tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60515551674530840852024-02-08T04:20:31.675-08:00Dale PetleyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-36582299403908129152018-05-14T07:59:00.002-07:002018-05-14T07:59:11.923-07:00HOPE<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As I write this our Muslim friends are
preparing to keep the holy fast of Ramadan. It is not uncommon to hear the
faithful declare that Ramadan is the “best” month. I have never walked that
path and so I am in no position to say one way or another, but they do seem to
be on to something lovely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The authors I’ve read largely agree on
the conditions in Arabia just prior to when the word of God was revealed to the
Prophet (PBUH). At the time it was a land marked by tribalism, raiding parties,
war games, usury, exploitation of the poor, abuse of women, rampant vice,
idolatry, and a vindictive arrogance which demonized opposition. If all this sounds
like the Evening News we might also remember that the classical era was ending,
the Roman Empire was busy falling apart, and we were on the verge of the
threshold of that period historians cheerfully call ‘the dark ages’. The slow
but steady collapse of the unifying forces of the past, and the fractious uncertainty
that created, may well have inspired in some a yearning for a religion of
oneness, the spirit of tawhid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The more unmanageable our life together
becomes the faster we run towards the surrender we’ve been avoiding. Somewhere
in all this there is hope. I have no grand predictions about the fate of the
West, either in Europe or North America. I am no historian, I’m a priest; I
live in the present with the eternal. What I have learned is simple: At the end
of the day, humans are at a loss except for those who believe and live right and
encourage each other to be truthful and patient. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Surah 103)</i> Somewhere in all this there is hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-85931212918338441742017-06-12T08:58:00.002-07:002017-06-12T09:09:26.221-07:00LIFE BY RIVERS<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
It has been written that ‘faith’ is the substance of things
hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I suppose it could be said I had
faith back in August of 2013 when I wrote on this blog of my intention to
compose a collection of songs and call the album ‘LIFE BY RIVERS.’ I am
thankful for those who believed in this project and I am happy to
report that the album (CD) is done. We had a lovely release party on 8<sup>th</sup>
June, and the CD should be available on AMAZON by 3<sup>rd</sup> July. LIFE BY
RIVERS was recorded at Studio Seven in Oklahoma City and has been produced by
LUNACY RECORDS. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>LIFE BY RIVERS<o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Saint John River</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Down Main Street<o:p></o:p></div>
Resurgo<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
A River Called Miramichi<o:p></o:p></div>
It Takes a While<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Cimarron River<o:p></o:p></div>
In My Home<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
The Place<o:p></o:p></div>
Family Reunion<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Tomorrow is Another Day<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
My Mother’s Fiddle<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
This River Town<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
(All songs by Dale Petley. All praise belongs to God.)<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-42389875683608794102016-09-12T14:01:00.001-07:002018-05-11T11:52:35.872-07:00TO BE A PILGRIM<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In 2004 the Catholic Church published
an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Instruction</i> entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Love of Christ Towards Migrants</i> (<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Erga Migrantes
Caritas Christi, EMCC). It received Papal Authority on the Feast of St. Joseph
the Worker:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">In
migrants the Church has always contemplated the image of Christ who said, “I
was a stranger and you made me welcome.” Their condition is, therefore, a
challenge to the faith and love of believers, who are called on to heal the
evils caused by migration and discover the plan God pursues through it even
when caused by obvious injustices.</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">Mary, the
Mother of Jesus, can be well contemplated as a symbol of the woman emigrant.
She gave birth to her Son away from home and was compelled to flee to Egypt.
Popular devotion is right to consider Mary as the Madonna of the Way. </span></i><span style="color: black; line-height: 115%;">(EMCC)</span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">From the day Abraham left Ur to the
night the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and his followers began the Hijrah from Mecca
to Medina migration has been front and center as an image of spiritual growth,
from dead ends to new beginnings, moving out of the darkness into the light. Holy
Scripture is full of believers who became migrants for a number of reasons.
Hagar and her son Ishmael were banished, thus beginning their migration. Israel
was forced to take up residence in Egypt when faced with starvation, and then
four hundred years later, they were homeless strangers again wayfaring through
Canaan. In fact the Hebrew Law reflects a firsthand sympathy for refugees and
sojourners and directs the faithful to feed, clothe, and help them, remembering
how we are all the descendants of such brave, sturdy stock. Sometimes people
became migrants because their lives were in danger. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph fell
into this category when they fled to Egypt rather than face the wrath of
jealous power. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I am related to migrants on both sides
of my family. The ones on my Mother’s side were refugees. They were the
Acadians of whom Longfellow wrote, driven away from their home in “the forest
primeval<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.” </i>Exiled from the only life
they knew, those poor souls wandered <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“in
want and cheerless discomfort, bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns
of existence.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Evangeline) I can
see them even now; the women with their heads covered in imitation of Mary,
favoring blue, our Lady’s color. So many places refused to allow the Acadians
to take up residence. They were the despised outcasts of their day; the objects
of hate, ridicule, fear, and loathing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The term ‘refugee’ is derived from the
concept of refuge. Among the ancient Hebrews certain priestly cities were
appointed as ‘Cities of Refuge’. Someone responsible for taking a life but who
did so unintentionally could flee to such a city. The wrathful cry of blood for
blood could not reach you in a City of Refuge. That this pertained to priestly
cities where worship was offered speaks to the connection between mercy and
sacrifice. To this day churches still act as houses of refuge. It is why many
of them paint their doors red. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The ancient Hebrews understood the
connection between clemency and community. It’s not for nothing that Cain, the
builder of the first city, was a murderer against whom vengeance was forbidden.
