Catholic Conversations with a Toddler

I was at my friend's house yesterday and had a pretty awesome interaction with her daughter, who is about two years old.  She was sitting on my lap, and she started fiddling with the cross I was wearing.  Confused that it was just a cross, not a crucifix with an image of the Lord on it, she asked:

Two:  Where Jesus?
Me:  Hmm?
Two:  Where Jesus?  (holds up the empty cross, confused)
Me:  Oh, this is the cross after He was raised up.
Two:  He raise up?
Me:  Yep, He's raised up.
Two:  I eat it.  (puts cross in her mouth)
Me:  (pulling the cross out of her mouth)  No, no, you don't eat the cross.  You eat Jesus.
Two:  I eat Jesus?
Me:  Yes, but later.
Two:  I eat cookie?
Me:  Yes, let's go eat a cookie.

This has been Catholic conversations with a two-year-old:  the part of the show were a two-year-old has a very Catholic conversation.

Silent Night, PART 3

Silent Night, Part 1

Silent Night, Part 2

"I FEEL SAD…." said the Slowicus Slothicus.  "CHEER ME UP, SANTA."

Santa tried to stretch his face into a smile, but his muscles were all working at different speeds now because the Sloth was so sad, so he sort of ended up in a weird, lopsided grimace.

"AM I LOVED?" asked the Sloth.  The anguish in his voice made Santa's heart skip a beat—or maybe it was just beating really really slowly now.

It seemed like an age and a half later (but only a few heartbeats) that there finally came another noise—a ripping noise.  Santa could see out of the corner of his eye a jagged tear in the sky.  And through the tear emerged just the man he was waiting for—BEOWULF!

Beowulf had ripped a hole in the time-stop barrier WITH HIS BARE HANDS.  (He then carefully closed the hole behind him with surprising gentleness.)  The Sloth's sad mood hadn't affected him yet, so he was still quick on his feet.  Running toward Santa and the Time Sloth, he leapt from roof to roof.  What a sight to see—the man with arms as strong as iron and courage enough to face monsters unarmed.  

When he finally arrived at their street, Beowulf gave the Slowicus Slothicus a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears (WITH HIS BARE HANDS) and smiled reassuringly.  "I hear you had a bad dream?" he asked knowingly.  "Well, don't worry!  I'm here to cheer you up—WITH MY BARE HANDS!"  Then, without any effort at all, Beowulf reached into Santa's bag and pulled out a few basketballs.  He started juggling them (with his bare hands).  "Look how much Santa loves you!  He asked me to rip a hole in the time-stop barrier just to come cheer you up!"  

Santa's heart started beating again.  He would have heaved a sigh of relief, but his lungs still weren't responding at the normal rate yet, and he was beginning to feel light-headed.

After juggling for a bit, Beowulf put the basketballs back into the bag and pulled out a unicycle.  Beowulf wasn't very good at unicycling, but at least it could make the Sloth laugh.  Santa was finally able to breathe, and to move his arms and legs again.  Not very quickly, but enough.  He slowly walked into the bag and began to search for the boxed set of Herodotus.  It was surely around here somewhere….

Beowulf had stopped unicycling at this point and was playing hand games with the Sloth.  "ABC, it's as easy as a 123!"

Santa finally found the present between a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Zac Efron and a set of power tools.  He picked it up and trudged toward the entrance of the bag.  The Sloth's sadness was lifting, but he still needed his Christmas present.

"Sssllloooth," Santa said.  "III haaave aaa prreeezzeennnt foor yyoouu."

The Sloth's eyes lit up, and he stopped playing Pat-a-cakes with Beowulf.  Gingerly, he plucked the present from Santa's arms (Santa's fingers were still a bit stiff).  Eagerly ripping the wrapping paper, he squealed with glee as he read the title on the box.  ("Squealed" is a relative term; it sounded more like a low moan.)  Santa offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

"THANK YOU, SANTA!  I LOVE IT!" the Sloth said.  

"You're welcome," Santa said, shaking the last of the grogginess from his head.  Taking a deep breath, he gave Beowulf a salute.  "You've saved the world from mass extinction!"

"With my BARE HANDS!" Beowulf agreed.

