Monday, September 19, 2005

Begad! Be Saved, Mateys!

By Mitchell

Avast , me hearties, and listen up to the words of our fearless cap'n, Fr. Welzbacher. In his here homily yesterday, our fine leader reminded us o' the traps o' that the Prince O' Darkness, Redbeard himself, has set fer ye, as he tries to lure ye inta feedin' the fishes.

'Tis mutiny of which he speaks, mates, and tho' it might seem mighty appealin' at the time, yer sure to find in th' end that yer left walkin' the plank if ye listen to his voice, for he'll make ye addled in yer head. Either that, or the blaggard'll maroon ye fer sure. And then it's the Black Spot for ye, lad, an' yer left sayin' to yerself, "shiver me timbers!" Yer best hope is to use yer deadlights an' call on our ever-present Admiral, who even made the seas obey His voice, to guide ye through Redbeard's bilge.

Jack Ketch couldn'ta taken ye down to Davy Jones' Locker any quicker than ol' Redbeard. By yer deeds be ye keelhauled - but not only by yer deeds. Ye must provide no quarter to that evil one, matey. Ye must remember that th' thoughts in yer head can be dangerous ones, an' that gettin' such ideas in yer brain can leave ya addled. Better to remain pure in yer thoughts an' to keep yer spyglass focused on yer ultimate goal. Them ol' sea dogs, th' saints o' the Church, stand ready to help ye weigh anchor an' sail toward that safe port, where paradise lies. Arrrr!

But lest there be those o' ye who think it's too late, don't fear. Fr. W told us to remember th' story o' the master who offered a doubloon t'th' workers who swabbed the decks. (Matt. 20:1-16) At the end o' the watch, even when the last swabs had been workin' but one bell, each received the doubloon. Some o' them put in a full day, and mighta been thinkin' to splice the mainbrace after work, but then they's hear tell that them last swabs, the ones what been workin' only one bell, had gotten the same doubloon as them. "Sink me!" they say to the cap'n. "It's rope's end for me! How 'tis they get the same piece o' gold that we do, when they work but the last hour?" Well, the master looks right smart when he tells them that it's his pot o' gold, and he'll split it up however he chooses, or would they be talkin' mutiny, maybe? An' then He tells 'em that the last'll be first, and the first last. Well, yo-ho-ho! What he be sayin' is that it's never too late for an old sea dog like yourself to be turnin' over a new leaf, an' keepin' yerself shipshape.

So me moral is don't listen to ol' Redbeard, me buckos. Don't be a rum feller. Listen to our Admiral as he leads his fleet. Ye'll not be at yer rope's end, or hit the reef. Just check yer map, and look fer that buried treasure. And remember, it's the Cross what marks the spot! Arrrr!

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