From the beginning there was the recognition that there can be no living
together without prevenient mercy seasoning our friendships and agreements. We
cannot find our way together when each of us demands our pound of flesh, or as
Gandhi put it, “an eye for an eye ends up making the whole world blind.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Though justice be thy plea, consider
this;</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That, in the course of justice, none of
us<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> Should see salvation: we do pray for
mercy;<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> And that same prayer doth teach us all
to render<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> The deeds of mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> (The
Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Not only did the ancients grasp the
relation of mercy and sacrifice, they also understood the way mercy reinforces
liberty. They knew that living together as free people means being informed by history
but not controlled by it; that although they had been oppressed and taken
advantage of in the past there was no need for them to treat others the same
way. I suppose this is why a free Country once saw fit to summon the tired,
poor, homeless, and tempest-tossed to her shores, and why a still great nation
may continue to welcome wayfarers even today; and be a blessed home for Isa, Maryum,
and Yusuf, as they come seeking refuge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-69164392923578607762016-07-04T07:31:00.000-07:002016-07-11T12:45:51.382-07:00ADAB<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve been thinking about the meaning of
‘adab’. It is an Arabic word with no exact equivalent in English and has to do
with kindness and good manners expressed with courtesy and refinement. It is
similar to what we used to call ‘grace’ or ‘class.’ It’s what makes us civilized.
I suppose this is why 16<sup>th</sup> Century French Jesuits went to the
trouble of composing <i>110 Rules of Civility & Decent Behavior in Company
and Conversation, </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">and why, when </span>George
Washington was a schoolboy, he transcribed these rules as part of a
hand-writing exercise. <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Penmanship was
taught back then and so were manners. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">John Henry
Newman wrote that a true gentleman’s concern is in “merely removing the
obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him.” Emily
Post said that possessing good manners means having “a sensitive awareness of
the feelings of others”, and Ann Landers defined class as “being considerate of
others.” The First of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rules of
Civility</i> proclaims that “</span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">every action done in company ought to be with some sign of respect to
those that are present.” I don’t know about you but I’m beginning to see a
pattern here. </span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Good manners
are the practical expression of loving-kindness. They reflect the charity which
Holy Scripture says is patient and kind, and is not boastful, proud,
self-seeking, or rude. We are told that Christians are to be kindly
affectionate one with another with brotherly love, and when we visit each
other’s homes for meals we should do so with thankfulness, eschewing all
rudeness. ‘Adab’ at its root is a term related to mealtime. It comes from a
culture in which dining together is still seen as an act of communion, and
everyone eats with the right hand of fellowship, and dips in a common dish.</span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">To live
together as one nation is to dip in a common dish. It requires courtesy,
thoughtfulness, neighborliness, good will, a desire for fairness, and the old-fashioned
virtues of prudence, courage, temperance, and justice. Above all it takes charity
and a preference for getting along. In other words we cannot be civilized
unless we’re civil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In his essay:
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Spirit of Appomattox Court House,</i>
historian Douglas Brinkley wrote that “while the scars of the monstrous Civil
War still remain, the wounds have closed since 1865, in large part, because of
the civility of Grant and Lee.” We need civility. No Country is so surely
established or has a Constitution so well devised that it can long endure when
good manners are abandoned, for then we have forsaken the very virtues
required in self-governance. We need grace – the inner and outer adab of
charity – if we’re to have any hope of living in peace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-88399749307654163062016-02-10T08:41:00.000-08:002016-02-10T08:41:08.513-08:00O HIDDEN …<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coriolanus</i> for Lent. I’m meditating on the text. It is well worth
while. T. S. Eliot thought very highly of the play, and, as he often did, took
the quite contrarian view that it was, together with <i>Antony and Cleopatra,</i>
Shakespeare’s “most assured artistic success.” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Sacred Wood</i>, 1919) I’ll let the scholars have that debate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Although he makes reference to the
character, Coriolanus, near the end of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Waste Land</i>, Eliot’s extended treatment of the play’s central themes is
found in his unfinished collection begun in1931 entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coriolan</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was written at
a time when fascism was spreading in Europe and society was sagging at the
knees at home. The American philosopher Russell Kirk said of the poem: “It was
an appeal to true principles of public order, rooted in religion and in
historical consciousness, against ideology, against the cult of personality,
against the indifference or irresponsibility of the crowd, against the ‘Servile
State’ described by Hilaire Belloc, and against captivity to a moment in time.”
