Surfboard Tales, Part Six

It isn't permitted in Ocean City anymore, but when I was about 13 or 14 we could still go down the boardwalk steps to the beach at night. A lot of the high school and college kids did so and built fires and brought guitars, smoked cigarettes and sometimes pulled from a bagged bottle of Miller High Life. I was a straight-arrow kind of kid who didn’t smoke or drink, and I was conspicuously younger than most of them, but they let me enjoy the music, company and laughter, as long as I kept an appropriate distance. One evening a collection of Hare Krishna members, complete in saffron robes and with shaved heads, joined the evening beach set with their drums and other percussion instruments, handing out some delicious vegetarian dish that my friend, Jerry, refused to eat because he was afraid that it might have LSD in it. It was all a rather typical scene in the late 1960’s. The particular thing that united us was that we were beach people, with the royalty of the set being the surfers.

One of the surfers was a young man in his early 20’s who had recently returned from Vietnam. These days we would say that he had post-traumatic stress disorder; in 1969 it was still called “battle fatigue” or “shell shock”. It was not something that was treated in any real manner back then. He was pale and gaunt, despite spending most of his days on the 7th Street beach, the one that was marked for surfing only, and most of that time in the water. He was never in the center of any activity; he hovered in the outer orbit of the people around the beach fire, slightly visible in the orange glow. Mostly, he would stare at the waves and the phosphorescent lines that they made at night. He looked like he had gazed into some terrible abyss, had seen some ghastly truth, and was still trying to figure it out while knowing that he never could or would. He was known only by his ironic nickname, which was “Baby”.

One night Baby started a conversation with me. I don’t know why, except that I tended to the outside orbit of the beach fire, too. He just started talking, without looking at me, about how much he enjoyed the music, how much he had missed it over the past two years. That, and the caramel corn on the boardwalk and the cheeseburgers from a shack that stayed open late into the night. Baby then told me some lurid tales of Vietnam; so lurid that I wasn’t sure if they were true and wondered if he did so just to see my reaction.

He then asked me if I had seen that morning’s newspaper. It had been filled with stories about the horrific murder of a houseful of celebrities in Los Angeles. My mundane response was something like, “Yeah. Pretty bad.” Then he looked right at me; it was so startling that I think I stopped breathing for a moment.  He said, “That’s why I ride the waves. They’re wild and they’re mad. If I can master a wave I can master the madness.” He was silent for awhile afterwards; then he walked off into the darkness.  I didn't move until my friend Jerry came over to ask me if I thought Baby was on LSD.

I never saw Baby again at night, and only occasionally in the daylight, on his board out on the waves of 7th Street, waiting for the best one, the largest and the maddest; waiting for just the right wave to master.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

What? An August Newsletter? Mellow Has Been Harshed

So I thought that last month’s newsletter would serve as the summer edition, as summers are slow in Roxbury and parish events dwindle like the attendance on a humid Sunday. [Remember, folks, the church is air conditioned.] The only thing is, Carol, the most conscientious parish secretary with whom I’ve ever worked, decided, since she managed to gain access to Tim Beard’s cache of photographs, to put out an August edition. Of course, she also expects something from the Rector.

Now, I’m about a week away from vacation and am thinking more about whether or not I need new sails or which brand of surf wax I’ll try this year than about the narrowly spiritual matters that usually claim my attention in fulfilling this responsibility. However, as I’m also putting together a two-week reading list, I thought I’d share with you some of the book titles in which you may find some interest.

The Genesis of Science: How the Christian Middle Ages Launched the Scientific Revolution by James Hannam
A history of Christianity’s role is providing the foundation for the coming age of science and technology, shattering a lot of the errant preconceptions still taught in contemporary education.

The Fathers Know Best, edited by James Akin
“The Fathers” in this case are those generally known as the Early Church Fathers, the original holy men and theologians who built upon the works of the disciples. This is an annotated collection of their writings, complete with biographies.

The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright
As we are approaching the terrible 10th anniversary, I’m re-visiting this book that I originally read five or so years ago. It is the history of Islamic fundamentalism, such as we have known since the 20th century. It’s interesting to note that the world view of Al-Qaeda was formed at a dance at a Methodist church in Colorado in 1949.

A Fine Madness by Elliot Baker
A funny, quirky novel that explores the life of a contemporary poet and office carpet cleaner suffering from writer’s block. Not only does it examine the curiosities of the creative process, but it also pokes great fun at psycho-therapy.

Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of your Child by Anthony Esolen
This is a provocative analysis and critique of contemporary child rearing and education. What is of particular interest to me is how what the author calls “the denial of the transcendent”, or leaving as unacknowledged the religious impulse of children, is limiting their intelligence and appreciation of life’s possibilities.

Fishing the New Jersey Coast
How’d this get in here?

Self-Working Card Tricks by Karl Fulves
Rainy days at the beach are the worst. Use this book to amaze friends and family. Sure to break the ice at parties.

Cradle of Gold: The Story of Hiram Bingham by Christopher Heaney
Bingham was the discoverer of Machu Picchu. As with most stories of spectacular discovery, the events leading up to and surrounding the grand moment are fascinating.

These and other books and products may be purchased through The Coracle with the parish receiving a donation of 6% of the purchase price.  Just click on the selections offered on the list to the right to access your Amazon.com account and start buyin'.

Update: The State of Connecticut has begun to tax Amazon.com for items purchased through websites such as this one.  In return, Amazon.com has shut down their Associates program, the one that guaranteed us a 4%-6% donation for every purchase.  The referral box to the right, that has been in place for almost three years, has been removed.  Any purchases made from the booklist to the right will be honored, of course, but with no donation to Christ Church forthcoming.  As they say in Rastafarianism, "Babylon, mon."

The Theology Of Social Security

When the American church helped usher in Social Security, it abdicated its responsibility to care for the poor.

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

This week Solomon displays his wisdom to God, who rewards him with even greater sagacity; Paul gives the Romans one of the greatest belief statements in Christianity ["For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."]; and Jesus offers his third agricultural parable.

All this plus the Parable of the Lobster Trap. 

The lections may be found here.

Prayerful Response

It is horrifying to imagine 10 or 20 killed, my mind cannot conceive of the more than 80 that is the currently reported number.  Seeing a photo in the European press of the victims still scattered about the island that was the site of a portion of yesterday's atrocity in Norway did nothing other than shove my conception further into numbness.  Having twice been in the presence of mass trauma, one nature-made and one not, I am reminded not only of the sights associated with such an event, but of the sounds and the smells.  Yes, the term "horror" seems inadequate.

Christians pray in a variety of ways.  As I have been your rector for two years now, you know that, in the words of a former parishioner of mine and now dean of Virginia Seminary, I can be a very "Augustinian".  That is, I find that the best way to pray is to seize whatever I can summon in the way of intellect and physical ability and make something happen.  Whether it is organizing a charity concert or building a guitar, sometimes just repairing a small piece of the parish or rectory, I find that form of prayer to be satisfying and appropriate, as it connects my actions to something greater.

