Volume XXX, Number 1
January 22nd, 2026

Death, Bud's Favorite Subject

My Final Decade?

You just clicked open the "great granddaddy" of Catholic email messages! Welcome to Year 30, my friend—the Big XXX, Roman numeral-style.

Can you believe Ash Wednesday is less than a month away?

On behalf of everyone here, and the millions of souls we will influence, thank you. You guys really are the best.

• Did You Miss My Son's "Bubble" Message?

And yes, thanks for letting us know that your gift is in the mail, or that you're waiting until you have a couple dimes to rub together.

Who-da Thunk It?

I originally called this the "CatholiCity Message," which was, as far as anybody can tell, the very first Catholic email newsletter. The first one was sent to 600 "CatholiCity Citizens."

It predated blogs, which predated social media, which predated Substack. I don't recall why I wanted to "talk to you" at a time when 90% of the world did not have an email address.

That was very me of me.

Four Popes Running

Reliably unreliable. Predictably unpredictable. And vice versa. Sharply Catholic. Ad free. Opt in. Goofy stuff, serious stuff, cool stories, 30,000-foot views, saint quotes, four popes so far, lots of "Hang in Theres," praying together, laughs, tears, plus my speciality: typing whatever pops into my head.

Do any of you remember giving me baby name suggestions for my now 25-year-old son, Clete, who edited today's message?

And, rarely, I have actual "news." In fact, I have very good news next. And after that, death stuff. Today's message will mostly be the "whatever pops into his crazy head" kind.

The Power of Prayer

Here is the most excellent news: a clear indication your Daily Prayers to Save America are working. The following article provides no cause for the spontaneous religious awakening occurring in our nation:

• Americans Report Surging Spirituality

God's intervention, you, Operation True Cross, Father Ripperger's exorcism prayers, and the Mary Foundation are the powerful hidden cause.

That Terrible Doorway

While most of the nation freezes, I'm in balmy San Juan Capistrano, California, working diligently on writing that movie I told you about last year—the one that could realistically influence a billion souls.

The producer and I still need your prayers. His large family got "hammered" last week. Since the start, the spiritual attacks kinda rotate between us. He told me this is because we're heading directly into the evil one's "church," the movie theater.

I placed exorcised salt chips (from the same blocks Father John Anthony Boughton used to pin the Mantle of Mary in 2020) into every corner of my hotel room. So far, so good. I can see the ocean:

I'm alone most of the time, which is not good for me.

Lonely Days, Lonely Nights

I awake at 6:00 am for the first of my three Angeluses. After praying the De Sale's Way, I walk to the ocean (there are lots of cliffs to ascend and descend) while listening to ultra-technical podcasts on macroeconomics.

Then I write, and write some more, and rewrite with my producer buddy when he gets the time. Dinner? Carb-free burger or hot dog in my room. I watch a little tv or read, then sleep, C-Pap gently humming.

I long for companionship, which is not here, so I am a fool.

Or I am a collie. I want to talk to every person I see on the beach, get to know each one, nudge all of them towards salvation—bring them all to Adoration—and yet that's not really how it works, is it? Nobody comes up to me. I smile a lot. Sure wish I was a saint.

Meet Bud at the Mission

If you live in the area, I'm going to 6:30 am Mass every day this week and next week at the beautiful old Serra Chapel at the Mission, followed by coffee until 7:30 am at the Mission Inn coffee shop just up the street.

Pop by if you want to say hello.

Which brings me to one of my favorite subjects: death.

No More Taxes, At Least

Like some of you old-timers, despite my decent health, I don't assume I'll be around to welcome you to the fortieth year of this message in 2036.

So while there's still time, let's discuss death and its nephew: aging.

I have never understood why so few people want to think about death. Saint Francis did. "Momento mori," he advised. Remember you will die.

"In all thy works remember your last end, and you shall never sin." - Sirach (7:40)

Hey Mikey, He Likes It!

(If you got the tv commercial reference in that title, bless you.) I've thought often about death since I was a young man, and mostly in an enjoyable way, ever since I heard that Saint Ignatius broke down into tears of joy when pondering it.

I sincerely look forward to dying. I'm gonna celebrate like a true Scotsman at the eternal banquet in the Court of Heaven with the Queen of Angels, along with all the other centurions, Marines, and warrior saints.

I'm also gonna hang out, peacefully, for as long as I want, with the (hopefully) billions of people who were influenced by my life—and yours—and the many who influenced my own journey.

Get Thee Behind Me

I want to cut in front of Saint Peter to welcome people in. I want to be the saint who you pray to when Saint Jude and Saint Anthony can't get it done.

Yes, I really am that ambitious. Bud Macfarlane, Patron Saint of the Four Major Food Groups: Caffeine, Nicotine, Chocolate, and Bacon.