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eliot and His Age</i>, 1971)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There was much in Eliot’s day to cause
him to reflect on Shakespeare’s treatment of the story of the ancient Roman
General. The rise of Nationalism full of bold promises by great men on horseback
and the marriage of technology and empire led the poet to inquire into the deeper
sources of authority and meaning. He sought to reflect upon the love that animates
community and makes life possible. It seems to me that making room for such
reflection is one of the reasons the church observes penitential seasons. We
need simply to stand still every now and then and let the parade of pomp and circumstances
pass us by, and in that simplicity, to look, and to listen.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">O
hidden under the dove's wing, hidden in the turtle's breast,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Under
the palm tree at noon, under the running water<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At the
still point of the turning world. O hidden.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Have a lovely Lent.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-14357209301746372022015-07-20T10:03:00.006-07:002016-05-16T08:44:04.414-07:00HANK<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On
New Year’s Day, 1953, my mother and father were pulling the car into the
driveway of the home of my maternal grandparents in Newton Heights, New
Brunswick, when my grandfather, our <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">pépère,
came quickly out of the back door to greet them. They could tell by his
expression that something truly momentous had occurred. As soon as
Dad began to roll down the car window, Pépère, with his thick French accent
told them, “Hank Williams died today.” That was huge news back then especially
in our home with our great love for what was then called ‘Country and Western’
music. We came by it honestly. My mother’s uncles and aunts each played
numerous instruments, most notably fiddle, accordion, and guitar. They
performed at barn dances and County Fairs throughout Southeastern New Brunswick
in the 1930’s, 40’s and early 50’s. My mother remembered how as a little girl
she would listen to her aunts play fiddle and accompany a young singer/songwriter
named Hank Snow who would come by the house to play music before heading over
to do his show on Moncton’s CKCW radio. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mum’s Uncle Arthur not only performed songs but
wrote them as well. She recalled helping him with a song he was writing during
the Second World War called ‘I’ll Miss You When You’re Gone.’ <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When grey skies are as blue<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As when I first met you<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And city lights are shining
once again …<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I enjoy writing lyrics. It’s my principle hobby. I play the guitar but am not a musician and would much rather listen to someone play and sing my songs than perform them. I
suppose the great age of lyric writing was during the Big Band era with singers
like Sinatra ready to give them voice. That was also the age of Musicals. Even
the Beatles did a cover version of Meredith Wilson’s ‘Til There Was You’ from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Music Man</i> (my favorite musical)
because they just couldn’t resist a great song.</span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Getting
back to 1953 and the death of Hank Williams, I’ve always had a hard time
grasping that he was only twenty-nine years old when he died. He wrote so much
in such a short time it’s no wonder he was called ‘The Hillbilly Shakespeare.’ <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Did you ever see a robin weep when leaves
begin to die?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That means he’s lost the will to live<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m so lonesome I could cry<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My
own songwriting has surprised me over the years. As a teenager I listened
mostly to the Rock and Pop music of the day tuning in to the radio’s top 40.
Then disco came along and I turned off the radio and haven’t listened to
popular music since. As an adult I’ve been a devotee of folk and baroque. I
wasn’t expecting that so many of my recent songs would have a Country feel to
them. Oh well … I blame Hank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><u><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">IT
TAKES A WHILE<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to think some things over<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to see some things through<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But then you know
the world won’t stop turning<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When you stand up
and say ‘I love you.’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to cross the wide ocean<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to sail every sea<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But then you know
even when your heart’s broken<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">How beautiful
this world can be<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while when you live by a river<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To see every season come call<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while for some hearts to open<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Until it takes no time at all<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to write a love letter<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
to say some things right<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But then you know
how feelings lie buried<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And true love
brings all things to light<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
for roses to blossom<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while
for loved ones to mourn<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But then you know
it’s only in dying<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That we are forever
reborn<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while when you live by a river<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To see every season come call<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It takes a while for some hearts to open<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Until it takes no time at all<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">© 2015 Dale
Petley (Oklahoma City)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-12491534010335867932015-07-01T07:43:00.002-07:002016-03-10T08:27:12.967-08:00IN MY HOME<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
HAPPY CANADA DAY to friends and family in the “true north
strong and free.” While growing up in Moncton we called it Dominion Day,
mindful of how our fellow New Brunswicker, Sir Samuel Leonard Tilley, suggested
calling Canada a dominion based on Psalm 72:8, "He shall have dominion
also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth."