But there are atrocities which challenge my intellect and cannot be affected by anything I can do physically.  Whether it is Oklahoma City or September 11th or yesterday in Norway or any number of massively cruel actions committed by one human, or group of humans, on others, all I have is prayer at its simplest and most basic.  Some words, clumsily chosen and expressed, that represent a petition that I can barely define.

This article is from a number of years ago, now.  I had a physical copy of it for some time but it was lost in one of the many moves of the past 25 years.  Naturally, I was able to find it on the Internet.  Please click on the paragraph below to read it in its entirety.

It is difficult for modern Christians to pray precisely because we carry within ourselves the very questions about how God works in the world -- or makes any difference in the world -- that cause the so-called atheists among us to turn their backs on God in melancholy outrage. Further, we wonder, are we constantly to go through the motions of asking -- when we know we can do for ourselves? Weren’t we created to be creative, hardworking beings? Aren’t our talents given to us precisely so that we can produce? And is it not an embarrassing fact that because we generally don’t need God to bail us out, when we do become desperate and could indeed use help we are almost ashamed to ask? We don’t want to be like the shameless son who never visits his parents except to hit them for a loan.

Hey, I Saw This Cartoon When I Was A Kid

Bear gets head stuck in jar

An Obituary Of Note: Artist Of A Lost Art

Alex Steinweiss, Originator of Artistic Album Covers, Dies at 94

Surfboard Tales, Part Five

Like any avocation, surfing has developed its own slang over time. Some of it is venerable and well-planted in the American idiom. Terms like “wahine”, “kahuna”, and “wipe-out” have been heard and, at least partially, understood by many. However, there are more examples that are either specific to a particular surf beach or are so transient that they don’t survive for more than a season. The last time I was on the West Coast, I was speaking to a surfer who was bringing me up to date on the local patois.

Surfer: See that?

Me: What?

Surfer: That move the dude just did.

Me: No. What was it?

Surfer: It was like a 360, but with a flair. It was a roundabout fandoozie.

Me: A…what?

Surfer: Now check that. That’s an acetone shorts.

Me: It’s an acetone…?

Surfer: Shorts. ‘Cause he went so fast, see?

Me: No, I don’t think I….

Surfer: Now check the cavefish over there. He’s about to porpoise.

Me: Wait, I know what it is to "porpoise". He’s riding up the wave instead of down, right?

Surfer: Right. Watch him launch.

Me: But, what’s a cavefish?

Surfer: He is, ‘cause he’s so white. See, he’s a fishbelly.

Me: Okay.

Surfer: Man, I did this porpoise once. I just blasted off like a space shuttle. I called it a “moon porpoise”.

Me: “Moon”?  Because you were heading for the moon?

Surfer:  Nah, I lost my board shorts about half way up the wave.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

This Week's Blessed Virgin Mary Watch

Oklahoma couple find image of Virgin Mary in shower tile

An Important Safety Note

As we all know by now, it will be hot on Thursday and Friday; maybe Saturday, too.  I know just about everyone has some form of air conditioning, but if you don't, or if there is a malfunction and you wish to escape the heat, please know that the parish house will be offered as a so-called "cooling center".  We'll make it as comfortable as we can.

All you need to do is let us know, however, so that we can keep it unlocked and cooliciously ready.

Personally, I Would Have Tried To Ride It Like A Bronco

Great white shark lands on research boat

[P.S.  It's summer, which means there will be a lot of stories from the media about sharks.  Seriously, the stories practically write themselves and are great for weeks when many of the newspaper and wire service staffs are on vacation.]

[P.P.S  See what I mean?  Teen Shares Shark Bite Story, Four foot shark 20 feet off Newport Beach, Dog attacks shark, and Great white spotted off of Chatham.  Not to be outdone, we also have this variation: Forget the sharks; fear jellyfish.]

Naturally, His Area Of Study Is Ethics

Harvard fellow hacked millions of papers

Haiti And Its Perpetual Poverty

An interesting observation about Haiti:  

Now, this is interesting to me because anyone can easily miss this point just by looking around Haiti where you see people working and producing like crazy, and yet the people never seem to get their footing. Without an understanding of economics, it is nearly impossible to see the unseen: the capital that is absent that would otherwise permit economic growth. And this is the very reason for the persistence of poverty, which, after all, is the natural condition of mankind. It takes something heroic, something special, something historically unique, to dig out of it.

Now to the question of why the absence of capital.

The answer has to do with the regime. It is a well-known fact that any accumulation of wealth in Haiti makes you a target, if not of the population in general (which has grown suspicious of wealth, and probably for good reason), then certainly of the government. The regime, no matter who is in charge, is like a voracious dog on the loose, seeking to devour any private wealth that happens to emerge.
This creates something even worse than the Higgsian problem of "regime uncertainty." The regime is certain: it is certain to steal anything it can, whenever it can, always and forever. So why don't people vote out the bad guys and vote in the good guys? Well, those of us in the United States who have a bit of experience with democracy know the answer: there are no good guys. The system itself is owned by the state and rooted in evil. Change is always illusory, a fiction designed for public consumption.

"The state strikes only when there is something to loot."

This is an interesting case of a peculiar way in which government is keeping prosperity at bay. It is not wrecking the country through an intense enforcement of taxation and regulation or nationalization. One gets the sense that most people never have any face time with a government official and never deal with paperwork or bureaucracy really. The state strikes only when there is something to loot. And loot it does: predictably and consistently. And that alone is enough to guarantee a permanent state of poverty.

Now, to be sure, there are plenty of Americans who are firmly convinced that we would all be better off if we grew our own food, bought only locally, kept firms small, eschewed modern conveniences like home appliances, went back to using only natural products, expropriated wealthy savers, harassed the capitalistic class until it felt itself unwelcome and vanished. This paradise has a name, and it is Haiti.

Surfboard Tales, Part Four

After a storm, a great deal of flotsam is kicked up by the agitation, including various forms of algae and kelp not ordinarily seen on more peaceful days.  Much of it is unattractive and some of it is a little on the slimy side.  It is not unusual after riding a wave to find a draping of brown grape kelp on one's shoulder or a doily of green, plasticine algae on top of one's head.

I was talking about how much was in the water one morning with a young surfer who was typical of his generation, as he was educated in the academic concerns of the environment but a little less enthused about the real thing.  He offered this observation, while picking an accumulation of algae and other ocean offal from his wetsuit with great care and an expression of disgust on his face: 

“I like the waves.  It’s the ocean I can’t stand.”

