curt doughty

What is it with fair-weather Christians? They get their rosaries in a bunch about the War on Christmas but don't raise a peep about the other holy days—or "holidays"—that have been co-opted by the forces of militant secularism. Saint Patrick's Day has been annexed by brewers, rioters, and thugs. Homosexuals roll "Easter eggs" on the White House lawn when they should be on their knees in prayer to the Risen Lord. And Saint Valentine has been dealt the unkindest cut of all—the day we are supposed to spend in awe of the heavenly love between Jesus Christ and His martyred servant has been turned over to frivolity, gluttony, and lust.

As Saint Valentine's Day approaches, I ask: Where are the legions of indignant faithful? The warriors of God? Where is Bill O'Reilly? John Gibson? Fox News? Oh, I see. Saints are a Catholic thing. American Protestants will bang the drum to sanctify everything Christian, so long as it's Germanic or British. But the oldest Christian sect in the entire world, the first to recognize Christ as our Savior? I guess that isn't worth anyone's attention.

Except for a fine group of young Catholic people who decided, under my mentorship, to take a stand.

Christ said, "Suffer the little children to come unto me" and Isaiah prophesized that "a child shall lead them," so I hand-picked a promising flock of youngsters to reclaim Saint Valentine's Day for the Catholic calendar. That anti–Valentine's Day protest in Westlake Center on Tuesday afternoon? Thank C'YA (Catholic Youth Abstaining), a group I brought together to shake their virginal fists at America's most secularized holy day. We stomped on chocolates at See's. We shredded secular "Valentine's Day" cards in front of Hallmark. We planted our God-flag in the sin-slathered cobbles of Westlake Center and declared war on the softcore greeting-card pornographers and chocolate-pushing atheists who sexualize youth and sedate adults with promises of coitus and sugar-induced endorphin highs.

C'YA wants you to say goodbye to Valentine's Day in its current form! C'YA to the rancid, sperm-filled figs of Baal! C'YA to abortion! C'YA to the syphilitic sores! C'YA to broken hearts! C'YA to the diabolical serpent who tickles young loins with his slimy, forked tongue! C'YA Satan!

I can already hear some of you saying, "Valentine's Day is a chance to celebrate love! What's wrong with that?" There are different kinds of love, just as Pope Benedict XVI mentioned in his first encyclical. There's agape (heavenly love) and there's eros, the earthly, sexualized love that degrades us—especially our youth.

Remember Romans 1:27, when God gave up His ungrateful children to their unchecked desires and even "the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust, one toward another, men with men working that which is unseemly." Lucifer is carving a book of pain upon our flesh and Lust is his pseudonym.

Look at the facts: In 1941, Franklin Roosevelt became the first president to send out "Valentine's Day" cards to his admirers. That year, the teen pregnancy rate crept above 7 percent and has climbed ever since.

In 1952, the Whitman's Sampler hit store shelves, kicking off the American obesity epidemic.

In 1981, a horror movie called My Bloody Valentine was released—that same year, God punished His flock with the deadly AIDS.

Clearly, we have strayed from the true meaning of Saint Valentine's Day and our Lord and Savior has not taken it lightly.

Contrary to heathen myth, he was not a messenger of carnal lies, nor a pal of the pagan god Cupid, but a devout lover of our Lord. Saint Valentine was decapitated by the evil Roman Emperor Auguston for advocating abstinence, a practice contrary to the Roman habit of having sex with animals, babies, and the small drainpipes lining their famous aqueducts. (Would our schools still celebrate Roman plumbing if parents knew that those pipes often flowed with lustful juices and unclean discharge from sexual infections? If we believed the textbooks, we might as well "do it in the Roman road.")

Early Christians exchanged Saint Valentine's Day cards to profess their faith in spite of Roman rules forbidding prayer in public places—you might take a leaf from their book and have your children do the same in their militantly secularized schools.

Jesus Christ is your Valentine—and not because He doesn't have anything better to do. He's not sitting home alone, waiting for the Great Spirit to call or wondering what Shiva looks like naked. He loves us because we're His children—we smell good and know how to take a joke. And Him? He's an omniscient, omnipotent god. What's not to love? So quit equivocating and fretting about whether those pants make you look fat. Accept that they do—and that it doesn't matter! Jesus doesn't care if you are fat and, therefore, undesirable by current standards of beauty. Just walk up to Jesus and tell Him you like Him! That you love Him! Then give Him a chaste, Christian kiss. See if He kisses you back. I bet He will! He likes you just the way you are, fatty—He loves you! Yes, you and Jesus, sittin' in a tree, p-r-a-y-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes conversion, then comes your commitment to stay a virgin!

Boycott See's. Make your extreme displeasure known at Hallmark stores through entirely legal—wink, wink—means. Write a love letter to Jesus and pin it to your child's shirt before he goes to school. Remind your spouse that "it is better to marry than to burn" (1 Corinthians 7:9). Visit to send Saint Valentine's Day flowers to oppressed Chinese Christians. And check out to support the brave kids of C'YA.

It's never too late to come to God—He doesn't wear a watch. Cast off the tyranny of chocolate and the Christian-in-name-only sophistry and spend this "Valentine's Day" thinking about Saint Valentine and the flaming heart of Heavenly freedom that illuminates this sad earth. Taste the fire!


—Reverend Buddy