Anyway, that’s our story and we’re sticking to it. By the way, if you’re from
Moncton and still call it Dominion Day you probably remember The Bunkhouse
Boys, The Bore View Restaurant, Moncton Family Outfitters, Bunny’s General
Store, the days when we referred to places as Léger's Corner, Georgetown, and
Newton Heights, when Cathédrale Notre-Dame de l'Assomption was the city’s
tallest building, and when the subway overpass on Main Street was resplendent
in glorious pink. Like the song says: “If home is where the heart is I’ve never
been away.” </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>I wrote this song a few weeks ago.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<u>IN MY HOME<o:p></o:p></u><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>In my home close to the ocean</div>
There’s a river running by<br />
And the memories of a lifetime<br />
Are the ones that will not die<br />
I know I can’t get
lost there<br />
No matter where I roam<br />
For when I am in that city<br />
I’ve already found my way back home<br />
<br />
Hear the bells of old St. George’s<br />
Calling everyone to prayer<br />
It’s a Feast Day or a funeral<br />
There is incense in the air<br />
I see people taking pictures<br />
As the tide comes roaring in<br />
And if I try to explain it<br />
I don’t know where I would begin<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I took a walk down by the river</div>
Saw the ghost of Molly Kool<br />
She was Captain of her vessel<br />
We never learned of her in school<br />
I wandered back to Main Street<br />
Where I watched the setting sun<br />
And as I heard the sound of music<br />
I knew the night had just begun<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When I sing a hymn at midnight</div>
That the angels joy to hear<br />
God comfort me with apples<br />
And the knowledge that you’re near<br />
The busy streets grow quiet<br />
I hear nighthawks in the sky<br />
As I fall asleep I’m smiling<br />
And love is the reason why<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p> </o:p>© 2015 Dale Petley (Oklahoma City)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-64836666600348235142015-06-21T06:16:00.000-07:002016-03-10T08:28:58.410-08:00CIMARRON RIVER<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I hope everyone has a Happy Fathers Day.<br />
<br />
I had wanted to write an Oklahoma song since 2007, the
Centennial year of Statehood. Only recently did this song come along as part of
my ‘Life by Rivers’ collection. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say it
“came along” because that’s the way it happens with the songs I write. It
starts with a phrase or an image and the suggestion of a tune and suddenly the
lyrics just come tumbling out. I know I’m composing but it all seems more like
a gift given and received. I’m grateful. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
This one’s for Diana.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<u>CIMARRON RIVER</u><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There’s a place that they call Oklahoma</div>
She has been a good friend to me<br />
I made my home where the buffalo roam<br />
In a land where they live to be free<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You can see it painted deep in their faces</div>
It’s a love passed from father to son<br />
Like the old man who cried just before he died<br />
And told me what he wanted done<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chorus:</i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bury me by the
Cimarron River<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lay me down near my
home in the Plains<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where the eagle
soars high in a clear blue sky<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And wildflowers
wait for the rain</i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Redbuds blossom in springtime</div>
Cool breezes blow in the fall<br />
Come autumn nights under stadium lights<br />
We cheer for our team one and all<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Red brothers and sisters before us</div>
Were the ones to give this land its name<br />
And throughout the years and a Trail of Tears<br />
Had the grace and the grit to remain<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chorus:</i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bury me by the
Cimarron River…<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Folks smile here the first time they meet you</div>
They assume that you’re already friends<br />
They know hard times come to everyone<br />
And they’ll stand by your side to the end<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So if you like the wide open spaces</div>
Then this is the place you should be<br />
But lift up your head, it’s like Woody said:<br />
“This land was made for you and me”<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chorus:</i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bury me by the
Cimarron River…<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
© 2015 Dale Petley (Oklahoma City)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-63026958261272763602015-06-09T12:26:00.003-07:002015-06-09T12:26:35.627-07:00PRIMUM NON NOCERE<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have been blessed to have had two Christian Godfathers.
The first (and official) one was a barber by trade. The second (unofficial) one
did all the training necessary to become a psychiatrist before deciding that
his true calling was to be a <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">General Practitioner
or as he likes to put it, a family doctor. I couldn’t help thinking how much he
looked the part one wintery evening when he showed up years ago at our home
wearing his stethoscope around his neck and carrying his little black doctor’s
bag. He was making a house call to see my ailing grandmother. If you’re old
enough to remember house calls then you might also recall milk delivery and how
blueberries used to taste ... but I digress. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My first paying job
was in a doctor’s office. I was put in charge of organizing files. Thinking
back on it all I now realize my ‘job’ really amounted to a make-work project
designed to keep me out of trouble during the relative idleness of summer. Be
that as it may I learned many valuable lessons during those months. I came to
understand the vital importance of discretion and confidentiality. Mostly
though, I was blessed by observing the kindness, care, and compassion with
which this beloved physician treated his patients.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the years I
have found that illness can be a great teacher as well as a powerful catalyst
for change. It bursts the bubble of complacency and shatters the illusion of
self-sufficiency. It reminds us of our common humanity and shows us how we are
all fragile vessels. It can also recall us to the fact that we are a lot less
in control than we like to think we are, and that rather than succumbing to the
ultimately slavish insistence of being the Captain of our own ship and the
Director of our own play, true freedom may be found in surrender to one greater
than our small self; one who can restore us to health and sanity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of my favorite
sayings is ‘Primum non nocere’ – ‘First, do no harm.’ This sums up precisely
the sort of conservatism I can get behind for it insists, as Yogi Berra might
say, that we avoid <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">improving things worse</i>.
And it means more than that. It reminds us that people are not merely problems
to be fixed or puzzles to be solved but that their well being is our highest
priority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have failed woefully over
the years in living up to this standard, and yet, I continue in my aspiration
to do so. I cannot imagine a better way of celebrating the precious gift of
life. It is the way of Asclepius, Hippocrates, Saint Luke the Physician, and my
Godfather, a family doctor.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-59854600692626804122015-04-18T14:58:00.000-07:002016-07-04T07:40:18.570-07:00FAITH<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
We are in the Season of Easter. For those unfamiliar with
church festivals Easter is a lot like Christmas, only different. Christmas and
Easter are the two major feasts when those who call themselves Christians
actually attend church. These are followed by Mothers’ Day and any Sunday when
the children’s choir sings. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus and Easter
celebrates his resurrection, and both events are welcomed by women named Mary
who are full of grace. Christmas and
Easter alike call us to faith and invite us to see as united what we naturally
think of as being separate and divided: shepherds and sheep, masters and servants,
Logos/Word and speechless infant, boundlessness and embodiment, eternity and
time, the one and the many, the universal and the particular, creator and
creation, divinity and humanity, God and man. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-50521317180197903592015-02-25T07:18:00.000-08:002018-03-28T07:42:52.620-07:00WHAT IS TRUTH?<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I have been reading Dr. Anthony Esolen’s translation of The
Divine Comedy. I enjoy his use of iambic pentameter, and his notes are insightful.
