She was an absolute nobody. Born in a tiny town from the rural mountains between Spain and France--a little place that had changed hands more times than anybody could count but which is so unimportant that it didn't really matter. She spoke an old folk language--a marker of... Her low status. The rich+learned spoke French and Spanish. She spoke Occitan which is a pidgeon gobbletygook borrowing words and structures from the many more respectable tongues in use across the Pyrenees. She was, according to all who knew her, not only uneducated, but... dull

It has arrived. Hate Sunday. Since ancient times the Octave of Easter has invited haters… perhaps it’s a meat and candy coma from 8 days of indulgence. No wonder we call it Low Sunday.

Recently the hate has been about Faustina and her lovely image of a very pro polish Jesus :). The tradition goes back much further though. Since ancient times, today is the day when we hear the account of the apparitions of the risen Lord in John’s gospel.

Ever since then, all over the world, today is marked by dubious diatribes dunking on ‘doubting’ Didymus.

There was a time in my life after I finished college & lost my faith, when I struggled and fell going down a dark road of self-numbing & self-medicating, I was laid off from my chemistry job, and I returned home feeling shame (although it wasn’t my fault). My father lost (1/17) His job after having a stroke, and my mother was at her personal breaking point working full time and taking care of her mother. Tired of feeling miserable, guilty, and directionless I went to one twelve step meeting of some sort. I don’t recall which (after it I realized (2/17)