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved © 2011]

An Obituary Of Note

Travis Bean, Aluminum Guitar Maker, Dies at 63

Our Latest Jesus Watch Report

Couple Sees Jesus In Walmart Receipt

The Fifth Sunday After Pentecost

This week we hear of Wisdom, Paul raises the spiritual debt limit, and Jesus gives the second of three agricultural parables, this time about the dreaded "bearded darnel".

The lections may be found here.

Surfboard Tales, Part III

Surfer: Got my mangoes stolen yesterday.

Me: Pardon?

Surfer: My mangoes. On the beach. Stolen.

Me: Oh, yeah. I lost a backpack last season. While I was in the water.

Surfer: Know who did it?

Me: No, although nowadays I have a GPS transponder in my bag so I can chase down whoever takes it.

Surfer:  I should have done that with my mangoes. They were in a plastic bag that I stuffed under the bench in the lifeguard station. I like mangoes; gets the saltwater taste out of my mouth. I wasn’t in the water five minutes and they were gone. The bag they were in was just blowing down the beach. Five minutes, and I didn’t see anyone else on the beach. It’s like a cat burglar.

Me: Or a bird burglar.

Surfer: Huh?

Me: Look. [I pointed at some seagulls who were rummaging through another surfer’s breakfast bag. One was flying away with a Pop Tart in its bill.]

Surfer: [Highly Creative Expletive] Oh, man. I think I filed a false police report.

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

Surfboard Tales, Part II

Another surfer and I are sitting in the slow rolling waves, waiting for the next set.  He's young and enormous, with shoulders about as wide as a Jack Kirby-drawn superhero [see Captain America above] and muscles so sculpted its as if he has no flesh.  I think he could bust the surfboard in two with his bare hands.  He's been in the water for seven hours without a break and shows no signs of fatigue at all.  He may be able to bust the ocean in two with his bare hands, I don't know.

He and I have just noticed the local beach joggers on an outing from the Surf Health Club; middle-aged folks kind of wiggling down the beach wearing flamboyantly bilious running gear.  A true child of the surf, the Jack Kirby Superhero looks off into the distance and says,

"I wonder what it's like to jog.  Or go to a gym."

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved© 2011]

First Surfing Cattle And Now This

Apparently it's not just in the UK where cattle have an affinity for water.  Meet the star of Spain's "Bulls to the Sea" festival:

Which Begs The Question: What's Inorganic Water?

Organic Water: A New Marketing Wave

Barnum was right.

But, There Aren't Any Beaches In Ohio!

Granted, most people under the age of 40 would flunk any common US geography quiz, so I don't really have high expectations about many of my fellow citizenry knowing the names or locations of any of the 50 states or of significant geographic features like lakes, mountains, and rivers, but today I came across a comment on a website that left me a little disquieted. 

You see, one of my favorite surf spots is Huntington Beach, California.  It's nickname, as recognized by the California State Assembly, is "Surf City".  For those interested, I have some photos of it on my Facebook page.  However, there is also a town in Ohio, just west of Cleveland, named Huntington Beach.  A rather spectacular photo of a lightning strike over Lake Erie just off of the Huntington Beach shoreline was published by National Geographic today, and this caused a lot of commentary, naturally at the expense of Ohio and Ohioans, mostly from people in California and New York.  In other words, the usual.

However, one comment was, "Everyone knows there are no beaches in Ohio."  Well, hold on there, pard, and check out the photos below, each one is of the beaches along Lake Erie, a lake so big that it has tides, waves, and its own US Coast Guard station.

By the way, you can also go surfing in Lake Erie.  Don't believe me?  Check it:

Surfboard Tales

I appreciate, and many of you have noticed, that I've been a little lax in posting to this weblog in recent days.  In part, it's because it's summer and the last thing I want to do is sit in an office in front of a computer and type.  Really, do I work in a cubicle zoo?  Another reason is that there is much going on and, after the horrid winter, I want to be out in the community as much as possible.  Also, it's summer.  That's when the ocean and Sound are at there most accommodating.  I've kept it a secret, but I like the water.  I like being in it.  I have two surfboards, a kayak, and a cabin-equipped sailboat, so you can guess what I do on my days off; days that used to be used to organize weblog materials.

Then there's the fact that I owe a publisher a book, and since I spent the advance a long time ago, I think I'm going to have to complete it.  That means writing time away from the weblog.  [Relax, this is done in my spare time.]

So, I'll try to post something each day but some of it may seem a bit obtuse.  After all, weblogs are intended to be highly personal, and while I post information of interest to the parish, I also have a wide readership that seems much more interested in things like the royal wedding scripture reading, silly headlines and newspaper stories, and what flag is flying from the rectory.  Really, I don't get that last one.

But one of the things I thought would be fun is to record some of the conversations I've had with fellow surfers and bodyboarders while waiting for the next set of waves to come through.  They can be amazing in their Zen-like density or wonderful goofiness.  My guarantee is that all conversations and comments are verbatim and accurate.

#1:
[The following was at the end of the conversation about why rappers and hip-hop artists change their names to something exotic and fake.]

Surfer:  "I thought about changing my name once."
Me: "Oh?"
Surfer: "Yeah.  I wanted to change it to Malibu."
Me: "Mal-"
Surfer: "Yeah.  Malibu.  'Here comes Malibu' or "Malibu just pearled'.  'Malibu, dude, good to see you.'"
Me: "As a first name or last name?  Or, as one name? You know, like Liberace."
Surfer: "Who?"
Me: "I mean like Cher."
Surfer: "?"
Me: "Madonna?  Never mind."
Surfer: "Not as a last name.  Only if my first name were 'Johnny' or 'Ricky' or something."
Me: "What's your first name?"
Surfer: "Ken.  See, that's the problem.  Everyone would call me 'Malibu Ken'".
Me: "Yeah, that wouldn't work.  What's your last name?"
Surfer: "Beach.  That wouldn't work, either. That one's taken."

[Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved © 2011]

When People Don't Believe In God, Anything May Be A Religion [Part Three]

Man wins right to wear pasta strainer in driver's license photo

He describes it as "religious headgear", you see.

The Fourth Sunday After Pentecost

Of brothers, flesh, spirit, seeds, and my Homecoming date we hear this morning. 

The lections may be found here.

Something For Those Of Us Not Born And Raised In The East

Some tales about accents and what they do to listeners from a Southerner living in the Midwest. 

Believe me, being a Midwesterner married to a Southerner, we can receive a lot of passive, well, bigotry from Easterners.  I developed a few coping mechanisms over the years, such as affecting an Eastern accent to cover my Buckeye-ness, or joining yacht, country, and university clubs to blend into the ways of the East.  My original way to cope, when everyone in an Eastern university classroom knew that I was some ignorant boondocker from Ohio, and assumed to be at least half a moron because of that, was to outscore everyone else on the exams.  There was a certain satisfaction in that.