Finally, Santa could get back to delivering presents.  With Santa's nod of approval, Beowulf escorted the Slow Sloth back to his cave in the Appalachians, where he sang "Silent Night" in sign language (with his BARE HANDS).  Soon the Slow Sloth was sleeping happily, dreaming of reading Herodotus when he awoke.

A little while later, Beowulf returned to Santa's sleigh.  The hero was humming triumphantly to himself.  "Since you're not time-stopped, and you're here with me," Santa suggested, "perhaps you could help me finish delivering these presents."

"I'd be happy to help you!" offered Beowulf.  "In fact, I'm really good at delivering presents with my BARE HANDS!"

Suddenly, Santa had a vision of broken windows and crumpled presents being stuffed down chimneys.  "Maybe I'll let you deliver the ones where the doors are unlocked…."



THE END (For now)





Happy Christmas, everyone!  God bless you and I hope you have a wonderful day celebrating our Savior's birth and singing kumbaya and exchanging presents with the ones you love.

Silent Night, PART 2

Silent Night, Part 1


There wasn't supposed to be any noise at all during the time-stop—not even the dust mites were breathing.  The only ones who could actually disturb the air to make sounds were Santa and his reindeer.  In fact, Santa had to keep moving around so he wasn't breathing the same air over and over again.  (The cyborg reindeer were outfitted with oxygen tanks, so they didn't have that problem.)  Even the Brownian motion of the air molecules was stopped.  Santa had long ago gotten used to the feeling of completely still air and total silence—like someone had shoved cotton in his ears.  

But there was definitely a sound happening right now, he admitted, as he fiddled with the size settings of his bag of gifts on a rooftop.  It was a low thumping sound.  He paused.  Even the reindeer had cocked their heads to the side, listening.

"Blitzen, do a spectogram analysis—identify the source of the sound," he barked.  "And Dasher, give me a location and distance."  Meanwhile, he checked the readings on his time-stopper.  Everything seemed to be working normally.

After a few moments, Blitzen and Dasher had sent their results to the sleigh's main control screen.  Santa tried to scroll through, but it was hard to operate a touch-screen with gloves.  Meanwhile, the thumping was definitely getting louder, and there was a sniffling sound too.  Santa could feel his heart rate slowing down ever so slightly.

It was just as he had feared.  The words "SLOWICUS SLOTHICUS" flashed across the screen, followed by:

Current distance:  1 km

Current speed:  60 km/hr

Current direction:  Toward us.

The Slow Sloth slept in the Applalachain mountains.  He was a Time Beast, one of several who kept the Earth's time stream in check just by breathing.  The problem was, when the Slow Sloth got sad, time around him started to slow down.  If he got really sad, time slowed down so much it started to go backwards.  The last time that had happened, the planet experienced a mass extinction—the dinosaurs.  Their bodies had been trying to occupy the same space at the same time but twice (time going backwards was complicated).  According to the elves who had been watching from their time-protected workshop, it was pretty brutal.  It had taken an entire comedy team to cheer up the Sloth to allow time to continue after that.

Every year, Santa left the Slow Sloth a present to make sure he knew he was cared for.  This year Santa had selected a boxed set of the unabridged Histories of Herodotus (the Slow Sloth had a penchant for reading).  The set was deep in the bag of presents—Santa had been planning to drop it off at the Slow Sloth's cave on his way out of this time zone.  

Why had the Slowicus Slothicus woken up?  He almost never woke up during a time stop.  And on the rare occasion that he had (Santa could recall the year 1904, most recently), the Slowicus Slothicus was always very happy to see Santa and his cyborg reindeer.  What had made the Sloth so sad he was even slowing Santa down during a time-stop?

The answer came from a half a kilometer away.  "SANTA?  I DREAMED A REALLY BAD DREAM…." the Slow Sloth bellowed, sniffling.  It was strange to hear such a childlike sentence from a voice so deep.  The Sloth could speak and understand every language of every living creature—but not necessarily at an adult level.

Santa could feel the stiffness in his arms and legs as he stood and turned toward his bigger-on-the-inside bag.  His blood flowed thickly through his veins.  He told his arms to reach, to open the bag—told his feet to step inside, but by the time his hands were pulling at the drawstring, the giant Slow Sloth was sitting beside the apartment, eye level with the roof.

