Opinion/Editorial
MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA, MEA MAXIMA CULPA
The admission of guilt, the apology, the abject sorrow about having committed wrong acts and said things that cannot be taken back, they are so damaging, are with us every single day and night of this new existence that the populations of the world have come to try to adapt to. Translated simply and directly from the Latin to English, the two-word apology, or three, means exactly that. “My fault” is the true translation, and, outside of some Catholic services, it is only heard there, quietly murmured by a hushed congregation. Everyone whispering the words together, at the insistence and leadership of a priest, passes the words through a dilution process that takes fault, apology, sorrow, and any admission completely away, and then distributes the guilt or any deep feeling among all gathered in the church, fully half of whom will not know what the Latin translation is, or the importance of it. The much-needed phrase today is a precursor to the historical comment that most people have heard before: “If one does not study and come to know history, then one is doomed to repeat it.”
There/s a shrine to be built up in Green Bay, not that far from the Packer stadium. The shrine is to be built in order to honor and to adore the Blessed Virgin Mary and follows a sighting years ago by some young women on that particular spot. The mysterious message the girls received was all about Mea Culpa, and hence the usage of the phrase in this Op Ed. The writer of this article is on the board overseeing the planning, property acquisition, and architectural design. It is of strange interest that of the seven-person board organized two years ago to begin the project, three are now gone, leaving only the three ‘musketeers’ to bring the whole project together.
Impossible mission? Only if God is not on our side, some might say. It is the perfect time. A time when and where no apologies are given, no mistakes are admitted having been made, and no accountability to effect change in the men, women, and situation of life as we are finding it today can come about.
At what point is Donald Trump going to be allowed by God to come home to his place there with that grand entity? At what point is his suffering to be over, and it is so easy to now see that he’s suffering badly. His weakening of body and mind is all over the place in apparent display, being covered at best, the mass media can do to bend a knee to the fact that the man is still the President of the most powerful geographic, military, economic, and social force on this planet, by far. He’s not too far gone to know that, nor is he given the blessed peace of not knowing what’s happening, but never having put in caring and compassionate men and women in positions around him, he gets almost no sympathy or succor at all.
As an opinion writer of the first order, this writer is not given to allowing Trump such ‘slippage’ and has it gone unnoticed. Should the ‘woebegone’ population, the poor, the down and out, the starving, the homeless, and those without a country now because they’ve been kicked out of the only one they’ve ever known. Just cancelling the USAID worldwide program for kids literally killed millions of them. I knew so many out there on my travels as I transited and stayed in over 120 countries with my work. There was always a welcome flag flying somewhere when I needed help or a friend. It was a flour, bean, or rice bag of cheap material with an American flag printed on the outside so the people would know where the help was coming from. They flew those flags all over the world, and if you saw one, they drew you in like iron to a magnet. Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing…and you know the rest of the lyrics.
Did God send Trump to do His bidding? Not if we are to believe almost anything written in the New Testament. Did He send him as a warning? A harbinger of things to come? We, the people, do not get to know the answer to these kinds of questions. We must endeavor to persevere and continue on through these cold and seemingly thoughtless times and on into times when the flowers are not gone.
