Abortion is a women's issue:
So here we are again, listening to a man rambling on about what a woman should do with her body. This letter is in response to Louis Pumphrey's letter in the July 5 issue ["Hippocratic Oafs"].
Pumphrey says that, even though 250 women will die each year, no one will be responsible, except for the back-alley abortionist. The woman, first of all, would not be put in that position if the abortion law were still in effect. There are women who have gone their entire lives without children because of the anti-abortion law that used to be in effect. They had to get a back-alley abortion, instead of being able to do it the safe way.
So, I would really like for men, who do not have to go through an abortion or even make that choice, to keep their mouths shut. These men do not have to worry about putting their lives or their fertility in danger, and I am sick of hearing them bitch about it. I know that men have something to do with the child, but the ultimate choice is a woman's. Men need to deal with that.
The Church works; our society doesn't:
I'm a Catholic and a rock musician -- not a rare thing in Cleveland. I've enjoyed Scene for years and did read "A Few Good Men" [May 24], which has gained some of the usual anti-Catholic responses. I feel the gripes are due to a lack of understanding.
First, the story's a bull's-eye. Being a priest means low pay, long hours, close contact to exhaustingly human situations, and, as is often pointed out, no sex. It also means being a voice for a misunderstood organization that is often ignored and not appreciated.
But what it means most is denying the world to serve God. The world is a big buffet table to many of us, and this is where most people miss the point. Vows of poverty and chastity cleaned a once "worldly" Church into a group of servants who back up the message. Many of us fall short of the moral standards preached, and we weakly slam the Church instead of looking into the mirror. I know I can't make the sacrifices that priests make, but I am grateful they provide a place of worship.
The Church record needs no defense. No group has ever done more for the poor, the old, the weak, the hungry, minorities, children, and yes, women. It defends life unconditionally. It preaches love, charity, discipline, and decency. Only the selfish, undisciplined, and indecent have trouble with these stands.
We live in a lazy, selfish, decadent culture that screams freedoms and consumption from the rooftops. It is a culture barely a half-century old. And you can trace the decline of priesthood against it. Family and community have been left behind by a youth culture of reckless individualism.
The Church is not some dictatorial loudspeaker, like a corporate exec. It is a tried-and-true recipe that always satisfies, if all the proper ingredients are included.
Readers rally around the Maibachs' girl:
David Martin's article on the Maibachs ["The Long Goodbye," July 5] was well-written, but very sad. It really upsets me that the courts can keep making decisions that hurt the child. As usual, it doesn't seem like anyone, except for the Maibachs, is thinking about the child. What is the father thinking? What are the judges thinking?
The Maibachs have raised this child for three years, and now they want to rip her out of a stable environment. It makes me sick. Her father thinks counseling will make everything OK? Is there anything we can do to help? Write a letter or something? I'm sure I'm not the only person who felt this way after reading the article.
Slayer gave life to contemporary music:
In his preview of the Extreme Steel tour [Nightwatch, June 28], Michael Gallucci wrote that he never really got Pantera, and that they weren't contemporary. Michael, it's OK that you don't get it; it's nothing to feel bad about. But understand that not everyone wets themselves when they pick up their new copy of Radiohead, either. Slayer and Pantera may not be contemporary, but without them, there wouldn't be any contemporary. Please, Michael, stay away from the heavy stuff -- you might hurt yourself.
Jack L. Midik