until the moment, she had been holding in her feelings and fears about Lil Bit being lost. Her tears were of relief that her beloved Bitty was finally home.

After that, we tried to make sure we looked around whenever any of us would come in and out of the house. We didn’t always remember – there were a couple of times when I would take the dog out to do her business and there would be Lil Bit chowing down on some grass. Even when we were paying attention, she would still race out the back door each time it was opened, making us chase her down to bring her back in.

Lil Bit was also a clean freak and would spend so much time covering her pee and poop that we’d finally have to yell, “I think it’s covered, Bitty!” Then she’d saunter out of the bathroom, leaving litter all over the floor with none of it left in the box. She also loved to drink from the faucet, eschewing any bowl of water over the tap. And she had a penchant for small places, squeezing into the smallest basket or box to sleep. “You look ridiculous,” I’d say when I’d find that she had defied the laws of nature of what a cat her size should be able to fit into.

When we got our three-legged blind cat, Hattie, Lil Bit showed no mercy. She’d hide around corner and pounce on Hattie, who would then sit back on her two good hind legs and claw with her one good front paw. I often found Lil Bit sporting bloody wounds on her ears and head, evidence that she and Hattie had once again gone into battle. When Hattie died three years ago, Bitty seemed lost, even though she didn’t like her much. I’d find her wandering the house and looking around corners, as if she was searching for Hattie. Still, she took it in stride when two more cats and a dog joined the fray – perhaps she was glad for the company.

Now she’s gone and I’m going to miss her high-pitched meow and that little black birthmark on the roof of her pink mouth. I’m going to miss her bites waking me in the morning and her nonstop meowing from the window whenever one of us was outside. Maybe most of all, I’ll miss her ability to turn on my alarm clock radio in the morning, if I slept later than her usual feeding time. She always knew which button to push on the clock, biting my hand if I tried to stop her. Still, I swear I’ve seen her out of the corner of my eye, bounding up the stairs in search of a soft bed or into the bathroom for a quick drink from the faucet. And I still wait for her to snuggle between my legs at night, or to race into the kitchen when it’s time to be fed.

In fact, when I went to feed the other pets the first night after she died, I reached for her plate and then cried as I put it back. It won’t be the same without her antics, like racing out the back door or leaping in a single bound on to the top of one of the bookshelves. Suddenly our other cats just seem ordinary, sweet but nothing exceptional.

Looking through photos after Lil Bit died brought home the realization that she was there in our lives for so long, through all of the holidays and birthdays and every day experiences that make up a life. Bitty grew up with Sydney, but now Sydney must grow older without her.

We buried Lil Bit under the dogwood tree, right next to where we laid Hattie to rest three years before. Other cats may come and go and even be special in their own ways. But Lil Bit was some cat, the kind that owns a huge part of your memories and forever a piece of your heart.