"I DREAMED I WAS ALL ALONE," the Sloth said, sniffling again. "AND WHEN I WOKE UP… I WAS…."

Santa could barely move now.  Time was slowing down faster than he had imagined possible.  Even if he got inside the bag now, he wouldn't be able to sort through the various items and select the Sloth's present in time.  His thoughts were becoming muggy; he knew he had to do something or else he would stop moving altogether.  And once Santa had caught up with the time-stop, the Sloth's sad mood could make the entire time zone—or even the whole world—slow down enough to go backwards.

Santa imagined future archaeologists digging up all of their bones and wondering if a giant asteroid had hit the earth.  He would have shuddered, if his muscles could have responded fast enough.  Instead, he ended up fumbling the drawstring of the bag of presents.

This was too big a problem for Santa to solve alone.

"Ruuuudooooooooolfffffffffff," he drawled, panic in his eyes.  "Caaaaaaallllllll fooooooor heeeeeeeeeeelllllllllllllp!"

Luckily, Rudolph's distress signal usually travelled at the speed of light; even the Slow Sloth couldn't slow down electromagnetic waves that much.

There was only one person Santa knew could help him in times like these.




TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW in Silent Night, Part 3....

Silent Night, PART 1

It was the eve of Christmas.  The children lay snuggled in their beds, dreaming about sugarplums (whatever they are) and of Red Rider BB guns and of dahoo-doray singing in the morning.  The air was crisp, and the houses were adorned with icicles and tiny lights.  The world was silent and still.  Even the snowflakes had stopped midair.

Santa Claus was coming.

He adjusted the time-stop settings on his sleigh, making sure the entire time zone was frozen in the same moment.  Then he programmed the whole system for a smooth landing on the nearest rooftop.  The reindeers' metal joints creaked as they slowed to a halt.  He'd have to oil them soon.  And Rudolph's nose needed a new lightbulb.  "Good work, boys," he said, offering them carrots.  Even cyborg reindeer got hungry; although admittedly they ate less often than regular reindeer would in these working conditions.

Zipping up his low-friction silence jacket, he slipped down the chimney and into the living room of Little Suzie.  Despite having an unfortunately sappy name, Little Suzie was a happy child, and she had asked for what every girl wanted that year:  a working lightsaber.  Taking pity on her parents, he gave her a plastic telescopic one instead.

Oh, good—she'd left cookies and milk.  In order to keep up his strength during an extended time-stop, Santa needed lots of sugar and protein.  It'd be nice if they left out a hunk of steak every once in a while, he thought, but for some reason everyone wanted to serve him dessert.

Carefully, he placed a statue of the baby Jesus in the trough of Little Suzie's nativity scene.  The most important part of his job.

The next home didn't have a chimney, so he entered via his newly patented matter relocator (which was convenient, because Carlos had asked for a cello, and his brother Yunior wanted a new bike—both of which would have been hard to fit down a chimney).  Santa had a lot of high-tech gear.  His elves worked all year to make this night's seemingly infinite journey as quick and efficient as possible.  Time-stop was great, but it wreaked havoc on his sleep cycles.  After being awake for ridiculously long amounts of time (Mrs. Claus had calculated it a few years ago, but Santa didn't want to know), he was exhausted, and slept for weeks.  It was a good thing he was quasi-immortal, or he would be aging way faster than the rest of the world.

He was anxious to get all the puppies settled; they were having a little too much fun in his bigger-on-the-inside bag of presents.  It was hard to chase them all down.

It took a while, but eventually all the children's gifts were delivered for that time zone.  Santa was ready to move on to the next time one, but first he slipped into a church for a quick prayer.  When he had initiated the time-stop, they had been in the middle of Midnight Mass, and the choir was frozen in the middle of a grand "GLOOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O—"  After his prayer, Santa released the time-stop, and they finished:  "OOO-O-O-O-O-OOO-O-O-O-O-ria."  If anyone noticed a man in a red silence suit slipping out the back doors of the church, no one said anything.

It wasn't until about halfway through the next time zone that Santa heard the ominous thumping noise.




TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW in Silent Night, Part 2....

Shells are like ears.

A conversation between me and my youngest sister (she's blonde but brilliant):

Me:  Did you know shells are like ears?

Blonde but Brilliant:  No.

