Few months back — feels like yesterday — I signed on as a reader of Holy Scripture at Holy Mass, and pleased I am having done so. Kept to myself, however, my ordination long, long ago, as a lector (reader), in the conventional batch of “minor ordinations” as acolyte, lector, exorcist, and porter.

Those were the days. Tradition still reigned. It happened in our Southern Indiana stronghold, before the Big Three — subdeacon, deacon, priest, one-two-three.  Business-like. No whole year as a deacon, no. We Jesuits hadn’t time for that. Three years of theology, including moral in years one and two, making us ready to hear confessions, a third for more dogma, rubrics, and the like, and there we were, approved.

“Now go pray the mortal sin off your souls,” the drily humorous veteran Jesuit in charge of us in all things ritual announced in the sacristy after deacon ordination, which imposed our obligation to say the divine office, with priesthood coming the next day.

We’d been, most of us, 13 years in the making — one of us was 14 years, another 16, the first as a nonconformist of the first order, the other as an easy-going fellow, faithful to his calling, never quite on the mark in terms of achievement, eventually given his walking papers by superiors, I do not know why.

As for being a reader/lector in this Year of Our Lord, this is participation indeed, if for very few of us —  a primary goal of liturgical reformers for a very long time. Come on gates, let’s participate.

So here I am, six decades years later, with 20 or so years of railing against the ersatz version of the mass foisted on us by 20th-century troublemakers, now a minister in it — of a sort.

Not quite, recovering as I am from years in a new-mass wilderness, fending off irritation, making odious comparisons between the Latin mass of my youth and this version, I have become a sort of turncoat.

This transition, a turn-around of say, 45 degrees, has been made possible largely by finding new-mass worshipers paying traditional-mass attention and then some to what’s going on up front, a polyglot, technicolored congregation whose attention and reverence is, ah, ministerial.

But how about this reading by volunteers? How does that work? Leaving myself out of it — won’t say nothin’ without a lawyer — except to note that for the past 15 or 20 years I have found myself surrounded by more and more people who do not speak clearly and loudly enough. Top of that, they sometimes get irritated when I say “what?”

Giving into rank prejudice in the matter, I have spent thousands which I got back according to refund rules and hundreds more which I donated to the cause, not to mention countless hours figuring out how to make things work — do not call them solutions — that effectively put the blame on Yours Truly. It’s like learning how to drive a car.

That said, use grain-of-salt business and listen up. Reading by volunteers at mass has been a mixed bag. What isn’t? All in all, kudos to them all, which does not mean I’ve nothing more to say. Except it does.

At mass on Sunday, my second mass of the day — I will explain in a minute — I did not follow the crowd and go up for communion at the appointed time, and I mean crowd. It was a standard modern mass. Everyone went but me.

It was like the sign of the cross at the end of the mass when the priest gives his blessing just before dismissing us with a “Go, the mass is ended” or something like it, depending on the creativity, mood, whatever, of the priest. Who of us would be so crass as to fail that sign, carrying with it a promise of grace? You’d be a fool to pass it up. Same with communion. Everybody does it.

The two are not to be compared, of course. As much as a priest’s farewell blessing is to be cherished, it’s not in the same ball park with communion. The one is what any priest can give you anywhere. The other is the culmination of the sacrifice. People know that. It’s the fruit of the mass’s most solemn moment. “This is my body, . . . This is my blood” leads up to it.

If participation is the hallmark of mass attendance, receiving communion takes the cake. If you don’t, an usher might come to the pew you didn’t leave and ask if you want communion brought to you. As well-meaning as a human being can be, he or she, spotting you as a non-receiver, assumes you are incapacitated. He or she will get the communion-distributer to come down the aisle and bring it to you.

Service with a smile, or at least a sympathetic tone of voice. Thing is, he or she accurately reflects the standard. You must have something wrong with you that prevents you from joining the rest of the worshipers. There could be no other reason.

Alas, there was once another reason. You might have judged yourself in the state of mortal sin, which disqualified you. You might not have gone to confession. Or might have eaten or drunk something after midnight. You partied till 2? Not likely you abstained from 12.  It  was much about something: the high regard for the sacrament, reinforced by the rules, which worked as reminders of all that.

