No one on Earth, now or ever on Earth for that matter, would ever accuse me of being saintly. I was a brat and unrepentant for the most part my entire childhood…plus I wasn’t catholic so that took away any chance of saintliness.
As a child I was fascinated by all the saints my catholic friend talked about. It seemed there were at least seven saints for each day of the year and I couldn’t figure out how she could keep them all straight.
Philomena stuck in my head because Cynthia told me at my birthday party on August 9th that she had to leave early to prepare for the feast of Philomena the next day. I was upset that my friend couldn’t stay because of some dead person with a wierd name.
Cynthia told me that no one knew who Philomena really was but some nun in the 1800’s had a dream about her and the church made her a saint. That sounded fishy to me, but it turns out that IS what happened.
Philomena was completely unknown then someone found her bones and a single sentence carved into her ossuary. It said “”Peace be to you, Philomena.” Yep, that’s it.
So this nun had a dream that told the life story of the saint…and people just accepted it as gospel. The story didn’t make a damned bit of sense, but then I have found very little in the church makes sense.
Where am I going with this? I dunno, but it occurs to me that people are accepting something else as gospel…that it is better to have a pervert republican in office than a democrat who is a good man.
It’s either time for the south to create their own country and leave mine alone, or we need to pull a ‘twilight zone” episode and spray down the idiots with some crop duster delivered drug that turns them into humans again.