Me:  Now you do.

BBB: … Okey.

Let me try to be more informative.

I remember once when I was small, I was listening to the sound of the ocean in a conch shell with my cousin.  She smiled at me and said she thought the ocean sound would stay in that shell for a long time.  That was when I began to wonder why the shell sounded like the ocean.  Was it recorded, like my cousin said, and could it run out?  I strained my ears to try to see if I could hear seagulls.

There was a shell in my kindergarten classroom, and I used to listen to it all the time.  The boys in my class said it sounded more like a toilet flushing.  I secretly agreed.  And that made sense with my cousin's theory, because there was a bathroom near our classroom, and not an ocean.

Later, in second or third grade, I was told that the sound of the ocean is caused by the echo of the blood pumping through your ears.  Rather than feeling disappointed that I wasn't hearing the real ocean, I smiled when I heard that.  My blood sounded like the ocean.

At home, I liked to listen to that shell my cousins and I had found on the beach and think of the ocean flowing through my veins.

Now I know that the shell is actually a resonant chamber—it emphasizes certain frequencies with the noise around you and creates the ocean-like sound.  Our speech and hearing systems include several resonant chambers—namely the vocal tract (the space between the larynx and the lips) and the outer ear.  Like a shell, the ear doesn't change shape.  The ear acts as a resonant chamber:  as sound waves pass through the outer ear and ear canal, these structures vibrate with the sound and accentuate certain frequencies.  Conveniently, frequencies important to understanding speech are emphasized in our ears.  (Cause and effect are fuzzy here—which developed first:  speech frequency contrasts or ears?  Or was it simultaneous/complex?)  Apparently, the world agrees that shells resonate with frequencies that sound a lot like the ocean.

That means that everywhere there is sound, the sound of the ocean can also be there.  You just need a good resonator, like a shell.

It also means that shells are like ears.

Peanut Soup and Saving the Elephants

This is a Ghanaian soup I've been making a lot, and I've modified it to use ingredients I can find at the grocery store.  I know it sounds really weird, but it is totally delicious!

Ingredients:

1 can stewed tomatoes

3 overflowing tablespoons of peanutbutter (any kind will do)

about a quarter of an onion

1/8 cup (ish) oil (I usually use olive if I have enough)

1 tbsp garlic

1 tbsp ginger

1 tsp paprika or cayenne pepper (optional)

1 or 2 tbsp salt

a few shakes of black pepper

Chop up the onion as fine as you can, then put all of the ingredients in a pot.

Mash them with a potato masher until it's one consistency.

Let simmer for about a half hour or until you feel like eating.

Serve on top of rice.  Eat with your right hand.  Serves two or three.

A note about oils:  In Ghana, this meal is made using palm oil.  Palm oil is, in my opinion, delicious.  However, I recently learned that most of the sources of palm oil to the United States are palm tree plantations that are destroying the habitat of Asian elephants.  A lot of products are made with palm oil—unfortunately a few popular brands of peanutbutter are too.  Whenever I have a choice and can afford it (often there is no price difference), I try to choose products that do not contain palm oil, and I'd like to encourage you all to do the same.  We can be environmental superheroes—even in our choice of peanutbutter!  Let's do what we can to save the elephants!

"Muscuchar"

In our lab, sometimes when niños are being tested in their nondominant language, they make up words.  Sometimes they make up entire sentences out of nonsense syllables; this is always fun.  But occasionally there's a stroke of brilliance.  One of the niños in our lab used the verb "muscuchar", which didn't make sense in context, but I decided it's too good to pass up.  I hereby declare that "muscuchar" is a combination of the words "música" (music) and "escuchar" (to listen), and it means "to listen to music."  Update your Spanish dictionaries, people, this is going to be big.

Relatedly, today is the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, so my church is having a HUGE celebration.  My youth group is singing a few maricachi-esque songs to our lovely mother, and I am playing the violin!  The last nine days we've been saying a novena and singing lots of awesome Mary songs and people have even been doing traditional Native dances after Mass (Matachines).  I haven't been able to go most days (finals....), but when I have been able to, it's been really fun!  And yesterday (today too I think) a bunch of the Jovenes put on a play about Juan Diego, the Native Mexican guy who Mary gave the visions to—it was the perfect mixture of respectful and also silly (my friends playing the Bishop and his lackeys were pretty funny).  I love my parish; we don't take ourselves too seriously but we DO take God very seriously!

