November 11th, 2025
Dear Diary,
Arrived safely at the USCCB autumn meeting after a seemingly endless hours of driving. I had Fr. Gilbert build in restaurant stops, as usual. Over the years I’ve found some good ones. Fr. Tommy used to drive with me and tell me reassuring things like, “Excellency… he always did that even when alone… planes have a statistical safety rate far better than most driver’s lane discipline.” I miss his way of making dangers seem like my fault. Airplanes given me the creeps. I dread flying to Rome for at liminals. I would like to meet Leo. He seems nice. And I want to get that thing wrapped up for Fr. Tommy. Dozer says there are cruise boats that go from Florida to Italy with huge buffets.
On arrival at the hotel registration desk who do I spot but the Noonch. Hovering. He was smiling politely at bishops who were greeting him. When he saw me I slid behind a large plant for a bit. Success for now.
Speaking of buffet, breakfast had something called “eco-friendly scrambled eggs,” which even sounds like something the bishops would make. Seemed to be made of … lentils maybe? And disappointment. Tony Alvarez tried to convince me they was “good for liturgical clarity.” I didn’t understand that, but I nodded emphatically and he looked happy.
During the morning session, we heard the much-anticipated presentation about AI becoming “potentially conscious within five years.” One bishop actually asked if machines could eventually “discern spirits.” I raised my hand to agree, but Jude gently lowered it for me and whispered, “Not that kind of spirits.” He explained. Now the thought troubles me. If my toaster becomes sentient, will it need a chancery position?
Lunch went poorly. They served quinoa “pilaf” with chickpeas. Who does that? After my first bite, I found myself apologizing to the chickpeas because they tasted so resentful. Bishop Plowright said I was “building cross-cultural empathy,” which felt manipulative, but I nodded. I sent Fr. Gilbert out to get a couple of subs and something for himself. When in doubt. I’ll order pizza tomorrow. I hope that place Tommy found is still open – Pizza Panic Delivery – GREAT NAME I think I’ll get some during the afternoon session!
Closing the day, I got cornered by a committee aide about voting tomorrow on funds to assist undocumented immigrants. I told him, honestly, that I didn’t know how to vote because the sheet had footnotes. He promised to “walk me through it” tomorrow. Fr. Tommy used to do that. He’d lean over and whisper, “Right choice is the second box, Excellency” or “Press 3”. Sometimes I miss being told what to do. It’s not easy being a bishop.
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I enjoy these diary entries, and I wonder how closely they might reflect the actual thoughts of some of our bishops, who may be just as excited about a conference meeting as a layman is about listening to a fundraising homily, or as a pastor may be about giving it.
Poor Bishop Mac. He looks forward to the social aspects of seeing some of his friends at the meeting, but he hides behind a big plant to avoid the Nuncio. He looks forward to breakfast at the hotel buffet, but he would prefer that the scrambled eggs came from a chicken. He doesn’t really know or care about how eating chick peas builds cross-cultural empathy, nor even which country made the pilaf, but he would be happier with a pepperoni pizza.
He can’t possibly keep up with the dozens of votes on all of the ballots they give him. And he doesn’t have time to read or understand the documents the committees ask him to approve. But almost nobody does. Something like Congress?
The long drive from his unidentified, but vaguely Midwestern diocese carefully connects the dots between each Denny’s and IHOP.
Do I wish His Excellency would thoroughly and prayerfully prepare for the week long meeting, participate with enthusiasm in the debates, and vigorously implement the latest round of new documents?
Bishop Mac is not that kind of bishop, and he probably knows his limitations well enough.
Bishop McFatty pants. I have tried speaking to NO Bishops over the years. All they do is try to change the subject and never give credence to my questions.
Poor Bishop McFatty, the Caterer was probably a woke trans company staffed by illegals.
I’ve never met a member of the clergy higher than my pastor, so I don’t know but I always thought bishops were austere, wise and commanding.
The portrait of Bishop McButterpants makes me think a great many are like lower-level managers in a large company. They were put into this role instead of being allowed to continue to do something useful. They realize soon after they have no great capacity for it. Their leadership skills are nil and most of their energies are spent appeasing their superiors.
There are exceptions. Some few are truly strong, holy men whose first concern is for their flock. Some, more, are ambitious and, therefore, dangerous.
It’s wild that I find myself having sympathy for Bishop McButterpants . . .
When is he going to start naming monsignori, and nominating lay people for papal honors? Since he is somewhere in the mid-west, maybe he should invite Cardinal Burke to celebrate a Solemn High Pontifical Mass in his cathedral.
It is not too difficult to feel some sympathy for this bumbling bishop. He has clearly been promoted beyond both his competence and his intelligence. He may have many flaws, but he is not malicious, as some non-fictitious bishops, sadly, at least seem to be.