Do not interrupt the music.

Sirach 32: 3

I don’t like to brag, but I was a member of my school’s award-winning choir when I was young. I sang alto and bass though admittedly, because of puberty, it was usually during the same note. Sr. Thibeault, our choir director, begged me to join … any other club but hers. I thought she was only playing hard to get. She had famously claimed she could teach anyone to sing, and tearfully admitted she was wrong after she heard me.

The word ‘impossible’ does not exist in Natale Giangioppo’s vocabulary. 

Blind from birth, Giangioppo’s many barrier-shattering accomplishments most recently include participating as a choir member at Our Lady of Sorrows (OLS) parish in Etobicoke, Ontario.

A recent Sunday Gospel was about the puzzling “sin against the Holy Spirit.” Puzzling and terrifying because Jesus is clear about its consequence: this sin “will not be forgiven in this life or the next.” (Mark 3:20-25) How can an all-loving God, full of mercy, who will forgive our worse offences, also tell us there is such a thing as an unforgivable sin? Most of all, how can I make sure I never commit this sin?

My father was a frugal man who categorically rejected going into debt. He warned me against this way of life more than I can recall. When he and my mother bought their modest home in Regina in 1954, they paid cash. Dad bought used cars, again always paying up front. 

Pizzelle. Pizzelle?

I was intrigued. Is it a miniature pizza? 

No, it turns out, it’s a delicious Italian wafer, and was part of a joyful parish project that manifested God’s love and compassion during recently challenging times.

It all sounded so safe, so ‘progressive’. The 2018 Cannabis Act promised to “minimize harms” to Canadians as it enabled ‘recreational’ users to legally possess and consume cannabis without fear of a criminal record, which would stigmatize them for life.

Not long ago, I was presenting a Theology of the Body series at Emmanuel Reformed Church in Whitby, Ontario. I was teaching Catholics, but some elderly women from the Reformed congregation began attending the classes. One in particular was keen to understand what Catholics believe about many different issues. When she got to the topic of euthanasia, her reasoning went along utilitarian lines. “If people can no longer contribute to society, and they don’t have many more years in front of them anyway, it’s okay to choose to die a little sooner, isn’t it?” 

In 1972, I joined a group of students who occupied the Dean of Arts’ office at the University of Regina. Our goal was to win parity for students on all departmental committees in the Faculty of Arts. After one night of sleeping on the floor of a crowded room, I had to leave the protest. I became sick and returned home to rest and recuperate.

I was trying to decide if I wanted ice cream when I got a text from my sister: “Call mom or I when you can.” It was one of those moments where time stops and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach knows that my world will never be the same. Someone I love lost their life to suicide. I had the honour of presiding at the Celebration of Life. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. And we need to talk more about this crushing weight – and a never-ending love.

Take in your hand this staff, with which you shall perform the signs.

Exodus: 14: 17

There is nothing quite so spectacular as a well-executed ceremony, replete with fanfare and ritual. This is arguably why we marvel at coronations even if we aren’t royalists and watch starry-eyed at award ceremonies even if we secretly feel they are testaments to vanity. Ceremonial rituals, however, sometimes point to moments of deep historical importance, and at such times we do well to pause and pay homage. A flag at half-mast, an award of valour, the sign of the Cross. So it is with symbolic objects that capture not just the splendour of the moment, but a long-term history that gives meaning to what they represents. The mace is one such object.