It’s different now. Whatever is going on in the minds and hearts of worshipers in this Year of Our Lord 2024, there is near-universal receiving of communion, and very, very few who deny themselves the experience and come to the attention of helpful ushers, as above.

As to why I did not join the rest on Sunday, there was that earlier mass, in another church, where a half dozen confessionals are open for business beforehand, by the way.

. . . while the federal government stood by, content to collect taxes.

The Republican sheriff of Cook County, Elmer Walsh, and Democratic Cook County State’s Attorney John S. Boyle vied with each other in cracking down on the one-armed bandits. The machines were illegal locally but legal under federal law and therefore subject to taxation by the Internal Revenue Service.

As county authorities announced the confiscation and destruction of hundreds of the machines, John T. Jarecki, collector of internal revenue for northern Illinois, routinely issued thousands of slot-machine licenses at $100 each. Meanwhile, The Tribune printed the names of taverns and fraternal organizations that had purchased the licenses. Most were never raided.

When raids did occur and the slot-machine owners were arrested, a common defense was to claim they were slot-machine repairmen, thus explaining the presence of the devices on their property.

Collector Jarecki’s records frequently showed Lake County establishments leading the list of slot-machine licensees. Indeed, in March of 1948 some 600 machines were registered in Lake County. Through it all, the county’s chief deputy sheriff denied the existence of the machines. “We wouldn’t allow it,” he insisted.

Federal records for September of 1949 showed Illinois first among the 48 states in slot-machine licenses with some 7,000 — nearly 10 percent of the national total.

For State’s Attorney Boyle, matters came to a head August 21, 1949, at a Leyden Township Democratic Party picnic attended by 30,000 in Franklin Park. Boyle addressed the crowd from the speakers’ platform, then was whisked away before he noticed the 18 slot machines operating on the picnic grounds. Some of the proceeds from the machines went to the Leyden Township Democratic Organization.

Boyle was furious when he learned that the law had been broken right under his nose at a party function. The next day he declared war on slots, including those used at political rallies. A few weeks later, Boyle’s men seized 25 machines in a series of raids. “The public has to be protected,” Boyle said. “The machines are geared so you can’t win.”

Once an important source of crime-syndicate income, illegal slot machines later faded from the Chicago scene. But as recently as 1970, six were confiscated from a group of Round Lake volunteer firemen. Proceeds from the machines, they explained, were to be used to help buy a new ambulance for their department.

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From my “Way We Were” columns, early  ’80s, Chicago Tribune Magazine

Who asks,

Is the bye week good, or would you rather get the Bears’ season over with sooner?

Fine.

But another would be could be should be “If there were a draft for NFL owners, which team would pick the McCaskeys?

One way or another, Chicago needs a break from this.

Pope punishes leading critic Cardinal Burke in second action against conservative American prelates

Pope Francis has decided to take measures to punish Cardinal Raymond Burke, who is one of his highest-ranking critics. Two people briefed on the measures say Francis has decided to revoke Burke’s right to a Vatican apartment and salary.

Francis said he was removing Burke’s privileges of having a subsidized Vatican apartment and salary as a retired cardinal because he was using the privileges against the church, said another person who was subsequently briefed on the pope’s measures. That person also spoke on condition of anonymity because he wasn’t authorized to reveal the details.

It was news to him.

Burke has not received any notification of measures being taken, his secretary said in a text message Tuesday to The Associated Press.

He got the pope’s goat.

Twice, Burke has joined other conservative cardinals in issuing formal questions to the pontiff, known as “dubia,” asking him to clarify questions of doctrine that upset conservatives and traditionalists. In the first, they asked Francis to clarify his outreach to divorced and civilly remarried Catholics, and Francis never replied. In the second, they asked whether same-sex couples could receive church blessings — and received a conditional maybe in response.

And then those synod blues.

. . . on the eve of Francis’ big meeting of bishops last month, known as a synod, Burke presided over a counter-synod of sorts just steps away from St. Peter’s Square. There, Burke delivered a stinging rebuke of Francis’ vision of “synodality” as well as his overall reform project for the church.

He was poking Francis in the eye, the synod — and “synodality”) — being dear to his heart.

“It’s unfortunately very clear that the invocation of the Holy Spirit by some has the aim of bringing forward an agenda that is more political and human than ecclesial and divine,” Burke told the conference titled “The Synodal Babel.”

