Finn Hangs Fire

Our backyard is full of dead leaves plastered to the blasted, straw-pale grass, a startling contrast to the copse of green-leaved trees that dominates the space.

The rest of our neighborhood looks the same; a canopy of forest green leaves shadow the wafer thin, burnt yellow leaves strewn along the boulevard. And yet the majority of front lawns here remain a vibrant emerald. It is easy to imagine Rod Serling standing at the end of the block, gesturing at the contrast behind him and, in a half turn, intoning…

Imagine if you will a place where sudden danger lies hidden within the exuberance of life; a place that appears warm, safe and inviting but in reality is a trap for the innocent, kind or simply unwary. A place that metes out only unexplained death while appearing to offer beneficence. This is such a place. You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead—your next stop, the Twilight Zone.

Thus is our summer in Kansas City.

Thus is the Diocese of Kansas City – St. Joseph under the lead of the Most Rev. Robert W. Finn. 1 2

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Show 2 footnotes

  1. In a different era, not that long past, the olive tinged foliage hiding sturdy boughs might will shadow the depending body of a more honorable man. No such luck here, one suspects.
  2. I suppose kudos are in order for the Star’s rather belated stance. Although, again, without Fitz’s original prompting, I’m not sure any of this happens. Well done, sir.

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