Last night, I turned left from North Avenue onto Wolf Road in Northlake, Illinois.  Absent delays, my wife and I would be on time for the 7 p.m. Mass at St John Vianney Church.

It was at that moment that the unexpected loomed before me.  Police cruisers guarded the driveways to the church parking lot.  A pair of burly cops prevented people from entering the church.  Lights flashed from squad cars and fire vehicles.  A line of people stretched for several blocks.

The authorities seemed to have blocked all access to my place of worship.

But I was thrilled. A miracle!

Our parish was hosting the relics of St Maria Goretti.  And so many people showed up that the fire chief was limiting how many could enter the church.

Having more people than the church could accommodate is not a problem we ever had before.  In fact, we typically have plenty of room for visitors.

To me, seeing my parish overflowing with the faithful was, well, a miracle.  And perhaps there was a second miracle last night; those waiting in line showed joy and patience.  Like me, they seemed to be excited that such a huge crowd appeared – even if it meant a long wait to venerate the relics of a remarkable saint.

If you don’t know the story of Maria Goretti, I recommend doing a little research. The headline version:  11-year-old girl defends her virtue from evil-intending neighbor, who stabs her to death, but she forgives him with her last breaths and he goes to prison, has a massive conversion, is released and goes into religious life and, perhaps, will one day be a saint as well.

Maria’s story is about forgiveness.  I believe the crowds last night show how many souls need and want forgiveness.  I’m also reminded how important to ask forgiveness from those I’ve hurt – and to forgive those who have hurt me.

The burly workers crept onto the lawn of the government building under cover of darkness.  Guarded by more than two dozen state police, they removed a stone slab engraved with the Ten Commandments.

They moved as quickly and quietly as possible.  They were empowered by a court order, but their actions countered the will of the God-fearing, God-loving population.  The predominantly Christian populace saw this as further erosion of religious freedom, more evident of a government that had come to mock faith, family and all that Christians hold dear.

Is this Germany during Hitler’s rise?  Is it the Soviet Union under Stalin?  Are we in China under Mao?

No.  It is 2015 and welcome to Oklahoma.

Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plain
Where the wav-in wheat can sure smell sweet
When the wind comes right behind the rain
Oklahoma ev’ry night my honey lamb and I
Sit alone and talk and watch a hawk
Makin lazy circles in the sky

Oscar Hammerstein

Oklahoma.  Home of the land rush and Boomer Sooners.  Oklahoma.  Rugged ranch hands, brave homesteaders, stalwart farmers.  This is a place of strong, faith-filled people.

Yet it also is a place where the courts decided that it violates our constitution to have the Ten Commandments on the grounds of the state capitol.

This betrayal of our founding values happened in the dark of night, but it didn’t happen overnight.  It has been a creeping assault by evil, gradually transforming America from a nation under God to, well, a nation under the dark side.

It is time for our elected officials and people of faith from coast to coast to stand up and say, “We are a Christian nation.”  While we still can.

Nearly four years ago I received (reluctantly) an iPhone, a model 4s.  It was my first venture into the world of smart phones, a world I had long resisted.

Well, there is nothing worse than a convert (to the smart phone – converts to Catholicism are just fine; I’m also one of those).  So it wasn’t long before I was checking email, sending messages, checking the weather, making flight plans, downloading podcasts and listening to music on the iPhone.

I became phone dependent, a frightening condition I had to come to grips this week when my smart phone went stupid.

What I mean by stupid is that it stopped being able to send or receive data.  In other words, no email, no functioning apps – all that was left was, well, a telephone.

I called our technical guru and he did a few tests and checked my account and determined that the problem wasn’t on his end.  I called the cellular provider and they did a couple tests and determined that it wasn’t on their end.  I took my iPhone 4s to the Apple Store and the clerk smirked at me for having such an old phone.

(An aside:  I was the only person in the store not wearing jeans, a t-shirt, grandpa’s Converse basketball shoes and earrings – and I’m talking about the guys.)

Anyone, the overbearing Apple associate poked around at the phone and said it was a hardware problem, my ancient phone wasn’t worth repairing and I should get a new one.

