Nineteen
“IT CAN’T BE A COINCIDENCE, can it, Helen?”
We’re in the Archbishop’s car, speeding down I-70 towards Baltimore. Ellicott City is only about 30 minutes from downtown, but it’s still a good hour and a half drive from Myerton.
The entire drive, Helen and I have been scrolling through the website for the Soldiers of Saint Michael. It’s not a slick production by any means; it looks antiquated, put together by someone whose knowledge of website design is rooted in the late 1990s or early 2000s. It doesn’t look like it’s been updated for a while—at least, until recently.
Highlighted under the banner on the home page is a headline in bright red, “Married Priests=Triumph of Satan,” followed by a rambling attack on me and Helen, as well as the Archbishop and the Holy Father.
The artic
