theological discourse

"You can't say Hallelujah during Lent!"
The words were those of Margaret Baines, a prayer group woman whom I am quite fond of.
I stared at her.
She gave no sign of mirth.
Apparently she wasn't joking.
Hmmm.
I say Hallelujah all the time noble readers, and had just interjected it into our conversation about the price of fish.
It means Praise The Lord.
An individual believer might indeed stop saying it for Lent out of choice or as some sort of mourning or as a pennance.
But to impose such a choice on anyone else in the form of doctrine would be...
Nuts.
Nuts whole hazelnuts.
Cadburys make em and he cover em in chocolate.
As we do say in the trade.
I'm telling you bold readers, the fact that the Catholic Church has survived two thousand years in spite of those of us who pretend to be believers, is one of the surest indications of the reality of God.
What to do.
I waited until this evening when Mrs Baines was singing solo at Saint Conleth's church.
She has an exquisite voice.
Ethereal.
And as she finished her infernal tootling of The Lord Is My Shepherd, I let out a shout fit to raise the dead.
"Hallelujah," I roared.
Irish congregations can tend towards the placid.
Heads turned.
Even the Padre looked a tad nolprossed.
What did they see as they turned to stare?
An unusually good looking man with his halo shining brightly in the third row, and a grin on his face like Saint Peter after ten pints.