I’m always moved by the way Dante is carefully guided by Virgil who I was
taught represents the voice of reason in the poem. I’m exactly half-way through,
smack-dab in the middle of Purgatory (Canto 17), where our pilgrim author walks
“step by step beside the faithful stride” of his instructor. It seems to me a
wonderful image of the role of philosophy in the life of the Church.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know little about the character of the Church around the globe since my entire Christian journey, such as it is, has
taken place in Canada and the United States. Even here I am unable, or at least
unwilling, to make sweeping generalizations about the nature of North American
Christianity. It would be easy, for example, to characterize fundamentalism in
America as being anti-rational, but such a view fails to grasp the fullness of
the situation. Our so-called Fundamentalist Christians don’t hate reason; they
simply fail to see that their religious faith is accountable to it. Belief is
regarded as essentially personal and entirely a matter of the will. Philosophy,
largely pragmatic and analytical, is seen by some as a useful discipline in
seeking clarity regarding social, ethical concerns. However, there is in most
minds a wall of separation between one’s personal
faith and the world of things which can be studied objectively. Science and
philosophy are understood as belonging in the latter category. The disconnect
remains. People who harvest fuel from dinosaur bones for a living go to church
where they believe the earth is just 10,000 years old, and they’re fine with
that, just as they’re fine with proclaiming Jesus is Lord while advocating
social Darwinism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That some people bristle at the prospect of being bridled by
sweet reason is of course nothing new. We can find anti-philosophical
tendencies in most faith-traditions. What I find more distressing is the
prospect of a philosophical religion which does not love wisdom. This travesty
happens when religion seeks to use philosophy, treating it as a tool, not a
guide. We want answers, and philosophy is useful insofar as it provides them. Religious
types armed with a philosophy of answers are mostly concerned with the moral
realm where they seek to help society by crafting stupid, destructive new laws.
And although they might find philosophy useful in this endeavor they don’t much
care for philosophers; they ask too many questions. Philosophers love wisdom
and follow wherever she leads. That’s dangerous. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me the relation of faith and reason amounts to answering
a simple question: when do I decide not to follow the truth? Do I forsake the
truth when it becomes unpleasant or inconvenient? Do I tell wisdom to take a
hike when it costs too much? We are in Lent and so it seems like the right time
to recall that Pontius Pilate faced a similar question, and his answer was to
condemn the only perfectly innocent man he’d ever met.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-50676765688276789382014-07-26T04:35:00.003-07:002014-07-26T04:38:08.139-07:00SAINTE-ANNE-DE-BEAUMONT<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy Feast of St. Anne!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While on holiday last year in Canada (New Brunswick) I
went for a drive through Memramcook to Beaumont. It’s all very beautiful and on
the way you pass through <span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Belliveau
Orchards</span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"> with their
wonderful apple trees. Much of the land across the Petitcodiac River from
Beaumont was settled in the mid-1700s by German immigrants. There is an old
story passed down in the Steeves (Stieff) family about how shortly after their
ancestors arrived a Mr. Belliveau crossed the river in his canoe and helped the
newcomers with useful, life-sustaining information and advice, one farmer to
another, French and German, human to human. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">At Beaumont
is </span>Sainte-Anne-de-Beaumont Chapel built in 1842. As well as being
beloved of the Acadians St. Anne is the Patron Saint of the Mi'kmaq (Lnu)
people, and the chapel was used by members of the First Nations Reserve as well
as the French who lived peacefully alongside them. It’s a lovely place and it’s
where I wrote this song.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">IN THE PLACE<o:p></o:p></span></u><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey there, are you awake yet?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you’re done hogging the blanket</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let’s go watch the dawn begin the day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later, when we get the lawn mowed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll take a drive down the old road</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To where the river runs into the Bay</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll have a thermos full of hot tea</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll enjoy the quiet and the view</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We won’t care about the weather</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As long as we’re together</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the place</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where we first said I love you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Say there, do you remember?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That day back in December</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It snowed so hard we couldn’t see across the street</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ate bread and molasses</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And watched the storm as it passed us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And made a little fire to warm our feet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sun came out and the world was covered over</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With snow that was so clean and crisp and new</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The cold wind made me shiver </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just like that day by the river</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the place</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where we first said I love you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well now, you know what I’m wishing?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That we soon can go fishing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the ice breaks on the river in the spring</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll go when the fish are biting</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To a place so inviting</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It stirs my soul and makes me want to sing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The beauty of the woods always reminds us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is still so much living left to do</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is joy all around us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just like the day that it found us</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the place</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where we first said I love you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">© 2013, Dale Petley (Beaumont, N.B.) </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-4206879437115544992014-07-03T16:11:00.001-07:002017-11-07T08:40:15.097-08:00BOB & CAROL & TED & THECLA<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“I think of life as
a cosmic joke, which keeps getting bigger all the time. But I've learned
tolerance and maybe affection for the Chasidim. They are real people, who can
see light in the darkest things.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Paul Mazursky</span>
(April 25, 1930 – June 30, 2014)</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I think about the earliest Christians I’m inspired by their
joy. They were joyful in ways that did not depend on events and circumstances.
