Raised Catholic, my parents made me go to Mass until the age of thirteen, which I think was about when I had Confirmation.  A dear friend of mine raised Catholic as well, always talks about the “ethnicity” of our faith.  “Being Catholic,” she says”, is in your blood, inescapable, and unalterable.”

Nevertheless, this Sunday, like most, finds me out conducting my chores, freeing chickens, looking in on horses, and strolling toward that wonderful reward, the Sunday paper.

Now, where I live, the Sunday paper is a mere trifle, inconsequential fluff.  Since it is no New York Times, I can be done with it in five minutes or so, leaving me plenty of time to contemplate further chores…