Things could be worse

I am flat hunting at the moment - surely not a prospect that anyone would find particularly enjoyable. Fool that I am, I naturally asked others of my acquaintance if they knew of places available. I had forgotten that there is a human weakness for hearing of a situation and deciding to inform the other of how much worse things could be. Between, "how are you going to afford this?" or "you'll never find a buyer for your parents' house," (my flat money comes from that), and so forth, I was left with total tension and frustration... and, in a few cases, a strong uneasiness that those less fortunate than I (we all are working class, but my dad managed to buy a little house) were intensely jealous of me (even though my prospects are for the most modest of accommodations.)

Bad fortune, good fortune - it matters little. Too many people delight in upsetting others, and reminding them of how much worse things could be, or decreasing the value of the good. I normally am the most private of people, and had only mentioned the situation to others looking for prospects. Henceforth, I'm telling no one anything... I am too superstitious, and do not want the jealous ones hexing me.

However, if any of my readers see this forgettable post, I do ask for prayers - both that I find decent accommodation and that I do not stuff any of the ill-wishers up a chimney...

Now, having revealed what a superstitious, irritable little character I can be, I shall 'tell one on myself.' Appropriately, it has to do with the election of the recently deceased pontiff. One must recall that this was the 1970s, a time of great tumult for the Church indeed, but also the period of excessive charismania and a New Age flavour to the spirituality of young adults.

I was a director of music in a parish then, and the organist, who also was in his 20s, was a devout, deep, but rather eerie sort. Though his family was from the Ukraine, Paul took his seers where he could find them, and was very interested in the (probably spurious, and easily twisted... but who knew that then?) prophecies of Saint Malachy. When Paul VI died, Paul told me that, if the next pope came from the Slavic area, it would be a sign of the end times - so I had sighed with relief when delightful Albino Luciano occupied Peter's throne.

It was terribly sad, so few weeks later, when John Paul I departed this earth. I was watching the next papal election with my parents when the white smoke proclaimed 'habemus papam.' When Karol Wojtyla's election was announced, the screen showed a photograph of this young, robust, handsome Pole - and I went into a panic! "There's the last pope! It's the end times!"

It's different now. I have no notion of who Malachy has announced as the next successor to Peter... but, at this age, I have few worries, because Paul had told me that two more pope's would follow the one from Poland, each to reign as long as John Paul did. In fifty years, I'll be dead... so my own end times are not far off. :)