Everything I Learned About Rock Music In The Sixties I Learned From This Woman

Jane Scott Is Dead at 92; Veteran Rock Music Critic

I met Ms. Scott back in the 70's when I was working at an AOR*-formatted radio station, but I'd been reading her column since I was 13.  The same year we met I had interviewed Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, Denny Laine of Paul McCartney's band, Wings, and jazz legend Larry Coryell, but she was the one of whom I was in awe.  Jane Scott was a great lady and a great reporter, and very patient with what I'm sure were some tedious interview questions. 

What made her a great reporter was an instinct that cannot be learned, as illustrated in this quotation from the obit: "She found her lifework on Sept. 15, 1964, the day four lads from Liverpool came to Cleveland. No one at the paper was interested in covering the Beatles, and Ms. Scott volunteered."

The evening I met Ms. Scott, we were in attendance at the same concert in a 200-seat venue in Cleveland's Playhouse Square.  “He looked like a cross between a dockhand and a pirate,” she wrote in The Plain Dealer in 1975, reviewing a young musician. “He stood on the darkened Allen Theater stage last night in a black greaser jacket, blue jeans, a gray wool cap pulled over an eye and a gold earring in his left ear. ... His name is Bruce Springsteen. He will be the next superstar.”  She made this observation at the age of 56, and was the first to do so.

Good on you, Jane.  You made the New York Times.  Ave atque vale.

*AOR = Album-oriented Rock

Another Proud Moment In Greater Cleveland

Talk about your slow news weeks.  I can't even find any interesting archaeology stories; and there are no feast days this week.  Fortunately, northeastern Ohio is always good for tales such as this:

Banana at large after fight with gorilla

I think I'm getting homesick.

This Headline Would Have Benefited From A Hyphen

Drunk Puppy Buying Banned by West Village Pet Stores

Otherwise, there must be a lot of inebriated canines with credit cards wandering Christopher Street.

Luke 17:33

The other day I was informed that I had died in 1996. It must have been sudden, as I was unaware of my passing. I heard this from a collection of former students from the class of 1991, all of whom had been told of my demise at their five-year reunion. This explains why I haven’t heard from them in fifteen years, as e-mail and Facebook have not yet bridged the ethereal plane.

Apparently, the news of my mortality had been announced at the reunion by a new alumni relations director. As I had left that school for another in 1993, she had never known me and, since one clergyman is pretty much the same as another, she had confused me with another former chaplain of the school; never mind that our chaplaincies were two decades apart and our ages separated by three decades, if not more so. After all, both of our surnames begin with the letter “C”.

It’s hard to remain dead in this world of electronic communication, however; especially when one is not. Inevitably, last week, one of my former students discovered that I still existed, sent his bemused greetings, and informed other members of his class that I was, in fact, still alive. Those with whom I had a good relationship greeted my resurrection warmly; the ones with whom I had a more checkered relationship questioned whether I was some sort of vampire. I, however, began to discover some advantages to being dead.

For example, when Jenni asked me when I was going to break down the surprising number of cardboard boxes that once contained guitar parts and that now took up one full bay of the garage, I was able to reply with the confidence of the mortal, “I can’t, honey. I’m dead.” When I was expected to attend a clergy meeting, one that could be labeled “The Committee of Bilious Ordained Know-It-Alls”, I was able to beg off. After all, as I explained to a puzzled secretary, “I’ve been dead for fifteen years.” It was a remarkably liberating experience. I was looking forward to explaining my inert status to the IRS and Social Security Administration, but began to re-think this action when I saw my wife reviewing the fine print in my life insurance policy.

Regarding oneself as dead is common in military history. Both the legions of Rome and the samurai of the Japanese shogunate regarded themselves as dead in order to have greater focus on the battlefield. There is a parallel to this in the early Christian church, too, as we can read in St. Paul’s first of two letters to the Corinthians:

I die every day! That is as certain, brothers and sisters, as my boasting of you--a boast that I make in Christ Jesus our Lord. Do you think I'd do this if I wasn't convinced of your resurrection and mine as guaranteed by the resurrected Messiah Jesus? Do you think I was just trying to act heroic when I fought the wild beasts at Ephesus, hoping it wouldn't be the end of me? Not on your life! It's resurrection, resurrection, always resurrection, that undergirds what I do and say, the way I live. If there's no resurrection, "We eat, we drink, the next day we die," and that's all there is to it.

Accepting one’s mortality was, and is, for Christians the first step towards recognizing the reality of resurrection, that which so strongly motivated Paul, and should motivate those disciples who follow. When I was recently “playing dead”, part of the liberation I felt was because I could at least pretend to be freed from worldly concerns such as chores and taxes. But Paul speaks of using that perspective not for detachment, but for engagement. Living for the Kingdom rather than the World, living for the life eternal rather than the life mortal, means that even common, temporal moments can be filled with spiritual possibility, grace, and wonder. And, as Paul noted, even without having to face wild beasts, it is the way in which Christians live heroically, sometimes in the face of daunting adversity.

Or even common adversity, as I now will mark my awareness of living in, but not of, the world to take that surprising number of flattened cardboard boxes to the town dump.

Okay, This Guy's Pretty Neat, Too

76-year-old Army medic on 4th tour in war zones

Happy 40 July, Indeed

I love this guy!

A Correction To An Earlier Posting

Kudzu Jesus not kudzu

I have news for this expert: It's not actually Jesus, either.

Remember When Musicians Were Elegant? Part Two

Here's some more; some well-known, others less so.

Perhaps the greatest at piano improvisation, I think I hear at least one piece by John Coltrane each day on the radio.

Thelonious Monk, equally adept at the piano and at sporting a jaunty pinstripe.

Another tragic musician [there really is no shortage in that category], Chet Baker set his own style with both the trumpet and, apparently, the suede Trilby.

Ironically not as well known as the others, Sonny Stitt toured more and was recorded more than almost any other jazz musician during the great age.  So as not to be confused with Charlie Parker, who played the alto sax, Stitt became a virtuoso of the tenor sax.  Even in casual moments such as that pictured, you get a sense of what was a remarkably graceful stage presence.

Remember When Musicians Were Elegant?

An acquaintance is compiling a volume of photographs for a book on the great days of American Jazz and Blues and forwarded these photos to me.  What I found really striking is how elegant and put-together these great artists were.  As we now live with a music industry dominated by surreally bad taste [Lady Gaga's meat dress, anyone?], I thought it would be interesting to see what was once the fashion.  Each photo contains a link to a biography and discography of the photo's subject.

[Yes, I know "surreally" isn't a word, but it should be.]

This is B.B. King, currently in his 80's and still performing, in a photo from 40-some years ago.  He still knows how to dress.  His guitar is named "Lucille", by the way.  Long story.

The tragic Charlie "Bird" Parker, who brought a new virtuosity to the saxophone.  His was the first jazz I ever heard and it's still the standard by which I judge all others.