Thus, I’m awaiting the arrival of an iPhone 6, which is larger than my dying phone and likely will do many new things I don’t need but which will become necessities in a few weeks.

I’m not sure this is progress.

I’m going to break a couple of my own rules for writing in this space today.  First, I’m going to be really critical of a specific organization:  CNN.  Second, I’m going to mention partisan politics, although neither for nor against anyone in particular.

What generates this rant is last night GOP presidential candidates debate on CNN.  I’m a political junkie, so I normally consume such things, but last night there were conflicts, so I missed parts.  (OK…I had to go to my ballroom dancing lesson in preparation for my daughter’s upcoming wedding.)

I listed for a few minutes on the radio and found it difficult to follow the discussion.  So, I turned on the television and wasn’t any happier when I realized the problem:  CNN was using a journalistic technique that most reporters abandon somewhere around age 10.  It is the “do you know what he said about you” approach, better fitted to the school playground.

The news media thrive on conflict.  And if there isn’t enough natural conflict to suit them, they try to stir it up.  Thus, last night you had the moderator go about his job something like this (I’m paraphrasing, but not much):

Question:  Candidate A, Candidate B said you are ugly.  What do you say to that?  Are you ugly?  Do you think Candidate A is ugly?

Question:  Candidate C, Candidate D said he would ban Easter Eggs from the White House?  What is your policy on Christmas Trees?  Do you think Candidate D believes in the tooth fairy?

It didn’t take long for the debate to devolve into a rancorous battle over who said what about whom.  The only people who looked smaller than the candidates were the commentators.

This is what political discourse has fallen to:  a playground argument over who has the toughest daddy or meanest mommy.

And it won’t stop here; I’m getting ready to be embarrassed by the questions the Holy Father gets from organizations like CNN when he is in the United States (very soon).

“Holy Father, do you agree with Cardinal X that priests should be required to bless cats and dogs that belong to gay parishioners?”

“Holy Father, you said that priests should smell like sheep, but Father Y smells like Chanel No. 5.”

“Holy Father, can you tell me what parts of The Da Vinci Code are not true and why?”

“How Father, can you explain to me the origin of the term ‘Holy Cow’ and why you don’t invoke it?

I know these questions are silly, but I seriously doubt they rise to the level of silliness of the actual questions the Holy Father will receive, if last night’s CNN-moderated “debate” is any indication of the level of American journalism.

My advice to the Pope:  no matter what question you get, just smile and say you like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie.

Ah, Rome.  The eternal city.  Center of my faith, where St. Paul stood – and died – in the face of the massive pagan empire.

What better place to find inspiration?  What a perfect place to make a commitment for one’s entire life.

And thus was my fate two days past when I stood in St Peter’s Square, one of tens of thousands in Pope Francis’ Wednesday audience.  My moment of truth came as I looked across the expanse of humanity…and I vowed:

“I will never own nor use a selfie stick.”

If for some inexplicable reason you do not know of this device, it is a stick-like device that holds your smart phone (with camera capability) beyond arm’s length, thereby enabling you to take a picture of yourself with a famous landmark or crowd of friends behind you.

The device has a secondary use of allowing you to hold your camera higher than you arm can reach, so you can get a picture of a passing dignitary – like the Pope.  (NOTE:  This secondary use is partially diminished when 20,000 other people are doing the same thing.)

These obnoxious sticks make for an odd crowd scene, suggesting a fleet of submarines with their periscopes raised, a flock of long-necked geese craning for a view or a misplaced herd of giraffe.

I call them obnoxious not only because they dehumanize a human scene, but because they show their users to be so thoroughly self-focused:  thousands of souls in St. Peter’s Square taking pictures of themselves.

There is nothing new about folks taking pictures in front of famous places.  But in the case of the selfie stick, the self is front and center, more important by far in the mind of the picture taker than the scene.  The selfie stick screams:  I. I am here.  I am the center.  I am so important.  I.

So, my vow is to forever reject the selfie stick.  I’m just not that important.