They were joyful in trials and tribulations. They wrote things like: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We are treated as impostors, and yet are
true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold we live; as
punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet
making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything. </i>In John’s
Gospel Jesus says, “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in
you, and that your joy may be full.” In his first Epistle St. John declares,
“We write these things unto you so that our joy may be complete.” St. Paul
called his brothers and sisters in Philippi to be joyful, using the words ‘joy’
and ‘rejoice’ repeatedly, and famously proclaiming “Rejoice in the Lord always,
and again, I say rejoice.” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The joy of the earliest Christians was not caused by self-satisfaction
over accomplishments but was simply the way that they were learning to be in
Christ. They believed that they had died. They also believed that they had been
born again and that the life they now lived was utterly identified with Christ.
Sometimes they took on a new name as a new creature in Christ. Moreover they
saw themselves as one body in Christ so much so that they held their goods in
common. They saw their oneness not as some flimsy, ethereal, longed-for-yet-never-realized
condition but as the fundamental reality of creation. Your early-church Bob,
Carol, Ted, and Thecla understood that they were married to Christ and in Christ
were one body. In chaste virginity, a Thecla, for example, was not seeking
isolation but deeper fellowship. Even when she went to live in a cave she knew
she was never truly alone but always moving into closer communion in the Body
of Christ.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The unity consciousness of the earliest Christians was no
regression to a childlike, pre-personal, oceanic feeling of oneness. They were
not blurring distinctions and ignoring real contrasts in favor of a hazy, lazy,
vague unwillingness to engage the world. That’s just self-protective avoidance,
and avoidance is merely a veiled form of aggression which is why it turns
hateful so quickly. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Attempts to <em>manufacture</em> such a sense of unity often are
destructive of nature and tend to reduce human beings to concepts and
abstractions. Only love can truly celebrate unity while not obliterating
diversity. Love bears witness to unity while celebrating its own nature within
all the glorious, scandalous particularity of life. We do not make unity, but
simply let go of the obstacles keeping us from realizing it. Unity, like love,
is the very nature of things. If we do not realize and ‘see’ the unity of life
it is only because we are turned away from it to an image of our self and this
makes us afraid of love because real love is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">self</i>-emptying. It is joyful, though, and eternal, and it leads us to
see light even in the darkest things.</span> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-48117279027963825082014-06-27T15:13:00.002-07:002015-04-04T14:06:45.359-07:00DOWN MAIN STREET<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two enduring influences in my life have been Main Street in
Moncton, New Brunswick, and the Petitcodiac River which runs alongside it. I am
blessed to have grown up in a place where we could shop, visit City Hall, conduct
business, go to the movies, enjoy a good meal, get a drink, have a haircut, be
measured for a suit, do our banking, and watch the Santa Claus Parade without
ever having to leave Main Street. Today the people of Moncton work diligently at maintaining a Main Street that is vibrant and alive. Because
of their efforts much of what was said above is still true. In fact, it is now
even a better place to go out for an evening of music and entertainment than it
was in the old days. I remember a time when things did not look so promising
but Monctonians decided to work purposefully at keeping Main Street as the
vital heart of the city. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fact that the residents of Moncton attend to Main Street
as a center of activity speaks to their recognition of the importance of
community. After all, one of the city’s oldest buildings is the Free Meeting
House constructed in 1821 so that people of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all
faiths</i> would have a place to pray. Moncton is a city where the Mayor and
Members of Council, the Police Chief, the Fire Chief, Members of the Judiciary,
and assorted other dignitaries joined residents from all walks of life to pack
a large Catholic church for the funeral of a homeless man who had severe
psychological disorders and crippling addictions, and who used to spend most of
his winters incarcerated. I remember him from when I was a child. He was a
fixture; part of the landscape; a character in a city full of them. He was
written about in the newspaper by a friendly and compassionate reporter.
