Maybe due to the recent trio of feasts - St. Monica, St. Augustine, and the Passion of St. John Baptist - I was thinking about the Battle... you know, the one GKC warned about in his very last words: "It is between light and darkness and every one must choose his side." [Ward, Gilbert Keith Chesterton 650]In St. Michael’s Orphanage, Father Bondost gathered the boys and had them pray in the chapel while he made some phone calls. First he called the monastery in Altiora and talked to the diocesan exorcist. Then he called his old friend C. B. Cardinal Tallisen in New York... and from these two points, ripples propagated over both very ancient and very modern networks of communication: The Enemy is at large, the Warriors are mustered.
And so I thought I ought to post this so you will know what goes on when bad things happen in the Saga. (I hope you catch the Augustinian reference, hee hee) I think it wise for us to keep for reference when bad things happen in our cosmos, since it's really the same cosmos, you know, and as Bernie remarks, "We have allies who are more than a match for our adversaries."
Hence, we must be ready to go into action ourselves, since we also are Warriors. Huh? You say you are waiting for an invitation to join the College? Don't be absurd - you are already belong. (At least as a trainee; I dare not say any more here.) Like Uncle and Auntie, you are a Field Agent, and have the same tools as your disposal as they do. So get busy!
And so, in certain far-flung places, behind high and thick and near-impenetrable walls, a tiny host of Amazons were marshalled and went into action. Few they were in number, many were no longer young, and most were weak physically, yet they were mighty in spirit and especially in prayer: like their foundress, they had chosen the better part, no less able to confront their Enemy for their seclusion than any others... indeed, perhaps more able, since they were far more single-minded in their discipline, and far less distracted than those who lived beyond their walls.
And in a tiny chapel in New York, a group of men gathered while the eldest among them put on the garb of an ancient Roman, including the stole of authority and the maniple of a servant. Then, now clad in what he called his “Altar-ego,” the Pontifex offered the One Sacrifice...
[PJF Ite Milites Audaces]