Beware of the Leaven of Scribes and Pharisees!

"Thanks for your and Yeats' moving poem, which are a true consolation for the soul at these time of calculated lies, unparalleled cowardice and shameless travesty. In the middle of the big unassimilated mess inherited from Marcial Maciel, the the LC and the Vatican have forgotten who the words of St. Paul fit them
"We have become a spectacle to God, to anges, and men..."
I am not labelling anything gratuitously:
The Chruch herself, through her public declarations has given us adequate elements to form a judgment during that past few years. More than ecclesiastical anmesia, the cause of this erratic behavior is irreligious rashness and fear. The reslt: a collosol clumsiness worthy of another Fellini Roma

The Legion of Christ hosts Conference on Business Ethics at the Vatican while being Reformed by the Vatican!

Dear Jose,

when we see that the Legion is helping the Vatican

host a conference on business and ethics

while it is still being cleaned up by the Vatican;

when he remember how Marcial Maciel got off scot free

during the 80 years of his earthly life

while the watchmen where neglecting their duty;

when the Representatives of Christ have never formally apologized

to the victims for this miscarriage of justice;

when we hear that no "compensation" has been given to Maciel's victims

-indeed the very word has been excluded from discussion!- 

and other Legionaries' sexual abuse victims go ignored,

Let us find solace in prayer -

if that sweet embrace

has not been lost to soul violence!

Let us find help in friends,

in  the silent company of human culture,

in the sweetness of a sonata,

in the rapture of awakening dawn

and in the healing balm of poetry:

The Fisherman 

by William Butler Yeats

Although I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped 'twould be
To write for my own race
And the reality;
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved,
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer,
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch-cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelvemonth since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face,
And grey Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark under froth,
And the down-turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream;
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, "Before I am old
I shall have written him one
poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.'

I share this suggestion to Carmen Aristegui with you and Rafael. I hope
Jason will be taking care of the same issue too. I cannot refrain myself
form saying "What boldness of the Legion of Christ! My goodness! What a
weak or what a sneaky or -in the long run- what irresponsible clergy at
the highest echelons in the Vatican! Is this LC the institution they say
they have intervened?"

Pepe

From: "jbarba@itam.mx" <jbarba@itam.mx>
To: irishmexican43@yahoo.com
Sent: Thursday, June 16, 2011 11:45 AM
Subject: [Fwd: Un minuto de tu valioso tiempo.]