Miles Davis, looking great and not even on stage.  At this time in his career he enjoyed Brooks Brothers suits.

Muddy Waters posing in that sharkskin suit.  Hard to believe that a year or so before he was a ragged sharecropper from the Mississippi Delta.  In fact, he was born in Rolling Fork, MS, where my in-laws lived.  The two fellows flanking him are the Chess brothers, who brought a lot of southern artists to Chicago to record for their label, Chess Records.  Other members of their musical stable included Chuck Berry and Howlin' Wolf, among many others.  L'il Walter was always a favorite of mine.

Just In Time For The Fourth Of July

Houston VA accused of censoring religious speech

"Local veterans and volunteer groups accuse Department of Veterans Affairs officials of censoring religious speech — including the word "God" - at Houston National Cemetery."

Archaeological News

Ossuary Belonging to a Daughter of the Caiaphas Family of High Priests Discovered

Although, as all archaeology-philes at Christ Church know, it's best to wait awhile before declaring something a "true" discovery.  This still could just be some guy's toilet tank.

It's Been Awhile, But We've Had A Jesus Sighting

This time in some kudzu.

An Interesting Article From One Of The Episcopal Church's Bishops [No, Really. It's In Christianity Today]

Ayn Rand Led Me to Christ: How the anti-Christian philosopher prepared me to hear the gospel.

A Sign Of The Apocalypse

The Pope sends his first Tweet

What Is It With British Bovines?

First one goes surfing, and now this:

Runaway cow herd takes over Tredegar street

An Interesting Follow-Up To A Previous Posting

Websites to be attacked over arrests of activists handing out food to homeless people

Now This Would Make Surfing Competitions A Lot More Interesting

Shark jumps over Florida surfer

The Third Sunday After Pentecost

Abraham takes a test [although I suspect Isaac was a little more concerned with the final grade], Paul delivers some slaves, and Jesus is making me thirsty. All this and Buck's "daddy wig."

The lections may found here.

"At Rincon, They're Walkin' The Nose...."

Surf's buttercup! Cow paddles alongside bemused swimmers after plunging into the Atlantic

This article alternately describes the creature as a bull, bullock, and cow.  Local farmers can tell you that those are two different genders and one "altered" state, so who knows?  Still, it's always nice to welcome a new surfer.

Another Portion Of Youth Washes Away From The Main

Gene Colan, comic book legend, dies at at 84

I Remember That Day Well. I Think It Was The Last Time The Sun Came Out

It's our anniversary again?  I thought we just had one last year.

I miss that suit.  Not so much those glasses.  Or were they goggles? 

Spending the day with my bride as we attempt trans-species communication with a couple of Belugas.

Next Thing You Know, The Government Will Slap Lurid Warning Stickers On Poor People

American Cancer Society Declares Poverty A Carcinogen

Sears May Be Disappointed, Especially Since Our Feet Are Pretty Much The Same As Those In The Other 49 States

Sears looking for 1M square feet, maybe in Ohio

He May Have Been Auditioning To Be A Crucifix Model

Nude man found on steps of Redding church

Surfing Madonna Needs A Savior

I seem a little preoccupied with watersports today; I'm guessing that it has something to do with the beginning of summer.  However, this is an interesting story about the nature of art vs. graffiti.

Unauthorized work has created problems, but it could become a cultural landmark for Encinitas

I Guessing The Members Of The King Co. Council Don't Know How To Swim

King Co. requires life vests for swimmers, floaters

Really, swimmers are to wear flotation devices?  Ever try to swim in a life jacket?  Try surfing in one, too.

As a former life guard, I have to note that it's not the water.  The water can always be dangerous.  It's the swimmer/floater/boater and their sense of surroundings and ability that keeps them safe or plunges them into danger.  Teaching people how really to swim, and requiring education to use a boat or JetSki, will do more to save lives than will writing new, and mostly unenforceable, laws.  In the ocean, the only people who ever got into difficutly were those who did not know how to swim or were only experienced with splashing around in calm inland lakes and ponds.

Which reminds me of something written some time ago:

When I read of "good swimmers" drowning in the ocean, I’m not all that surprised. Even people who know how to swim have usually learned in a swimming pool. Pools have no tides, no rips. Pools have no undertow, no current, and no swells. Pools don’t have waves.

The ocean makes everyone who doesn’t respect it into a novice. The ocean pulls, tugs, throws, rolls, and beats. Swimming in the ocean is as complete a physical activity as one may encounter. The ocean is alive with uncontrollable force, it is nature at its most raw; and it can make anyone who doesn’t respect it into another sad victim.

Some people should not be allowed anywhere near it.

Yes, It Is

It's International Surfing Day!

As Well They Should

NBC apologizes for cutting “under God” from Pledge of Allegiance before U.S. Open

Aw, Nuts

Clarence Clemons died last night, and if his name means nothing to you, he served as the historical connection between early rock 'n roll, with its use of the saxaphone as the primary instrument, and the post-modern sound of the 1970's made popular by Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band. He currently can be heard on Lady Gaga's newest recording, thus completing a very long arc in American popular music.

As this seems to be video day, click below to see the E Street Band in mid-concert. Clemons makes his entrance at the 2:30 mark and is clearly a crowd favorite.



If you're wondering why this is on a "religious" weblog, then you didn't hear today's sermon. Our spirituality is drawn from many sources, not all of them sacred.

Footnotes For Today's Sermon

Click on the video below to hear the Nelson Riddle arrangement of "I've Got You Under My Skin", as sung by Sinatra and recorded that fateful day in 1956.  Also with bonus glamour shots of Ava Gardner.

Trinity Sunday

This week we look at how it's the rendition and composition together that provide the fourth aspect of faith; after scripture, reason, and tradition comes....

Well, we'll talk about that tomorrow. The lections may be found here.

So That's What It Means

Inflation means you will pay more this summer

It's Getting A Little Rough For Christians

Woman accused of stealing from another's purse at church

and

2 Women Sought After Credit Cards Stolen In Cheltenham Cemetery

An Office Note

For those who were not in church on Sunday, or who were day-dreaming during announcements, the parish office computer was damaged by static electricity during Thursday's storm and apparent tornado.  [Although an F1 tornado hardly deserves the name.  In Ohio, we used to ride F1s to school.]

So, if you're expecting a response to your recent e-mail or a statement from the parish treasurer, you're going to have to wait awhile until the computer is repaired.  I know, I know.  Life is hard.

[Above is Margaret Hamilton in her most famous role.  She was an Episcopalian by the way, and spent her later years in Salisbury.  For those interested, there is a venerable Episcopal Actors' Guild in NYC that is still active.  Their website may be found here.]

