Not You, Tom!

What was that about? Tom Brokaw, you will not be Secretary of the Treasury. Strange, very strange. What's McCain got against Brokaw? Or was it his lame idea of a joke?

Did McCain give a straight answer to a single question? Maybe so. I may have missed it. He called Obama "that one". Again, he seemed condescending and dismissive of Obama. He appeared quite uncomfortable, too, whereas Obama was cool and in command.

The tee vee talking heads say that McCain needed to hit a knock-out punch to win the debate, and he did not. And that's the way it is.

Happy Birthday Archbishop Desmond Tutu!

Shame, shame, shame on me. Fran, a Roman Catholic, scooped me in remembering Archbishop Tutu's birthday. Do visit her site, FranIAm to see her lovely post on the dear, dear man.

God's dream is that you and I and all of us will realize that we are family, that we are made for togetherness, for goodness, and for compassion. In God’s family, there are no outsiders, no enemies. Black and white, rich and poor, gay and straight, Jew and Arab, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Buddhist, Hutu and Tutsi, Pakistani and Indian—all belong. When we start to live as brothers and sisters and to recognize our interdependence, we become fully human.

This dream can be found throughout the Bible and has been repeated by all of God's prophets right down to Martin Luther King, Jr., and Mahatma Gandhi.

Just the other day, I received his authorized biography in the mail. I have not read it yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

Image from Wiki.

What If...?

What if a time of persecution against Christians arose all over the world and great numbers were martyred for the faith, including all priests and bishops? Is there a way that the Christian remnant could still have the Eucharist?

I'm referring rather specifically to those groups and denominations who profess belief in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. I tried really hard to think of a less cruel and violent manner to get priests and bishops out of the picture, in order to ask my purely speculative question, but I could not. God forbid that this should ever happen! No wish-fulfillment involved here, my clergy friends. I love you all and very much appreciate your services to us, especially during this month when we celebrate Clergy Appreciation.

The reason that the question occurred to me is that in the early church, I can't make out which procedures were followed as to deciding who presided at the gathering of the meal in obedience to Jesus' instruction, "Do this in remembrance of me". The ordination process, as we know it today, seemed not to exist. How did it come to be that only those who were validly ordained (and what does that mean?) could pronounce the words of consecration?

Even now, as I type this, I wonder if I should even hit "Publish" for this post, but the question has been simmering for a while, therefore, I shall hit "Publish", for better or for worse.

John McCain - From The Dark Into The Light

A reader sent me a link to a long article (10 pages online) in the October issue of Rolling Stone on John McCain. The sources of the information in the piece are many. It's quite revealing in that it sheds light on periods and incidents in McCain's life about which I had been in the dark. I have not yet read the entire article (only through to p. 7), but I've read enough to recommend reading it if you have time.

Today Seems The Right Day For This

How many Republicans/members of the McCain campaign does it take to change a light bulb?

1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed;

2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed;

3. One to blame American voters for burning out the light bulb;

4. One to arrange the invasion of a country rumored to have a secret stockpile of light bulbs;

5. One to give a One trillion dollars to Wall Street for the new light bulb;

6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush or McCain, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner: Light Bulb Change Accomplished;

7. One campaign insider to resign and write a book documenting in detail how McCain/Bush was literally in the dark and out of touch with the American Voter

8. One to viciously smear #7;

9. Sarah Palin to campaign on TV and at rallies on how John McCain has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along;

10. And finally one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a light bulb and screwing the country.

From the Rabbit.

Diocese of Wenchoster Movin' On Up

Wenchoster Cathedral and the Pharisaios Journal, the official journal of the Diocese of Wenchoster, have moved up in the virtual world. They are now operating from their own domain. The editors had a little trouble getting the site up and running, with all the links working, but with such a rich variety of resources to display, that's perfectly understandable.

In the current issue, the editors have outdone themselves in pictures and captions, and I encourage you to follow the entire processional. You won't be sorry.

We'll begin with TheBishop's Column:

Hello! I have spint the wicks since Lembeth in retreat, farst in a delateful senitor-i-um in the Wilsh Minetins (completely unpronounceable end not a name to vice while eating scrimbled iggs!), then in the company of the Sisters of the Heavenly Piece in Shaston Farthing. The wicks of physical healing after the incident et Compline – a laying on of hends bay an Efrican bishop – have left me with a slate limp, but nevertheless wristed.

