Happy Mothers' Day, lovely Ladies. Everyone else enjoying the beautiful bouquet of scorching tweets that our President has been sending today?

He is so thoughtful.

My son was so inspired by the story about that hombre sending his dog out for cheetos that he decided he's going to put his Halloween costume on tomorrow and knock on the doors of folks we suspect are hoarding toilet paper to see if they'll share.

I'll let you know how it goes.

My teen son has been checking the area traffic over the past few days as one of his many diversions. He will be monitoring closely now that the President announced the possible quarantine.

So far all is quiet.

BTW: Look at all the green lines on this map section. Even on a Saturday this would normally be laced with yellow, red and black in some spots.

This stand of Citibikes is usually empty.

This view of Amsterdam looking downtown from 75th would usually show tons of traffic, vehicle and pedestrian.

Ok. Back from solitary exercise and errands.

These pictures were all taken during the rush hour part if the afternoon and early evening.

First, Central Park. Social distancing was not a problem.


A saint is one who can stand at the eternal gates and say, “Hello. I am home.”

Faithfully yours in Christ,

Father George W. Rutler


One of the Church’s youngest saints, Dominic Savio, told Saint John Bosco that if the Holy Angel blew his trumpet for the end of all things while he was on the playground, he would just keep on playing.

That is how we should want to play each day of our lives, in a friendship with God that will not find Heaven unfamiliar. In 1857, fourteen-year-old Dominic’s last earthly words were: “Oh, what wonderful things I see!”


Saint Charles Borromeo led a procession in prayer to mitigate the plague in Milan in 1576, caring for upwards of seventy thousand dying and starving people. Death meant nothing to him, save an opening to Paradise. For all his mystical intuitions, he also enjoyed playing billiards, and when asked what he would do if he had only fifteen minutes more to live, he responded, “Keep playing billiards.”


Death is nothing new. Until now, everyone has done it.

Our Lord would speak of it with a strange mixture of gravity and nonchalance. It is prelude to a permanent realm of which every anatomical breath is an intimation by virtue of its impermanence. Anxiety ignores the promise that accompanies the warning: “As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”


In our exceptional times, the President has declared a national emergency. This is not unprecedented, and I have an oral tradition of my own family witnessing to the influenza epidemic of 1918, when my grandparents’ venerable parish rector survived the infection while ministering to the ill, but whose two daughters died. The causalities were much higher than now, with a much smaller global population.

Fr. Rutler's Weekly Column: 3/22/2020

Geniuses often are thought to be absent-minded. Archimedes was so preoccupied with a mathematical diagram he was constructing during the invasion of Syracuse in Sicily in 212 BC, that he told a Roman soldier about to slay him: “Let me finish my numbers.” He was not professorially absent-minded, but present-minded. His obligation to truth took precedence over life itself.

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