Ironically, It's From The Patron Saint Of Missing Objects

Religious Relic Stolen From Catholic Church In Long Beach

This Is Why Rummage Sales Make Me Nervous

Who left grandma behind? Urn shows up in donations at Goodwill store in Fenton

The Day Of Pentecost

This Sunday the disciples have their languages un-tangled, the Corinthians learn of the dissemination of gifts, and Jesus issues the mighty invitation.  All this plus the problems with English and wells.

The lections may be found here.  And remember to wear something red.

The Feast Of Ephrem

From Keifer's Hagiographies:

Ephrem of Edessa was a teacher, poet, orator, and defender of the Faith....Edessa (now Urfa), a city in modern Turkey about 100 kilometers from Antioch (now Antakya), was a an early center for the spread of Christian teaching in the East. It is said that in 325 he accompanied his bishop, James of Nisibis, to the Council of Nicea. Certainly his writings are an eloquent defense of the Nicene faith in the Deity of Jesus Christ. He countered the Gnostics' practice of spreading their message through popular songs by composing Christian songs and hymns of his own, with great effect. He is known to the Syrian church as "the harp of the Holy Spirit."

Ephrem retired to a cave outside Edessa, where he lived in great simplicity and devoted himself to writing. He frequently went into the city to preach. During a famine in 372-3 he worked distributing food to the hungry, and organizing a sort of ambulance service for the sick. He worked long hours at this, and became exhausted and sick, and so died.

The Feast Of Columba

One of the ironies in Christian history, or at least in its common understanding, is that St. Patrick, the evangelist of Ireland, was a Scot from The Borders and that today's feast day honoree, Columba, the evangelist of Scotland, was Irish.  For most this is no matter, as many people cannot recognize the difference between the Scots and the Irish any more than they can between the Slovenians and the Slovakians.  Suffice it to say, Columba's holy witness not only brought to the Gospel the people of the northern kingdom, but also provided a monastery system which enabled and protected education during the 6th century.

Of course, the most lasting of his contributions was the monastery on Iona, an isle off the Scottish coast that is still a site of Christian pilgrimage and tourism.  More on Columba may be found here.

O God, who by the preaching of your blessed servant Columba caused the light of the Gospel to shine in Scotland: Grant, we pray, that, having his life and labors in remembrance, we may show our thankfulness to you by following the example of his zeal and patience; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

"Sliding a wave removes our brains out of the ordinary and slips us into the extra ordinary of being there now. No more worries about mortgages or strife of being poor or rich. When you enter the domain of an ocean cylinder, that moment, those split seconds belong to the Zen part of just being. Period."

- Bill Hamilton

Glad I Was Otherwise Occupied On Sunday

Great White Shark Spotted Off NJ Coast

Good God, this is worse than any shark: 'Jersey Shore' cast to return to NJ

"Folly is a more dangerous enemy to the good than evil. One can protest against evil; it can be unmasked and, if need be, prevented by force. Evil always carries the seeds of its own destruction, as it makes people, at the least, uncomfortable. Against folly we have no defence. Neither protests nor force can touch it; reasoning is no use; facts that contradict personal prejudices can simply be disbelieved — indeed, the fool can counter by criticizing them, and if they are undeniable, they can just be pushed aside as trivial exceptions. So the fool, as distinct from the scoundrel, is completely self-satisfied;..." - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I Wonder What Constitutes Bad News In Gainesville

Good News van driver charged after wreck

And You Thought Beatification Was An Honor

John Paul officially named Michigan men's lacrosse coach

Not Exactly A News Flash, But Well Worth Reading

Missing faith: Getting religion in the newsroom

Besides, it's a lot more interesting than incessant coverage of yet another politician's bizarre social habits or the latest attempts to correct a sorta, kinda presidential candidate.

Babylon 1, Jerusalem 0

Three arrested, accused of illegally feeding homeless

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” - Helen Keller

The Seventh Sunday Of Easter

This week the disciples get a glimpse of sole [yes, that's spelled correctly], Peter fights fire, and Jesus preaches one-ness.  All this plus the BOAC ramp at JFK.

The lections may be found here.

There Are No Diocesan Celebrations Planned, But Still....

In one form or another, it has been with us for a very long time. Nearly five centuries ago, it was a declaration of independence from Rome. It was also a key demonstration as to how important the English language was to become to the world.

During the American Revolution, it kept a church without indigenous bishops together long enough to forge an identity and provide a manner of consecrating our own bishops. One hundred years later, when other Protestant denominations were tearing themselves asunder during the Civil War, it kept us together in worshipful wholeness.

It has withstood the clumsy hands of committees that seek to "improve" it, those who believe that the best way to educate parishioners is to reduce its liminal linguistic beauty, and the mercenary attentions of those who would mar it so that they might become footnotes in ecclesial history. It is even too strong and pure of intention to be replaced by photocopied nonsense and mind-numbing church "bulletins".

It remains what it was intended to be: a tool for those who quest for some intangible shrine where the Holy Spirit may be discerned, the redemptive act made known, and Almighty love received.

This is its week, a feast set aside for The Book of Common Prayer.

Almighty and everliving God, whose servant Thomas Cranmer, with others, restored the language of the people in the prayers of your Church: Make us always thankful for this heritage; and help us so to pray in the Spirit and with the understanding, that we may worthily magnify your holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

When People Don't Believe In God, Anything May Be A Religion [Part Two]

Jill Abramson, a former investigative reporter and Washington bureau chief for The New York Times, will become the paper’s executive editor....“In my house growing up, The Times substituted for religion,” she said. “If The Times said it, it was the absolute truth.”

Update:  Oh-oh, this quote has now been removed from the Times article with no explanation.  I wonder why?  Apparently, "absolute truth" is mutable.

Update update:  Thank you, Google cache, for proving that my eyes did not deceive me.

Summer #54 [Anticipated]

Let's look at the debits and credits associated with this particular pursuit.  In over fifty summers, I've sustained a damaged rotator cuff, torn thumb tendon, strained Achilles tendon, sprained ankle, simple orbit fracture, cracked palate, demolished molar [a surf board hit me in the side of the face; not my board, some teenager's], two black eyes [not at the same time], bloodied noses, sprained elbow, jellyfish stings, and forty-eight sixty stitches in various parts of me. Not to mention sunburn [although not since the early 80's], dehydration, ear infection, various minor abrasions, contusions, lacerations, and a profound sinus irritation. Oh, and a barracuda once gave me a dirty look.

One moment sliding diagonally across the face of a perfectly caught wave makes me want to do it all over again.

From The Dawn Patrol, by Don Winslow:

"The physicists call it a 'energy-transport phenomenon.'

The dictionary says it's 'a disturbance that travels through a medium from one location to another location.'

A disturbance. It's certainly that.

Something gets disturbed. That is, something strikes something else and sets off a vibrations. Clap your hands right now and you'll hear a sound. What you're actually hearing is a sound wave. Something struck something else and it set off a vibration that strikes your eardrum.

