Precept 5

The fifth precept (“You shall help to provide for the needs of the Church”) means that the faithful are obliged to assist with the material needs of the Church, each according to his own ability. (CCC 2042-2043)

At the beginning of each new year, our parishioners are given boxes of printed envelopes to use for their weekly offerings.  I assume most parishes do this.  Ours have our names printed on each envelope with the date of the Sunday or Holy Day of Obligation.  It seems a good way to remind everyone to contribute each week. 

When I was a youngster in Catholic grade school, we children also got envelopes.  Sadly, we don’t do this anymore.  What better way to teach them responsibility than to require a small part of their allowance to go to God each week?  At the end of the year, the church would publish the names of all parishioners, including the children, and list each one’s total contribution.  We don’t do that anymore either!  I guess it was a good way to shame people into giving more generously!

Being involved in OCIA, I always look to see whether those we brought into the Church last Easter were given envelopes this year.  I make sure they get registered as new parishioners and I want them to feel like they are an integral part of the parish.  For whatever reason, none of them received a box of envelopes this year.  I blame the secretary for that oversight.  At least, they won’t get the idea we just want their money!

Keeping a parish afloat is expensive, especially small parishes like ours.  Utilities alone take a huge chunk of the budget.  Century-old buildings with high ceilings and virtually no insulation are difficult to heat and cool.  Staffing, maintenance, repairs and insurance costs add up quickly.  

The church bell stopped working a week ago.  Having worked on the bell myself in the past, our pastor asked me to call the bell company to see whether our maintenance contract was still current.  Unfortunately, it was not.  To have them come out would cost $655 plus $150/hour labor.  I had a pretty good idea what was wrong.  A motor control relay fails every few years.  I changed it once before, but I do not like to climb the tower anymore at my age.  Nevertheless, I ordered the part, recruited a helper and made the repair.  Probably saved the parish about a thousand dollars.  

In small parishes like ours, people often come forward to help when needed, whether it be financially or in-kind services.  Our parish priest rarely if ever talks about money from the pulpit.  That is a good thing really.  The Holy Spirit seems to take care of us as the need arises.  As far as I know, we are doing okay.  We live within our means.  If it is unaffordable, we just do without.  It is one way we learn to sacrifice.

 

Oh Fudge!

Every Christmas my wife makes fudge to give away to friends and family.  Fudge is her specialty.  She has perfected a recipe that I got at my workplace some forty years ago.  For the uninitiated, the Fannie May Candy Company dates back to 1920 in Chicago.  In the 60’s and 70’s, their Buttercreams, Mint Meltaways, and Pixies were among the most popular confections available.  One of my co-workers claimed to have the recipe for Fannie May Fudge.  During a break in a class one day, he wrote out the recipe on a piece of notebook paper and made copies for anyone who wanted it.  

My wife still has that same copy in her recipe file.  Over the years, she has perfected the process.  The ingredients remain the same, but her technique has developed to insure the creaminess and appearance.  Some folks have their Christmas time specialties.  For my late mother-in-law, it was fruitcake.  My sister makes crockpot candy.  For my wife, it is fudge.  

The secret is in her preparation.  She has a routine that she follows to precision.  The mixture of different chocolates and other ingredients has to be heated to a certain temperature and stirred sufficiently to keep the fudge from becoming grainy.  She stirs and stirs and stirs some more.  When the time is right, she pours it into two pans and places it in our oven to cool.  The reason she puts it in the oven to cool is so the cat can’t get into it.  Now mind you, we haven’t had a cat for about fifteen years, but the fudge still solidifies in the safety of the oven to this day.

A recent hip-replacement surgery slowed her down a little this year.  While some previous years had her making some forty to fifty pounds, this Christmas she limited production to a few batches.  When beginning her first batch during Advent, she realized she didn’t have the oleo margarine she normally uses, so she substituted real butter.  The fudge turned out fine.  It was creamy, tasted great, but she was not happy with it.  The fudge had a dull appearance, not shiny the way she likes it to be.  I could not tell the difference.  It seemed fine to me, but it did not meet her standards.  

One might think using butter in a fudge recipe would be better than using margarine, but my wife claims that fudge made with the cheapest oleo is far superior than fudge made with real butter.  This superiority apparently exists in the appearance rather than the flavor, but as Pope Francis might say, who am I to judge.  In any case, it was off to the grocery store to get more chocolate and some Blue Bonnet margarine.  The Friday before Christmas, she was back in the kitchen to make a proper batch of Fannie May fudge.  

This time the fudge turned out perfectly so I am told.  It was cooling in the oven so I didn’t see it, but my wife was gloating all afternoon about its glossy appearance and perfect creaminess.  This batch would be divided, placed in small tins and given out as Christmas gifts to anyone who stopped by.  The rest we will take to my sister’s house on Christmas Eve.

By Friday evening I was hungry.  As old traditional Catholics, we do not eat meat on Friday, so our go-to Friday supper is frozen cheese pizza.  Our go-to brand of late has been Digiorno’s Rising Crust Four Cheese variety.  For whatever reason, our local grocery has been out of it for several weeks, so we are trying a few other brands.   On this particular day, I preheated the oven to 400 degrees per the instructions.  When it was time to put the pizza in, I opened the oven door to find my wife’s fudge bubbling like some kind of volcanic tar pit.  Neither of us had remembered the fudge was still in the oven.  I immediately thought of what Ralphie said in the Christmas Story movie when he accidentally scattered the lug nuts while helping the old man change the flat tire.  

My wife was ready to send the entire batch down the garbage disposal.  I told her to let it cool and maybe it would be alright.  We waited a couple of hours and I tried a piece.  It had crunchy gobs of burnt sugar that tasted like chocolate gravel.  We sent it down the garbage disposal.  

When we reach our mid-seventies, we can be forgetful.  Stuff happens and we just have to shake our heads and move on.  We made another unscheduled trip to the store, picked up more fudge ingredients and she made another batch.  It turned out fine.  Yes, she let it cool in the oven so our non-existent cat wouldn’t get it, and it made for a good story to tell our family on Christmas Eve.