I rate this on the ancient feast of Harvest Home, or Mabon. The autumnal iquinox when the lingth of the nates are abite the same es those of the days. What a great opportunity for perish ministry, end what fun! The energy we use in the day cen be belanced with what we use in the nate, end I will be sending a pastoral litter to this effect to awl the clergy of the Darsis.

Es we sittle into autumn, with its rosy epples, brate pumpkins end gnarly root vigetables, end the winds begin, let us give thenks to Gawd for the tarning of the seasons, end for awl the tradit-i-oins thet we enjoy, despate the bruising.

May the Lawd of the harvest bliss you et this tame of gethering end gleaning!

+ Roderick Codpiecium

At first, I was puzzled by the word "wristed" in the column. I thought that the bishop was injured or afflicted in some manner. I wondered if he was not only left with a limp, but limp-wristed, too, after the prayers of the African bishop. But I finally "got it". He meant "rested", as I would say it. The bishop has a rather strong accent, and it's so very different from mine, that I was lost there for a bit.

This very special issue includes a message from Cantuar tltled "Post-Lambeth Thoughts". I'll give you a brief quote, but off you go to the the journal to read the rest.

Good evening. Many of you have written in from all parts of the Anglican Communion to express your appreciative support for what was a quite remarkable Lambeth Conference, and to ask of me and my Office what the future holds for all of us who share that great heritage and tradition that we choose to entitle ‘Anglicanism.’

Surely that whets your appetite for more.

The Church of England and the Episcopal Church are different, but in perusing the Pharisaios Journal, I see that we have much in common. For instance, the Guidelines For Servers could well prove useful to Episcopal churches here in the US. Here's one example:

No talking in the Sanctuary unless absolutely necessary, eg: when Father sets his chasuble alight with the altar candle, or if one of the priests dies during a sermon.

Here's a link, if you'd like to know something of the history of the Pharisaios Journal.

Don't stop with the journal. Go poke around at the website. You can virtually visit around in the transepts, the Mandylion Chapel, the sacristy, the chained library, and other areas of the cathedral from the website. Even I have not made my way around to explore all the links.

There's no word from Mr. Grindle, the head verger, in the latest issue. I hope he's in good health.

Clergy readers, please take a pictorial lesson in caution from Fr Jeff.

Speaking Of Relics....

 

I haven't spoken of relics, but others have recently. The cross pictured above hangs in the Roman Catholic church to which the school that my grandchildren attend is attached. At the Grandparents Day mass there a couple of weeks ago, the pastor of the church pointed out the cross, which dates to the mid-19th century, I believe, and said that inside the spot where the two pieces of wood intersect is a relic of the True Cross, the cross on which Jesus died.

St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, is said to have been present at excavations in Jerusalem in the 4th century, when three crosses were allegedly discovered at Calvary. Through a miracle, the cross of Jesus was distinguished from the crosses of the two thieves crucified with him.

In the Catholic Encyclopedia is long account of the history of the veneration of the cross and the discovery of the True Cross. Wiki has a shorter, but similar account.

I report. You decide.

Pet Blessing In Seattle

Promoted from the comments:

Blogger KJ said...

I had so much fun at church today, with all the critters, animal and human, that it must have been sinful. St. Mark's in Seattle is a big, ugly, "Holy Box", on the central portion of the nave that was to be a gothic cathedral, so ugly that it's beautiful in its own way. Throw a bunch of animals, including a chatty lovebird, in the reverberant expanse, add a fabulous pipe organ, and stir. What a great sound! A friend of mine who is blind, giggled through most of the service.

Serving as an acolyte, I got to see most of the animals in attendance, and the critters joined the procession out.

Sadly, I could not take The Wiener for the festival, as he would have wanted to bite the arse of every other dog. So, I had to satisfy myself with greeting all the other dogs I possibly could (Sharing the peace has never been as much fun. I think the Mad One would become downright huggy in such a setting.). My favorite moment was while kneeling down to greet a gorgeous Golden Retriever, she felt that it was necessary that that our foreheads touch; the Golden that owned me when I was in high school would do the same thing. I think she was blessing me!

Thanks, KJ. If you had supplied a picture, it would be perfect. However, because of your excellent descriptive writing skills, I can almost see it.