Latin America has a special devotion to Mary; in large part this is because she was the one who evangelized them and brought them to Jesus.  She has appeared miraculously many times in different places, and her Guadalupan vision is one of the most famous ones.  I actually got to see the cloth with her image on it when I went to Mexico as a senior in highschool.  It hasn't biodegraded even after all these years—and scientists can't find any paintbrush marks on it either, apparently.  Yesterday, the priest was talking about some photographers who found that Mary's eyes had a reflection of someone in them and that the photographs of her eyes looked like live eyes.  I'm not super well versed on the miracles associated with this image of Mary, but I do know that it was because of that vision that many Native Mexicans learned about Jesus.  (Let's face it; the conquistadors did a horrible job at evangelizing!)  So it's a bit deal for Mexican Catholics, the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

We are praising God for His great love for us—that He was born of a poor peasant woman so He could die for us and earn us passage into Heaven.  And of course we are saying thank-you to Maria for showing us Jesus, who is the most important Person in our lives.

I'm sure Mama Maria is muscuchando to her children today—and I hope we are making her smile!

Frogs and Chinchillas

I have recently discovered the following fact:

Studies have shown that frogs and chinchillas have auditory categorical perception.

My speech science professor told us this in class, and I didn't believe it until I checked on google scholar.  Not the categorical perception thing—that's not too surprising, really.  What's weird is that people are actually studying the categorical perception of frogs and chinchillas.  They're sitting frogs and chinchillas down in labs and playing them different sounds to figure out if they can tell the difference between tiny differences in the sounds.  Frogs, maybe that's a little understandable, if weird, but chinchillas?!  Chinchillas can't even get wet.  Why on earth would anyone test the categorical perception of a chinchilla?

Science continues to astound me.

Mandela and also Ice

Yesterday I heard that Nelson Mandela has passed away.  Let's give thanks to God for such a wonderful man.  I am a huge fan; even when he was imprisoned for twenty-seven years, he kept hope and also stuck to his morals, supporting only nonviolent protests against apartheid.  The world would be a very different place if he hadn't lived.

(I know, I know, the contributions of the more violent factions of anti-apartheid movements were crucial.  And I know he was human and imperfect also.  But this isn't an essay on history and politics.  It is a memorial to a great man.)

May God bless Nelson Mandela and his surviving loved ones.  And may He bless South Africa, the nation Mandela fought so hard to liberate.  They have come a long way since the early days of apartheid, but there is still much to be done to bring justice and equality there.  May God guide President Zuma and the other leaders of South Africa to abandon corrupt economic traditions and practices and may He bring peace and plenty to the many who struggle to survive there.

* * *

In unrelated news, I'm iced in today.  Like, there's an inch of ice on the ground.  I really thought the weather people were making up fish tales—this is unreal!  Me and Roommate broke a spatula trying to get the ice off her car so she could move it to a space *not* under a tree.  Not as important news as the above, but it's life.

The trees are encased in ice, and the world is half-white, half-glassed, glowing with silver sunlight.  The air is cold, wet, and smells like fresh snow.  When I walk outside, there are places that are so packed with ice that I glide atop without leaving so much as a footprint.  It is absolutely beautiful; what a wonderful artist our God is!

" 'Thou shalt not' to an economy of exclusion and inequality"

Here's a surprising turn of events:  I am writing today about the economy, and a bit about politics.

BBC news the other day reported that Pope Francis is taking a strong stance against "trickle-down" economic theory.  He feels that such economic theories support a system that excludes those who have nothing.  Here is a section from his recent apostolic exhortations:

"Just as the commandment 'thou shalt not kill' sets a clear limit in order to safeguard the value of human life, today we also have to say 'thou shalt not' to an economy of exclusion and inequality.  Such an economy kills.  How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news when the stock market loses two points?  This is a case of exclusion.  Can we continue to stand by when food is thrown away while people are starving?  This is a case of inequality.  [...]  The excluded are not the 'exploited' but the outcast, the 'leftovers'."  (From item 53 of the exhortation)

I am reminded by his last statement of the moment in Suzanne Collins's story Catching Fire when Katniss and Peeta are at a party thrown by the Capital and find out that people there throw up what they've eaten just so they can eat more—while the marginalized are starving in the rest of the country.