Readers felt like they knew him. When I heard about his impressive funeral mass
it surprised me for a moment, but then I thought that this was somehow typical
of Moncton. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes it takes unspeakable tragedy to bring people
together. Folks will remark on the uniqueness of such times and how out of
character it all seems. To my mind, though, Moncton has demonstrated time and
again the resolve to foster a strong sense of community that does not depend on
circumstances and events, tragic or otherwise; a sense of belonging together as
the tides of life come and go, both giving and taking away. It is a city shaped
by a tidal river which even at its lowest never fails in its promise to rise
again. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">DOWN MAIN STREET<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first time that we met was down on Main Street</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You said, “You got here fresh from the U. S., eh?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You laughed at my stupid joke about your accent</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then we watched the tide take the river away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ate at the first place we found open for coffee</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You laughed when I tried to describe a poutine râpée</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You told me all your dreams for the future</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then we watched the tide take the river away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now surfers ride the tidal bore of the river</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where they built so many ships back in the day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Schooners and steamers would come to deliver molasses</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then ride out of town before the tide took the river away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let’s do the dishes then take a walk down Main Street</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To the spot where we met thirty years ago today</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll toast the past and smile toward the future</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And watch the tide take the river away<span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">© 2013 Dale Petley (Moncton)</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-18834538711917789782014-06-15T05:47:00.000-07:002014-06-15T05:50:35.259-07:00DAD<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seems I have inherited my father’s sense of humor. My
mother enjoyed a good joke, both telling one and hearing one, but she found my
father’s idea of what was funny annoying. His humor was based a good deal on
whimsy. I called him one day while I was watching coverage of a Papal Election
on TV. I asked how he was doing:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Why’s that?” I asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I’m answering the phone all the time.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Who keeps calling you?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"The Vatican; they want me to run for Pope but I told them
I won’t do it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Why not?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Not enough money in it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I laughed and he said, “When I told that to your mother she
got mad at me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After New Brunswick’s Provincial Liberal Party destroyed the
Conservatives by winning every single seat on election night Dad called me
bright and early the next morning doing his best Connie Francis imitation as he
sung: “Who’s Tory now, who’s Tory now?” I noticed a similar sense of humor in
Dad’s older brother, Tom. I well recall driving around the village where he
lived while he pointed out various odd looking characters old enough to be
Civil War veterans and told me that they were the ‘Mayor’, the ‘Fire Chief’,
and ‘Members of the Town Council’. When we returned from that drive to his home
where Aunt Jackie was preparing supper he announced out of the blue that he had
decided to buy a mule. He cracked me up, and I’m sure that I was laughing,
smiling, or eating any time I visited Uncle Tom and Aunt Jackie.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A good example of what made Dad laugh is a story he told
about his younger brother, Ern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day
Dad and Ern were driving on New Brunswick’s Route 126 from Moncton to Harcourt.
Ern was behind the wheel. Somewhere near Coal Branch he suddenly pulled the car
off to the side of the road, put it in reverse, and backed up until coming to a
stop where he sat looking past my father through the passenger side window. Dad
turned to see what Ern was looking at and saw a man standing perfectly still in
the middle of a field of hay, all alone, his hands down by his side, staring off
into the distance. Ern sat there for a moment then put the car in park, got out
and walked around to the front, took a deep breath and yelled: “What are you
looking at?!” The man, startled, simply stuck his hands in his pockets and
walked away. Ern, his mission accomplished, got back in the car and drove on.
Dad laughed while he told me about this all those years later. He still found
it funny.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fathers try to do the right things for their children and
say the right things to them but we children tend to remember other things. We
remember that they were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">there</i> for us
more than what they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">said</i> to us. We
recall their advice and their aphorisms but we recall their voices with greater
clarity. We cherish the memories of their foibles and fumbles, their humanity,
and their humor, and it’s all because we love them. Happy Father’s Day!</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-80798378874710807652014-05-22T13:03:00.000-07:002014-12-09T08:25:20.203-08:00THINKING ABOUT ETERNITY<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God don’t never change. Always will be God</i>.”
(Blind Willie Johnson.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No object has ever done the experience of
being touched</i>.” (Michel Henry<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And I’m thinking about eternity. Some kind
of ecstasy got a hold on me</i>.” (Bruce Cockburn.)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The glory of the Incarnation is not that it somehow constitutes an
ontological change in God but that it doesn’t. “God don’t never change.” God is
Spirit and Spirit is not part of any duality. God isn’t half of anything. God is
not an object of any kind and neither are we. If I have to define myself I am
going to do so with reference to what is true about me eternally. Anything less,
pre-ascension, seems like idolatry – trying to make eternal that which is by
definition transitory. Anyway, about eternity …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">1: Heaven
isn’t in your future or mine. Heaven doesn’t begin at some point in time
because it is not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i> time, although
time might be included in it. This means that folks in the past, like Moses and
them, were no further away from Heaven than are we, or closer. Why do I find
this important? It reminds me that those I love but see no longer are as close
to me as Heaven, and God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">2: If we are
to inherit it then what is true of Heaven must be true of us. What is true of
Heaven? When we recite the Creed we affirm our belief that Heaven means eternal
life in the Communion of Saints. And so, if our ultimate destiny is eternal
loving union and communion it must mean that every issue, controversy, and
disagreement is transcended and overcome. Our divisions are merely temporary;
hardly the sorts of things worth killing each other over. What is more, if Heaven
is limitless then so are we. Jesus told us that the Kingdom of God is within