Physical Therapy And Gyms

Last week I visited the physical therapist twice for help with my knees and my foot. I was very much looking forward to the foot massages. In the first visit, the therapist gave me simple exercises to do 30 times before I stood up or got out of bed, if I had been in position for 15 minutes. Of course, I did not remember to do them most times that I stood up, but I tried. He also gave me local anti-inflammatory medication by ionization. In with positive ions, drawn through my foot with negative ions. Sounds like sci fi fantasy to me. My foot rejected the medication or the ions, and the machine turned itself off about every 2 minutes, so the therapist's helpers were kept busy trotting back into my room at the sound of the beeps to turn it on until the 10 minute procedure finished. No foot massage that day.

The next day, I had the medication ionization again, and my foot still rejected it and caused the machine to turn off about every two minutes. After that, I did have the foot massage, but it was not quite what I expected, just a small vibrator rolling over my heel and arch, but not my whole foot, and no caressing hands all over my feet. Dr. Prophet told me that the therapist loved feet, and I was expecting a bit more, you know.

Then, he put me to work in the gym area, riding the stationary bike, which I did when I was going to the gym. Then on to the chair that looks somewhat like an electric chair to do push up and pull back with my ankles on the padded bars. Then on to the slanted rack to do push out straight and relax with bent knees. All in all a good, but not killing, workout.

I coulda, shoulda, but wasn't doing any of the knee-strengthening exercises, except the bike, back when I was going to the gym, before Chesty (her real name) threw me out. Looking back, I could have done much more for myself if I'd had the will and foreseen the future.

Do you wonder why I got thrown out of the gym? First of all, I didn't like going there. All the TV screens were tuned to awful shows, and even if I had my headphones, the damn screens were there. And then, there were a couple of preening men, very much in love with themselves and deluded by the notion that all the ladies were as in love with their buff bods as they were. They showed off as though they were performing on stage.

A little clique of the female contingent of the "beautiful people" of Thibodaux, aspiring to be the high society of our little city, were there regularly. I'd met them and been with them at parties, and they were friendly enough, but when I'd see them at the gym, they did not even greet me, not even a "Hello". Look, if you're going to shun me, at least be consistent in your shunning. That sort of on-off behavior throws me way off balance. OK, that's why I didn't like going there.

After I'd been going to the gym for a couple of years, when I went to pay for my next three months, Chesty handed me a sheet to sign promising not to sue them in the event of an accident, even if the accident was due to their faulty equipment. I have never sued anyone in my life, but that seemed to be going too far. I suspected that the paper was worthless in the event of an accident due to faulty equipment, if it could be demonstrated that they were negligent in maintaining the equipment, but, nevertheless, I decided that I was not going to sign it.

I took the sheet home and asked around, only to find that not everyone had been asked to sign the paper. Next time I went, I handed the paper back to Chesty and said that I would not sign. I told her that not everyone had been given the paper. She said, "Oh yes they have, and you won't be able to come back without signing the sheet." I asked her if she was discriminating due to my age, because that would be wrong, and she said, "Oh no!"

Anyway that was the end of the gym. I didn't fight Chesty, because I was sick of the place anyway. I tried another one for a while, an all woman gym, where, at least, I would not have to watch the preening men, but I came to the conclusion that I just don't like gyms.

My foot and knee feel much better already. I will have six weeks of therapy three days a week. What I'll do to after that to keep what I will gain, I have no idea.

"Hey, I think she just winked at me."

I'm sure I'm not the only male in America who, when Palin dropped her first wink, sat up a little straighter on the couch and said, "Hey, I think she just winked at me." And her smile. By the end, when she clearly knew she was doing well, it was so sparkling it was almost mesmerizing. It sent little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living rooms of America. This is a quality that can't be learned; it's either something you have or you don't, and man, she's got it.

Rich Lowry at TNR.

Had I written this, I would not sign my name to it. In fact, I'd probably write it in my diary with the lock on it. In reference to it, Keith Olbermann used the m-word right there on the evening news.

Whatever it is that she has, I don't want it. And now this is my last post on the debate - I think.

UPDATE: There it is. The wink that "sent little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living rooms of America".

UPDATE 2: Oyster's naughty question for Rich Lowry:

[Ummm... "sent little starbursts through the screen"? Did you "return fire", there, Richie?]

Thankee for the linkee, big guy.