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

Ah…this is one of those philosophical questions that people have pondered for centuries.  But through the magic of modern recording techniques, we have definitely determined that sound is created independent of a human being present.

We have a new version:

“If there is a video of people dismembering babies at a Planned Parenthood clinic and you don’t watch the video did the dismembering really occur?

Like the sound in the forest, the murder of innocents occurs even if you won’t watch.  But lots of folks in Washington are refusing to watch the videos recently released by the Center for Medical Progress.

Perhaps they believe the tapes are fakes.  Perhaps they really believe that if they don’t watch them they don’t exist (the tapes, I mean).  Perhaps they have a self-induced case of denial.

Perhaps they believe that if they put their heads in the sand like a frightened ostrich, the images will disappear.

They won’t. And by the way…ostriches don’t really do the head in the sand thing.

“My name is Raymond J. Johnson, Jr. Now you can call me Ray, or you can call me J, or you can call me Johnny, or you can call me Sonny, or you can call me Junie, or you can call me Junior; now you can call me Ray J, or you can call me RJ, or you can call me RJJ, or you can call me RJJ Jr.” ultimately ending with, “but you doesn’t hasta call me Johnson!” – comic Bill Saluga

Well, we seem to be making a mountain out of a mountain.  Since before I was born, the tallest mountain in North America was called Mount McKinley.  It seems it is being renamed Denali, which apparently is what some folks once called it, thought it ought to be called or want it to be called.

Denali is a Native American word meaning “The High One.”  It fits a really high mountain. (I seem to recall a guy in college who had Denali as a nickname, but it was a reference to a different sort of high.)

Changing the names of famous things causes a host of problems.  Someone is going to have to change maps, road signs and guide books.

Walter Harper was the first person to reach the summit of Mount McKinley, back in 1913.  Can we with moral certainty say that he was the first to scale Denali?  This might go all the way to the Supreme Court.

I don’t really care about the name of a mountain in Alaska.  But I think if we are going to rename something, we ought to make it profitable.  So…why not name the mountain for some company, the way to name sports arenas.  I figure it would be worth millions to somebody to have it named Mount Apple, Mount Lego, Mount McDonald’s or some such thing.

In the meantime, I’m not going to call it Mount McKinley or Denali.  I’m going with The High One.

If God wanted a man on the moon He would have put one there. – Clyde Harley Fair (Jim’s grandpa)

You probably get the impression that my grandpa wasn’t a big fan of space exploration.  He thought it was a waste of time and money, apparently not appreciating that the space program brought us Velcro, Tang and free-dried peas.  I know there were other achievements, but those are the ones that immediately come to my non-technical mind.

NASA has fallen on hard times, but a private company, Mars One, claims it will go to Mars in 2027 and set up a colony.  Grandpa would not be in favor, and I’m so sure I like the idea – despite being a fan of “Star Trek the Next Generation.”

Here are my top 10 reasons not to go to Mars, at least for me:

1. It takes six to 12 months to get there and I get antsy on a plane flight longer than two hours. Imagine how many movies I would have to load on my player to stay occupied for that lone?
2. There won’t be any fresh fruit or vegetables on the flight or when we get there.
3. My hobby is fishing and there isn’t a place to fish on Mars.
4. Despite rumors of little green people, I don’t think there will be anyone there to meet.
5. Assuming I could bring a cappuccino machine, I would have to make drinks with powdered mike because there aren’t any cows on Mars.
6. I hate Tang.
7. If I get there and don’t like the neighborhood it will take at least six months to get back.
8. The nearest Catholic parish is 140,000,000 miles away, which will make it hard to maintain my sacramental commitments or be part of the faith community.
9. Going for a walk requires more preparation and equipment than deep-sea diving.
10. There really isn’t anything to do on Mars.

About point 10:  I’m sure there are scientists who could occupy themselves with all sorts of fascinating experiments.  But fascinating experiments get tiresome and there really isn’t anything else to do.

In Antarctica, if you get bored you can bundle up and go play with the penguins.  In Alaska, you can take your sled dogs for a run.  In the Sahara, you can visit an oasis and munch on dates and wild honey.