Because I take for granted—through a gift of God's pure grace—every word Jesus spoke, every infallible teaching of His Church, and am a fully consecrated son of Immaculate Mary.

This is my destiny. This is yours. So yes, remember you will die.

Plus, in heaven I won't be tired, or ignorant, or old. And until Christ returns, however "time" works in eternity, I will have a lot of work to do up there. Ask me for stuff. I'll be all over it for you like the Scrounger in The Great Escape movie (James Garner).

When we get resurrected bodies, I'm going to play baseball. If they have it. I'm curious if baseball still "works" without Original Sin.

Bud's Message from Beyond

I've been meaning to pre-write an "If You're Reading This, I'm Dead" message for my coworkers to have on hand to send out, well, in the event of my death.

I guess this is it, early.

Please send my coworkers enough money to transform Our Lady's sturdy "little project" into something better. They need you more than ever. Offer Rosaries and Holy Hours for my successor. Arrange for Gregorian Masses offered for my soul, and start stacking Plenary Indulgences pronto.

A very little boy in me hopes that God will allow my life will end right after I finish typing this sentence.

(Pause.) I guess not. Oh well.

Bitter Fruit of Adam's Sin

Let's move on to death's cousin, that aligned-punishment that resulted from the Fall in the Garden: the effects of aging. Adam and Eve weren't created to die—or age.

The Aristotelian realist in me refuses to sugarcoat the negative impact of growing old. I dislike it. The inexorable loss of physical and mental ability just plain stinks. If you're young, trust me on this. It sneaks up on you. What bothers me most is the drip, drip, drip, drip loss of vitality which never returns.

Undefeated!

Vitality is the stuff. The juice. When I hear people say, "Forty is the new thirty," I think:

"Forty is the old forty."

Yes, foster healthy habits (here's a great podcast by a brilliant professor who goes to daily Mass), but even the most genetically-gifted, healthy-habited people can't stop or slow our planet from rotating around the sun.

"Father Time is undefeated," as they say in professional sports. I can beat the all-time-great, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, in one-on-one basketball, but only because he's 78. Just like many talented high school sophomores could beat me.

The Five-Decade Rule

After taking a good look around, carefully, at what really happens to people as they age, it appears that after high school, virtually all of us get five or six decades of work vitality. Usually, five decades.

If we are truly blessed, we spend these decades raising kids or in some other noble vocation ordained in God's plan.

There are almost no exceptions, although my 92-year-old Uncle Joe worked full-time into his 80s. He "retired," and then spent the last several years designing, building, and raising millions for a beautiful new Catholic Church at the Newman Center of his alma mater, the University of Rochester.

Here he is with me at his annual Seven Fishes Christmas dinner in New Jersey. He is sharp and moves with ease. Joe is my mom's brother and a lifelong bachelor; he's been a second father to me. He ran the world's largest advertising firm. He's been your fellow benefactor for 35 years. I still learn from him.

Uncle Joe lived a life of moderation. I have not. He's the only exception to the Five-Decade-Rule I've ever known.

I'm sixty-three. I have one more "work" decade left, if Our Lady allows. Aging is urging me to "take it easy." No way.

Lighten Up, Buddy Boy

On the plus side of aging? Wisdom. Also known as tacit knowledge (the understanding that comes from experience). Older folks just know how to do things and how things work. They say repetition is the mother of all learning—applying oneself dozens or hundreds or thousands of times imparts tacit knowledge—whether it's gardening, or raising babies, or navigating legal problems, or throwing footballs, or cooking omelettes, or even praying.

My four "decades" of work since high school indicate I must be moderately intelligent, but I don't "feel" smart. Never have, really. Most of my wisdom accumulated painfully from meditative prayer on Christ, the example of saints, avoiding the repetition of my inevitable errors, setting out to accomplish impossible things (an underrated source of learning), reading, and especially, cribbing truths garnered from truly intelligent people—including relatives, ancient philosophers, regular folks, and contemporary geniuses. Just about everybody is an expert at something.

Yet all the wisdom in the world cannot replace courage.

A Warning

I am realizing, way too late, that my completely boring vices and flaws smeared over so many decades caused me to miss out on a lot of wisdom. I'm just being honest. I regret wasting so much time avoiding the seeking of sanctity.

So don't do that to yourself. Young or old: be a saint. Cut to the head of the wisdom line.

The Glacierman

In addition to my sinfulness slowing my wisdom roll, I am a glacially slow learner. When I read or hear a trustworthy expert, I am grateful just to be able to comprehend it.

Glaciers can be powerful, however, so I turned my sluggish intellect to my advantage.

When I read something amazing (rare), I reread it until it is inside of me. I have dozens of favorite areas of inquiry. I'm okay with taking many years to figure something out.

Then I pick the brains of intelligent people. This leads me to the lovely experience of feeling like a child when I'm learning from smart people decades younger than myself.