You could argue that this did it for the man from Wisconsin.

He . . .

. . . has always defended his actions as being of service to the church and the papacy, saying it was his obligation as a cardinal and bishop to uphold church teaching and correct errors.

“The sheep depend on the courage of pastors who must protect them from the poison of confusion, error and division,” he told the Oct. 3 conference, prompting applause from the crowd.

AP analyzed reasonably:

Burke, who spends much of his time in the U.S. at the Our Lady of Guadalupe shrine he founded in his native Wisconsin, is the second American prelate to face punishment in what appears to be a new phase of Francis’ pontificate.

The “new phase” idea is one thing, the full-time-Catholic-coverage Pillar develops after-effect situations and reactions considerably further. (Scroll down)

According to the AP, the pope told Vatican officials last week that he was doing that because Burke is a source of “disunity” in the Church.

Moments before I pressed send on this newsletter, The Pillar confirmed several elements of the story.

The Pillar has confirmed that there was a Vatican meeting last week, at which Pope Francis discussed a punitive measure, pertaining to Cardinal Burke’s stipend and apartment, mentioning specifically that Cardinal Burke has been a source of “disunity” in the Church.

It was not clear to our sources-close-to-the-situation whether the measure would include both apartment and stipend — but since the stipend goes to cardinals living in Rome, if Burke loses the apartment and leaves Rome, he also loses the stipend.

The Pillar has also confirmed that Burke has not been informed directly of the decision.

Burke, I suspect, will take it rather quietly.

The cardinal is an outspoken critic of Pope Francis, and has generated a fair amount of controversy for his approach.

But while he speaks out vociferously on ecclesiastical issues as he sees them, Burke does not have the temperament to speak out on a personal slight — in fact, I’ve been in his company several times in recent years, and I’ve not heard him speak ill of the pope personally, or of his decisions to remove Burke from the leadership positions he once held.

As it happens, I’ve seen Burke grow visibly uncomfortable in the presence of Catholics insulting Francis personally, rather than criticizing the pontiff’s theological approach or leadership style.

He has that kind of personal piety, in my observation, which makes the idea of denigrating the person of the pope very uncomfortable — even while he is absolute — and sometimes strident — in his criticisms of Francis’ approach to some issues.

That seems a distinction which matters to him.

At any rate, the cardinal has the care of a shrine in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and a sister there, and I suspect he won’t hurt for money if his Vatican stipend has been cut.

But whether Burke speaks out or not, cardinals will be talking.

And I think even some very moderate, institutionalist cardinals — those who find Burke’s outspokenness distasteful — will regard this papal decision as beyond the pale.

The very institutionalism which makes them uncomfortable with Burke will likely leave them to conclude of Francis’ move that things just aren’t done this way in the Church.

I suspect the move will be seen by curial cardinals, especially, as a bridge too far — that popes should not be in the business of arbitrarily exercising their unfettered power to punish a critic.

There may be some cardinals who think it is an appropriate response to a persistent critic of the pope. There will be ultramontane observers who think it’s “based.”

But to others — including some cardinals who were persistent critics of Benedict or John Paul II — it will likely seem to be a nakedly vindictive choice.

I do not think it will serve to quell other would-be cardinalatial critics. It might have something of a chilling effect in public. But it will likely have cardinals roiling behind closed doors — and I suspect instead it will embolden papal critics, galvanize them, or create them.

It could suggest, I think, even to the very moderate cardinals, that when the pope no longer likes them, he will pull the rug from under them, and quickly.

That they can not operate with stability in office. That while they might enjoy the pope’s favor at the moment, losing it would mean losing even their homes.

There will be, undoubtedly, comparisons to John Paul II and Benedict XVI, who tended to be fairly magnanimous toward their cardinalatial critics, even bestowing upon them very significant diocesan sees and Vatican dicasteries.

In short, I think there will be objections to this decision from even the most moderate and institutionalized corners of the Roman College.

And I suspect that it will catalyze more quiet discussions about a future conclave — and what kind of man should be in power — than Pope Francis likely expects. For some, it will seem to encourage a candidate who respects the customs and traditions of the Apostolic See. For others, it will discourage any cardinal who is seen as close to the pope.