But on Mars, you just have to sit there and look at the sand and rocks.  I could do that in Hawaii – but it would be near the ocean, the mountains and lots of pineapples.

I’m liking the idea of Hawaii.

I’m blessed to live in a country that people want to get into rather than out of:  The United States of America.

My ancestors came here many generations ago, mostly from Germany.  My wife’s ancestors came from Italy – just a couple generations ago.  Now, we’re all Americans.

In the past few weeks, three of my friends became American citizens.  One from Mexico, one from Australia, one from South Africa.

Despite their different national backgrounds, they have much in common.  All are beautiful people of deep faith, hard-working, dedicated and honest as the day is long.  I’m grateful that they now are Americans because their addition enriches our nation’s character.

These three friends went through the long, complicated, legal process to become citizens.  The process isn’t easy to understand or navigate.  In talking with people in various stages of attaining their citizenship, it reminds me of booking a ticket on an airline.  The price is different on Mondays than on Tuesdays, tickets are cheaper if bought before 9 a.m. or after 3 p.m., you can use your frequent-flyer miles every fourth Thursday and you get a bag of peanuts if you sit in an aisle seat in an even-numbered row.

I’m a reasonably bright guy with a couple college degrees and I can’t make sense of our immigration system.  In this inspiring political season I have read many proposals for “fixing” the system.  They range from putting up a titanium wall on our borders with armed guards every six feet to just letting people wander in and make themselves at home collecting government benefits.

Somewhere in between those extremes is a place that practical people of Christian faith can stake out as right and reasonable.  That place recognizes our moral obligation to help people in need, combined with the practical reality that we can’t do that if we aren’t economically viable.  If we don’t find that place, we have failed in our duty as Christians.  And the immigration problem will go away; we’ll lose our ability to offer the American Dream and people will stop trying to get in.

I want to live in a country that other people admire and have a clear, fair path to join.

Everybody knows the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery.  She is about to be stoned and he suggests to the crowd that whoever is without sin throw the first stone.

The collected sinners lose their misplaced gumption and walk away.  Then Jesus says he doesn’t condemn her – but sends her on her way with the admonition to stop sinning.

In other words, Jesus distinguishes between the sin and the sinner.  And he gave an example for those of us trying to follow him.

There are other examples.  Many know the story of Msgr. Hugh O’Flaherty.  He worked in the Vatican during World War II and let a team of devoted volunteers who saved the lives of thousands of Jews being pursued by the Nazis.  He played a daring and potentially deadly cat-and-mouse game with the Gestapo head in Rome, Lt. Col. Herbert Kappler.  After the liberation of Rome, Kappler was convicted as a war criminal and spent the rest of his life in prison.  One of his frequent visitors was Msgr. O’Flaherty, who eventually became God’s instrument to bring Kappler to the Catholic faith.

We Catholics believe in working with sinners to bring about forgiveness and conversion.

And then there is the case of the nearly successful attempt on the life of St. John Paul II by Mehmet Ali Agca.  The misguided Agca was convicted of attempted murder and life in prison.  But the then-Pope visited his cell and prayed with him, forgave him and eventually gained his pardon by the president of Italy.

I’m sensing a Catholic trend here…soul sins, soul repents, soul forgiven, soul saved.

Yet, I’ve read many words of outrage, as well as unexpected claims that everything has changed; in response to the Holy Father saying we want divorced and remarried Catholics to be part of the Church.  To those who are in a huff, I recommend getting back to a discerning reading of scripture.  For those who think the teaching of the Church are about to change to allow us to ignore or even celebrate sin, I suggest the same.

Virtually everyone has at least one family member who has done something sinful – or may be living a life in violation of the teachings of the Church.

Once upon a time there was a woman named Monica.  Her son, Augustine, was, well, a terrible sinner.  She continued to love him and pray for him.  They both became saints.

I’m a conservative, by-the-book Catholic.  I have friends who are not.  They remain my friends and, in some cases, much-loved members of my family.  I try to remember that my baptismal commitment is not to judge, but to evangelize.