There’s a thing about being a ‘cradle’ Catholic: a cradle Catholic will be one ‘til the day he/she dies. It defines your every move. You can fall out with the Church Universal, but it never lets go of you. If someone asks you while you’re in this unforgiven state what your religion is, you’ll say, “I’m a non-practicing Catholic.” Notice it’s not, “I’m a Christian,” or “I’m Protestant,” or I’m an atheist.” No, Catholicism defines you – and all you can ever be is either practicing or non-practicing.

My Mum, the non-practicing Jew, once asked my non-practicing Catholic Dad if, in the event of his being on his death bed would he want her to call a priest and he said, “Damn straight!” She knew that, as she was “born a Jew, die a Jew,” his Catholicism would grab him by the jugular as his spirit departed this earthly toil.

Since I went to Catholic schools, I am living proof of the Jesuit’s maxim,”Give me the child, and I’ll give you the man.” No matter what my frustration with the church might be at any given time (there is always something to be frustrated with the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church about) I could never consider myself anything but Roman Catholic. Thus is the curse of the cradle Catholic.

The other thing that cradle Catholics have is an unshakable suspicion of Catholic converts. I think that a lot of this comes from these converts themselves: they try to be more Catholic that those of us who’ve always been there in the communion line. They put the ‘pomp’ in pomposity. I have no recollection of being doused and I do wonder about those who can recall that moment.

Now all of this has been bothering me since Mr. Robert Novak, a Catholic convert, decided to ‘out’ a CIA undercover operative. Bob Novak has been even more pompous, more supercilious, and more arrogant than he was before this whole fiasco (if that were possible). A true Catholic, a cradle Catholic would be filled with self-doubt and Catholic guilt, but not our Bob, oh no.

Now, I would be the last person to defend a ‘spook’ or the ‘Agency.’ Espionage and counter-espionage are, I suppose, necessary evils of the modern world. That is not my point, nor was it Mr. Novak’s in ‘outing’ Valerie Plame. No, Bob-erino was just singing his masters’ tune.

So, what happens when you ‘out’ an undercover operative? Everyone who was ever an ‘asset’ to that agent is in danger of losing his/her life. Yes, it’s that serious. When Robert Hansen and Aldrich Ames gave names of assets in foreign countries to their controllers; those assets were killed. Of course, there is the ever more important point: what Ames and Hansen committed was treason.

So, did Bob Novak (or Scooter Libby or Karl Rove) commit treason? Well, probably not. But what they did in trying to spread disinformation about Joe Wilson may just have caused the deaths of Valerie Plame’s foreign ‘assets.’ As a matter of fact, even those who weren’t ‘assets’, even those who did legitimate business with her in her ‘cover’ job, are at risk. Capisce? Plus, remember it was disinformation that Novak was propagating. The story itself was not factual.

And, don’t get me started on Judith Miller. She’s a piece of work. Talk about self-serving. Just read this NYT article all the way through. Then, read this piece by David Corn. Judith Miller and Bob Novak sing their masters’ tunes and they have no shame about doing it. How sad. In the end, how very sad they are and what poor excuses for journalists. Of course, Novak could always hope for absolution. He’d better pray that a willing padre is close by when he sloughs off this earthly mantle, ‘cause there’s a special place in hell for Novak.

*By the streams of Babylon
we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the aspens of that land
We hung our harps,
Though our captors asked of us
The lyrics of our songs,
And our despoilers urged us to be joyous:
“Sing for us the songs of Zion!”

How could we sing a song of the
Lord
In a foreign land?
If I forget you, Jerusalem,
May my right hand be forgotten!
May my tongue cleave to my palate
If I remember you not,
If I place not Jerusalem
Ahead of my joy.

Psalm 137:1-9