The vibration is energy. It's transported through the phenomenon of a wave from one location to the other.

The water itself doesn't actually move. What happens is one particle of water bumps into the next, which bumps into the next, and so on and so forth until it hits something. It's like that idiot wave at a sports event - the people don't move around the stadium, but the wave does. The energy flows from one person to another.

So when you're riding a wave, you're not riding water. The water is the medium, but what you're really riding is energy."

Good God, this is a must-read article:  Nuns host gnarly surfing contest in NJ  [BTW, no one actually says "gnarly".]

I'm Guessing That HBO Won't Be Shown In Australia

Aussies to be fined for swearing

The Visitation Of The Blessed Virgin Mary

Today's feast is remarkable for a number of reasons [as captured in Luke 1:39-56], however it is in a literary sense that I appreciate it this year.

The Visitation marks when Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptizer, and Mary, the Bearer of God, meet as kinswomen.  Elizabeth senses her son, John, still in utero, leap for joy at the occasion.  Mary thus offers what has become known as The Magnificat:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; *
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed: *
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him *
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm, *
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, *
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things, *
and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel, *
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers, *
to Abraham and his children for ever.

The literary aspect is found in this meeting's significance, as it is the moment when, figuratively speaking, the Older Covenant is introduced to the Newer Covenant within the developing context of scripture.  Elizabeth is aged and thought to be barren, but is pregnant with he who would be, in essence, the final prophet of the Older Covenant.  Mary may be as young as fourteen or fifteen, and carries in her he would bring us into the Newer Covenant.  Their three months together, with Elizabeth presumably teaching Mary the "womanly arts" that were passed through the generations by Jewish women, signifies that overlapping exchange that marks the connection between Judaism and its Christian expression. 

Today's collect:

Father in heaven, by whose grace the virgin mother of your incarnate Son was blessed in bearing him, but still more blessed in keeping your word: Grant us who honor the exaltation of her lowliness to follow the example of her devotion to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Another Doomsday Prediction [Secular Version]

Will Global Warming Make the Earth Uninhabital Within 50 Years?

What can we do to avoid this Doomsday?  Pray harder?  Nah, pay more taxes = Doomsday averted.  Yay!

A Divertimento For The Federal Holiday

From A Song For The Season, by Mark Steyn -

Memorial Day in America – or, if you’re a real old-timer, Decoration Day, a day for decorating the graves of the Civil War dead. The songs many of those soldiers marched to are still known today – “The Yellow Rose Of Texas”, “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”, “Dixie”. But this one belongs in a category all its own:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored…

In 1861, the United States had nothing that was recognized as a national anthem, and, given that they were now at war, it was thought they ought to find one – a song “that would inspire Americans to patriotism and military ardor”. A 13-member committee was appointed and on May 17th they invited submissions of appropriate anthems, the eventual winner to receive $500, or medal of equal value. By the end of July, they had a thousand submissions, including some from Europe, but nothing with what they felt was real feeling. It’s hard to write a patriotic song to order.

At the time, Dr Samuel Howe was working with the Sanitary Commission of the Department of War, and one fall day he and Mrs Howe were taken to a camp a few miles from Washington for a review of General McClellan’s Army of the Potomac. That day, for the first time in her life, Julia Ward Howe heard soldiers singing:

John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave
John Brown’s body lies a-mould’ring in the grave…

Ah, yes. The famous song about the famous abolitionist hanged in 1859 in Charlestown, Virginia before a crowd including Robert E Lee, Stonewall Jackson and John Wilkes Booth.

Well, no, not exactly. “By a strange quirk of history,” wrote Irwin Silber, the great musicologist of Civil War folk songs, “‘John Brown’s Body’ was not composed originally about the fiery Abolitionist at all. The namesake for the song, it turns out, was Sergeant John Brown, a Scotsman, a member of the Second Battalion, Boston Light Infantry Volunteer Militia.” This group enlisted with the Twelfth Massachusetts Regiment and formed a glee club at Fort Warren in Boston. Brown was second tenor, and the subject of a lot of good-natured joshing, including a song about him mould’ring in his grave, which at that time had just one verse, plus chorus:

Glory, glory, hallelujah
Glory, glory, hallelujah…

They called it “The John Brown Song”. On July 18th 1861, at a regimental march past the Old State House in Boston, the boys sang the song and the crowd assumed, reasonably enough, that it was inspired by the life of John Brown the Kansas abolitionist, not John Brown the Scots tenor...as far as I know, this is the only song about a real person in which posterity has mistaken it for a song about a completely different person: “John Brown’s Body” is about some other fellow’s body, not John Brown the somebody but John Brown the comparative nobody. Later on, various other verses were written about the famous John Brown and the original John Brown found his comrades’ musical tribute to him gradually annexed by the other guy.

Sergeant Brown died during a Union retreat: when the enlistment of Colonel Webster’s Twelfth Massachusetts Regiment expired in July 1864, only 85 of more than a thousand men were left to return home to New England....Huge crowds in Boston greeted the survivors with cries to sing “John Brown’s Body” but, as one report commented, “the brave heroes marched silently to their barracks and the ‘Websters’ passed into history.”

When the lads from the Boston Light Infantry cooked up their John Brown song, they used an old Methodist camp-meeting tune, “Brothers, Will You Meet Us?” So where did that come from? Well, back in the 1850s, a Sunday school composer, William Steffe of Richmond, Virginia, was asked to go and lead the singing at a Georgia camp meeting. When he got there, he found there were no song books and so improvised some words to one of those tunes that – like most of the others in those pre-copyright days – was just sorta floating in the ether. Steffe’s lyric, like the original John Brown song, had one verse – “Say, brothers, will you meet us?” – and one chorus: “Glory, glory, hallelujah…”

And somehow this combination – an improvised camp-meeting chorus with an in-joke verse about a Boston Scotsman – became the most popular marching song of the Union forces, the one bellowed out as Sherman’s men marched through Georgia in 1864...But, whatever the tune’s origin, when Julia Ward Howe heard the song for the first time that fall day, “John Brown’s Body” was already famous. She loved the martial vigor of the music, but knew the words were “inadequate for a lasting hymn”. So her minister, Dr Clark, suggested she write some new ones. And early the following morning at her Washington hotel she rose before dawn and on a piece of Sanitary Commission paper wrote the words we sing today, casting the war as a conflict in which one side has the advantage of God’s “terrible swift sword”:

I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps…

She finished the words and went back to bed. It was published in The Atlantic Monthly in February 1862. They didn’t credit Mrs. Howe and they paid her only four dollars.