Allow me to continue quoting Pope Francis:

"In this context, some people continue to defend trickle-down theories which assume that economic growth, encouraged by a free market, will inevitably succeed in bringing about greater justice and inclusiveness in the world.  This opinion, which has never been confirmed by the facts, expresses a crude and naïve trust in the goodness of those wielding economic power and in the sacralized workings of the prevailing economic system.  Meanwhile, the excluded are still waiting."  (From item 54).

While I don't know enough about economics to propose a well-thought-out alternative economic system, I completely agree with Pope Francis that something has got to change.

This is a bold move, as are many moves by Pope Francis.  He is not afraid to speak his mind about current issues—and he is not mincing his words!  A few weeks ago, I saw a photo of him supporting some anti-fracking activists.

From what I understand, Pope Francis is generally liked by many people—including some atheists.  (I add a caveat that I know quite a few Protestants that aren't crazy about some of his more radical statements.)  People seem to like it when he comes right out and says something "radical", like that atheists could still go to heaven, or when he shows compassion to people most others would ignore, or when he reaches out to teenagers and takes a selfie with them.  I'm a huge fan of Pope Francis, because he is providing a great example of living his faith and doing his best to communicate God's great love for the world.  Even if he wasn't being received well, I think he'd still act the way he's acting.  He is getting some pushback even now, and that isn't stopping him from showing the world how to be a witness to Christ.  It seems to me that he is really letting the Holy Spirit guide his actions and his words.

Many atheists I speak with believe that it is the job of the Church to sit by and provide solace for those who need it—not to become involved in social justice issues.  Pope Francis's current counterexample is this situation—a messed up economy that is causing the marginalization of many people loved by God but ignored by the world.  

My counterexample:  South Africa during apartheid.  Apartheid was largely invented by a group of white Dutch Reform Protestants who believed that what they did was right (or at least claimed to).  Because of this policy, countless individuals died at the hands of their totalitarian government and exclusive economic and legal actions.  Other denominations (including Catholics) for a while stood by and did little more than provide service to the poor and solace for those who needed it.  But the people cried out for more.  They cried out for their churches to become involved in the political struggle.  It was wrong, they said, for religious leaders to stand aside and watch people be murdered, marginalized, and enslaved.  And I agree.  It is wrong for the Church, or for any people (religious or not), to sit by and watch without even speaking out when great injustice is done.  Even if their views are labeled as "dangerous".  It was considered "dangerous" to speak out against apartheid in South Africa.  In fact, it was considered so dangerous that many were tortured and killed for doing so.

The second Vatican counsel directly addressed the apartheid issue, urging Catholics to combat justice and oppression.  By the 1980s, churches were increasing their involvement in political issues surrounding apartheid.  Religious leaders were criticized for not becoming involved in politics to stand up for those who needed defending—and because of the cries of the people, those churches took a stand.

In fact, it is an issue of religious freedom to be able to speak out on political issues.  If a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Jew, or a Buddhist, etc. is allowed to worship in his own private space, but is then forced to conform to mainstream opinion (or at least not speak out against it) regarding serious moral issues, that is not religious freedom.  If he is allowed to pray but not act, not allowed to do what he thinks is right in a secular situation just because his moral judgement is influenced by his religion—that is also not religious freedom.  It is, in fact, demanding that he be untrue to himself.  Sometimes I feel that in today's society, the religious are asked to be silent merely because they are religious.  At least, that's often how I feel on the East Coast.  (Texas is a little different, at least in my experience, and may even have the opposite problem sometimes, which is also not good!  Silencing the minorities has never worked well in the past and I don't think it's working well today either.)  It is the moral responsibility of any person, theist or not, to speak out against oppression and stand up for those who are marginalized or hurt.  

If you want to read the rest of what Pope Francis said in his apostolic exhortation address thingy, here is a link to it.  I haven't read the whole thing yet, but everything I've read so far has been to the point, eloquent, and awesome!  He writes a lot about evangelization and how to share the Word of God with the world.

Apostolic Exhortation, given on November 24, 2013

Basically, go Pope Francis!  What a witness!