I entered my beloved Cathedral --- but it wasn't. There were pleated drapes over the stained glass windows. About halfway down the nave there was a plexiglass partition (rood-screen? iconostasis?) with etched-glass panels. The corona and crucifix were gone, and a tacky wooden fish symbol was dangling over the altar in its place. Just past the altar was a screen like some women's convents have to mark enclosure in the chapel. Mater Ecclesiae was gone, and Blessed John; they were replaced by a large litho of the most simpering Immaculate Heart of Mary ever painted and an equally awful Sacred Heart print. There were heavy drapes on the Tabernacle also, and the Tabernacle spotlights were gone, so it sat in the gloom. The seats-with-kneelers were not there any more, but an assortment of ricketty folding and stacking chairs. Even the floor was carpeted.
Somebody with a crozier (but not +Timothy or +Richard or +Rembert or anybody else I recognised) came out of the gloom, sat in the cathedra, and began preaching about what a wonderful day it was in the neighborhood since we were being so faithful to Jesus and to the Tradition. Most of the congregation wept. One pious old lady pressed her face to the plexiglass as she cried. A few beefy ushers came to bodily eject the weepers. I grabbed an usher who was molesting the pious old lady, he clunked me over the head.
I woke with a start --- the phone was ringing.
Thank You, my Lord my Love, for softening my heart and allowing me a tiny glimpse of what life must look like for the Szewses and their Miniature Bishop Bashing Brigade. Lord, help and comfort them.