Julia Ward Howe came from a distinguished lineage. Her forebear Richard Ward was Royal Governor of the British colony of Rhode Island and his son Samuel Ward was Governor of the American State of Rhode Island. Her husband, like his friend, the poet Lord Byron, had played an important role in helping the Greeks win independence from the Turks. Mrs Howe herself wrote many poems, Broadway plays and newspaper columns. But “The Battle Hymn Of The Republic” is her greatest achievement. Henry Steele Commager called it “the one great song to come out of the Civil War, the one great song ever written in America”.

Whether or not that’s true, most of us understand it has a depth and a power beyond most formal national songs. When John F Kennedy was assassinated, Judy Garland insisted on singing it on her TV show – the producers weren’t happy about it, and one sneered that nobody would give a damn about Kennedy in a month’s time. But it’s an extraordinary performance. Little more than a year later, it was played at the state funeral of Winston Churchill at St Paul’s Cathedral. Among those singing it was the Queen. She sang it again in public, again at St Paul’s, for the second time in her life at the service of remembrance in London three days after September 11th 2001. That day, she also broke with precedent and for the first time sang another country’s national anthem – “The Star-Spangled Banner”. But it was Julia Ward Howe’s words that echoed most powerfully that morning as they have done since she wrote them in her bedroom in Washington 140 years earlier:

As He died to make men holy
Let us die to make men free
While God is marching on.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day in Roxbury means at least a couple of things, from the fun of our very particular town parade to the quiet witness of small American flags sprinkled throughout the three cemeteries.  Below is the collect for today:

Lord God Almighty, who have made all peoples of the earth for your glory, to serve you in freedom and peace: Grant to the people of our country a zeal for justice and the strength of forbearance, that we may use our liberty in accordance with your gracious will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Sometimes the old poetry teacher in me comes out, too.  Below, A.E. Housman's "Here Dead We Lie":
 
Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

[For Jeff and Scott, who were young; and for those of the 1/4th Marines who fought the good fight and kept the faith.  "Whatever It Takes."]

Next Time, Trim Them When No One Is Looking

Albemarle Road church fined $100 per branch for excessive tree pruning

When a government needs money, they'll take it anyway they can.

The Sixth Sunday Of Easter

This week we "beat the bounds" of our faith, learn to conjugate the verb rogare, and consider Paul's adroit moment with the Greeks at the Areopagus.

The lections may be found here.

Virginia 2, Ohio 1, Connecticut 0

Amazon.com Reveals the Most Well-Read Cities in America

Gee, Thanks

VA changes position pastor's invoking 'Jesus' in public prayer

A few years ago I was asked to give the Memorial Day invocation at an auto race track [it shall remain unnamed].  The young person who issued the organization's invitation asked that I not mention God in my prayer.  Yeah, that didn't happen.

Well, This Is An Interesting Observation

Click here if you wish to read the entire article.

As the stunning and overwhelming response to Prime Minister Netanyahu in Congress showed, Israel matters in American politics like almost no other country on earth. Well beyond the American Jewish and the Protestant fundamentalist communities, the people and the story of Israel stir some of the deepest and most mysterious reaches of the American soul. The idea of Jewish and Israeli exceptionalism is profoundly tied to the idea of American exceptionalism. The belief that God favors and protects Israel is connected to the idea that God favors and protects America.

It means more. The existence of Israel means that the God of the Bible is still watching out for the well-being of the human race. For many American Christians who are nothing like fundamentalists, the restoration of the Jews to the Holy Land and their creation of a successful, democratic state after two thousand years of oppression and exile is a clear sign that the religion of the Bible can be trusted.

Those Who Think My Home State Is Backwards May Have A Point

Dinosaur catches fire at Ohio amusement park

A Great Photo If You Like Dogs. Or Guns, Too, I Guess

Crackpot Christians Aren't The Only Ones Predicting The End Of The World

Maybe it's just me, but there seemed to be an anti-Christian undertone to some of the excessive press coverage of the radio preacher who habitually predicts the end of the world.  To ridicule him was for some, by extension, an opportunity to ridicule all Christians.

Actually, predicting the end of the world seems to be a common activity, not to mention a frequent story topic in the media.  Courtesy of an Australian columnist, Tim Blair, here's a gathering of environmental predictions of Doomsday.  By the way, these sometimes come at a cost, in terms of raised taxes and strange, mandated light bulbs, as opposed to some crackpot on the radio whose ramblings are free.

Go to this page to find the highlighted links from which these dire predictions come.

• 1992:
There’s still hope for saving the planet from ourselves … 10 years left.

• 2005:
We can only have a few years left, maybe a decade, to change societal attitudes towards progress before we have “lit the fuse” for inevitable environmental catastrophe in later decades.

• 2006:
We may have as little as forty years left before global warming passes a tipping point.

• 2006:
Larry David says, “You know, Al is a funny guy, but he’s also a very serious guy who believes humans may have only 10 years left to save the planet from turning into a total frying pan.”

• 2006:
The world only has 10 years to develop and implement new technologies to generate clean electricity before climate change reaches a point of no return.

• 2007:
Scientists say eight years left to avoid worst effects

• 2007:
The scientific consensus is that we’ve got only ten years left to address global warming.

• 2007:
EU, US agree 15 years left to avert climate disaster.

• 2008:
We have only seven years left to peak global emissions before facing escalating dangers of runaway global warming.

• 2008:
The Stern Report said we’ve only got eight to eighteen years left to significantly reduce global emissions or risk costly and irreversible damage to the planet.

• 2009:
We have, at best, 100 left before a new, far more dangerous phase of global warming begins … With at best 90 months left on our clock.

• 2009:
Barack Obama has only four years to save the world. That is the stark assessment of NASA scientist and leading climate expert Jim Hansen.

• 2009:
Runaway climate change is almost inevitable without specific action to implement low-carbon re-industrialisation over the next five years. The point of no return is estimated to be 2014.

• 2009:
Tim Flannery, the well-known Australian environmentalist, was on CBC Radio the other day to issue more alarms about global warming. He was more pessimistic than ever. “It’s now or never,” he said. “We have about 20 years to address climate change or else our entire future is in jeopardy.”

• 2009:
Prince Charles flew to Chile yesterday with a dramatic message for world leaders on global warming: “You have just eight years to save the planet.”

• 2009:
Gordon Brown said negotiators had 50 days to save the world from global warming and break the “impasse”.

• 2011:
The Climate Commission report says the world has at best 10 years to cut carbon emissions or it will face dangerous atmospheric warming and sea level rises.

I Never Knew She Was In The Army

Major Jane Austen manuscript up for sale

Doesn't really matter, as I still find her un-readable.  Sorry, British film makers.

Archaeological News

This should be of particular interest to those who participated in our Lenten series as we discussed the contribution of satellite imagery in the discovery of hidden sites.

Egyptian pyramids found by infra-red satellite images

This Week's Jesus Watch

Corpus Christi woman's son finds face of Jesus in her homemade tortilla