More than Chocolate

I love learning more than I love chocolate, but less than I love pick-up basketball or beholding a holy woman.

My point is, wisdom comes to me slowly.

Here is what I concluded after I finished walking across the country: I am running out of time. I consider this epiphany a gift, a reward from the Father.

What should I do with my final decade?

I think I know what Our Lady wants. My spiritual director agrees.

Seeing the Whole Thing

I was born with one truly rare and special gift. I "see" stories. Whole worlds and real people (to me) exist inside of me. And these people do things. They let me hear their inner thoughts. They say hilarious—and profound— things. I see their angels and their demons.

For the past several months, I got to watch this movie inside me before anybody else does. It's really amazing.

You're gonna love it.

Last summer, as I have since fall of 2023, I remained faithful to meditative prayer focused on Jesus, just like I urge you to do. After this opportunity to write the movie came about, I endured months of bizarre negative thoughts (not my thing), confusion, heartbreak, self-castigation (again, not my thing), inexplicable weight gain, and a lack of interior peace.

Pick a Master

A few weeks ago, I asked myself whether I needed to go "all in" on the movie thing. "You can't serve two masters," kept coming to me. I called my spiritual director.

A spirit of consolation came as soon as I took action by heading west. I believe this is what Our Lady wants. She has clearly "lined it up" over many years through multiple providential events. It does not seem at all like "my idea," which is a lifelong telltale divine pattern for me.

So, how many movies (and novels based on them) can I write before I turn 74?

A bunch. But not more than one if I don't throw my whole turtle-slow self into it.

It reminds of when Mary wanted me and the other Cyrenes to go "all in" to carry the True Cross across America. Complete commitment was required.

Like Snowflakes

If I'm so interested in dying, what keeps me going?

Souls. Thirst for the conversion souls. Jesus put that inside me—and you.

Victory alludes us. America definitely isn't the most Catholic nation on earth and souls are still "falling into hell like snowflakes." Our Lady of Fatima tells only the truth. Too many of our loved ones and neighbors are away from the Church.

Even before the movie thing, over the past few years I've been discussing with trusted advisors how my role at the Mary Foundation needs to evolve—somebody else might need to run the day-to-day stuff—I'll keep you posted.

Your End of the Conversation

But as long as you keep up your end of this conversation, I have no plans to "retire" until the Holy Trinity delivers me from exile on earth. He may deem it so tomorrow, or when I'm ninety-three (that would mark Year 60 of the CatholiCity Message!).

Thinking about death is kinda like the old joke about the guy standing on top of a skyscraper who says "I'm not afraid of heights, I'm afraid of impact." I'm not afraid of death, just dying without being in a state of grace. Otherwise, dying is way cool.

The word deathbed is a clever piece of misdirection. Catholics could call it one's eternal-life-bed. (That ain't gonna catch on.)

First Friday Promises—and Ohio

Speaking of death, Jesus gave the extraordinary promise of not dying without the sacraments to Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque in the late 1600s. In 1862, a businessman from Ohio, Philip Kemper, with eventual papal approval from Leo XIII, spread this devotion worldwide in over 230 languages.

A couple years ago, a dear convert friend inspired me to join her in this devotion (receive Holy Communion on nine consecutive first Fridays of the month). Find out the simple requirements here. We're also doing the five First Saturdays from Fatima.

At a retreat, Father Ripperger mentioned that his brother, who was faithful to the nine First Fridays, had a several priests show up out of nowhere to be at his deathbed—uh, his eternal lifebed.

This Year's Theme? Drumroll Please...

Last year's theme was Sanctity, and I think I did a pretty good job of focusing on that without getting too caught up in the confusion and craziness of current events. This year's theme?

"God."

Quotations Redux

"Death is no phantom, no horrible specter, as presented in pictures. In the catechism it is stated that death is the separation of soul and body, that is all! Well, I am not afraid of a separation which will unite me to the good God forever."
- Saint Therese of Lisieux

"Days turn to minutes and minutes to memories."
- Johnny Cougar Mellancamp

"The more one longs for a thing, the more painful deprivation of it becomes. And because the desire for God, the Supreme Good, is intense in the souls of the just, the soul suffers enormously from the delay."
- Saint Thomas Aquinas

Pray with Me and the Many

Some of us have prayed the final words of the Hail Mary countless thousands of times, so with childlike faith, let us begin in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit...

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Thank you for keeping our doors open for another year.

Thank you for acting on the truth that with God all things are possible.

Thank you for trusting me that the dragon will fall. So...

Stay frosty.

Smile right now.

Fear not death.

Seek holiness.

Pray the Rosary.

Adore the Eucharist.

Laugh when your heart is weary.

Work hard.

Play hard.

Pray hard.

I miss Rush Limbaugh.

With Saint Joesph,

Bud Macfarlane
Scrappy, Older, Fuzzball

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