March 24, 2006

Complaints, We Have a Few...

The situation is hopeless, but not serious. - old Italian saying
Found poetry:
High up,
where the mountains meet the sky,
Starbucks journeys to find the best
coffee beans in the world.
So reads my coffee cup. And you know, I'm not expecting Yeats, but couldn't they do a little bit better? Heck I could've written that one in my sleep and I'm not a professional poet.

An administrator West Point says that the cadets are "only happy when they're complaining". He says he knows something's wrong when they're not complaining.

From the mail bag: "Can there possibly be stronger evidence of self-love than constantly telling others you're worried you're self-loving?"

In order to prioritize prayer for the dearly departed, don't we make assumptions (judgments) as to the likelihood they are in Heaven, Hell or Pugatory? I tend to pray for those who I think most in need of it. Thus it behooves us to present ourselves in the least favorable light - though that sentiment shows a measure of calculation that makes no further proof needed. Commence prayer!


Religious education during the '70s was a mixed lot. On the one hand, you would think the complete lack of Catholic apologetics would make me vulnerable to Protestant apologetists. But it didn't seem to be a problem. In school we learned the gospels well and the stories in Genesis and Exodus. The Psalms and the story of David as well. But most of the prophets received no mention. Jeremiah was more associated with the song that begins, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog...da duh da..." than a book in the bible. Same with Elijah. But when we studied the Transfiguration, my curosity for Elijah grew, though not to the point of actually reading about him. Moses, okay. But Elijah? How'd he get there before, oh say, Abraham or David or even Solomon. So now, lo these years later, I read more about Elijah and try to discern his undoubted importance for the Hebrews. Certainly he was one of the holier dudes in all of the OT. To him would be given the honor, after all, of coming before the Christ. One of the most affecting scenes on just a human level was how Elisha had such large shoes to follow and how he would know whether he would fill them by whether he saw Elijah's glory. Elisha does, and the result is the estatic cry: "My father! My father! The chariots and horsemen of Israel!"

Excerpt of The Golfer's Protest, poem written in 1917, during WWI:
We hear of parties going round,
Aided by local War-Committees,
To violate our sacred ground
By planting veg. along our "pretties."

If there be truth in that report,
Then have we reached the limit, viz.:—
The ruin of that manly sport
Which made our country what it is;

The ravages we soon restore
By conies wrought or hoofs of mutton,
But centuries must pass before
A turnip-patch is fit to putt on.

What! Shall we sacrifice the scenes
On which our higher natures thrive
Just to provide the vulgar means
To keep our lower selves alive?

Better to starve (or, better still,
Up hands and kiss the Hun peace-makers)
Than suffer PROTHERO to till
The British golfer's holy acres.

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