us. It’s what Rumi meant when he wrote: “In this house is a treasure which the
universe is too small to hold.” We feel intimations of our eternal vastness in
our desire not only to survive but to keep growing. Unfortunately the materialistic
mindset of our time expresses this as a sad, Cyclopean pursuit of expansion. We
want more – more land, more money, and more power. In the world just now there
seems to be no such concept as ‘big enough’. The problem is that we do not
understand our spiritual nature. If we could remember who and what we truly are
and live with a sense of boundlessness even here in the midst of the restraining
confines of daily life knowing the peace and joy that belongs to eternal Spirit
we would bring a wonderful and mysterious quality to this world. We would be a
light to enlighten the people. We would manifest timelessness in time. We would
be truly and profoundly free. We used to call this sort of thing salvation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">3: Contrary
to motion pictures and popular misconceptions, Heaven doesn’t wait; it is complete,
entire, and perfect. It has always been so. To put it another way, when we
declare in Holy Communion that we join our voices “with all the company of
Heaven,” we mean it; we’re serious. Let’s give Thomas Traherne the last word:
“The contemplation of eternity maketh the soul immortal, whose glory it is,
that it can see before and after its existence into endless spaces. Its sight
is its presence.” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Centuries:</i> 55.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-30173072668851311962014-05-11T06:52:00.003-07:002014-05-11T06:52:37.469-07:00DEVOTION<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The first
time I noticed my mother’s French accent was when she spoke Latin. I heard no such
accent when she spoke English. To my ears how she said things in English was
simply the way words were supposed to sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Other people heard an accent but not me; not until one day when we were
talking about the church and she recited parts of the Latin mass. (Agnus Dei,
qui tollis pecatta mundi …) She remembered this from childhood. In the early1940’s
her father (our pépère) gave her a tiny prayer book, 2 inches by 31/2, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>which could be used to follow the services in
Latin, French, and English. I still have it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Mum
participated fully in celebrations of the Holy Eucharist. She would sit as near
as possible to one of the loudspeakers in hopes of hearing the readers and the
officiating priest. Even though she knew the service by heart she would still
have her copy of the Sunday Missal open and her reading glasses out of the
case, ready to use. She listened attentively to the sermons and used to share
with me some snippet of what the preacher had to say, especially if he told a
story or a little joke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Over the last
several years I’ve been increasingly drawn to worship. This does not mean I’m
especially intrigued by the wonders of the church. I’ve always said that being Anglican
suits me because it’s just about as much religion as I can stand. I continue to
have little interest in the history of liturgy and have experienced no sudden
fascination with ecclesiastical architecture; no swooning over flying buttresses.
When I say I’m drawn to worship I’m referring to the daily offices of Morning
and Evening Prayer, noonday prayers, and prayers said and sung at sunrise and
sunset. I suppose I should say I’ve become more devotional. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When I pray
it is not because I feel somehow separated from God; it reminds me that we’re
never apart. When my parents were alive and I was living more than twenty-two
hundred miles away I felt I was far apart from them, but when they died, so did
any sense of distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like that when
I pray. I’m not attempting to communicate with a remote deity from the great
beyond but am in communion with the One in whom I live and move and have my
being. I realize that God is transcendent but I am also aware that
transcendence doesn’t mean distance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Believing in
God, for me, means trusting God and I suppose that’s why I like the word
‘devotion.’ As well as meaning worship, devotion connotes loyalty and love.
Devotion means sticking with someone through thick and thin; never leaving
their side. It inspires me to be more faithful, more in tune to the present
moment, and more grateful. Devotion establishes a pattern for each day and
helps keep me oriented towards what is true and good and beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Gratefulness
and praise are qualities of eternal Spirit and it seems like Mother Nature expresses
this every morning when I listen to the birds sing before sunrise. They greet
the dawn as if they are joyfully testifying to evidence of things not seen. I
do not suggest the birds are praying, as such, but they do seem to have a lot
to celebrate. We all do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Happy
Mother’s Day!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-28007604172520174162014-04-20T08:03:00.000-07:002014-04-24T08:39:21.970-07:00PASCHAL PROCLAMATION <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Christ is Risen! This is the traditional Paschal
Proclamation. My computer thinks it ought to be ‘Christ is raised.’ At least
it’s not ‘Christ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> risen.’ I’m not
questioning ‘historicity.’ I’m thinking about eternity, which is what the
resurrection has to do with. Christ Jesus doesn’t merely come back to history
in resurrection but transcends time itself and every other created thing. The
resurrection does not restore Christ to history, it restores history to Christ.
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t much care for Bible movies. A film is a
thing I watch passively as a spectator. The word does not allow such passivity.
The word requires engagement. The word calls for a dance partner and says
follow me. A film seems a step removed from its subject, not closer. On the
other hand there is no real distance between the word and the one who receives.
A spectator may be acted upon but the word acts within. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If we are going to present the Christian faith as a
motion picture then we’re going to need a suitable screen upon which to view
it. I suggest mending the Veil of the Temple and projecting our images on it.
Be warned, though. This won’t work with the word for the word is a lover and is
not content merely to be seen but tears the veil of our soul’s inner sanctum
and enters in to share himself with us, planting the seed of eternal life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Happy Easter! </span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-90862954220078109762014-04-12T04:02:00.001-07:002015-03-06T08:35:52.187-08:00LOVE<br />
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In Plato’s ‘Symposium’ Socrates tells the story of how a priestess, Diotima of Mantinea, taught him about Love. My guess is not everyone learns of it this way. </div>
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According to Diotima, Eros/Love was conceived on a Feast of Aphrodite as a result of the coupling of the Spirit of Plenty (Poros) and the Spirit of Poverty (Penae). The Gods do not seek wisdom for they are already wise, but Aphrodite insured that her beloved Son would be a seeker. Edmund Spenser pictured it this way:</div>
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Or who alive can perfectly declare <br />
The wondrous cradle of thine infancie,<br />
When thy great mother Venus first thee bare,<br />
Begot of Plenty and of Penurie,<br />
Though elder then thine own nativitie,<br />
And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares,<br />
And yet the eldest of the heavenly peares?</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">(An Hymne In Honour Of Love)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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As Diotima describes him, Eros/Love is not “delicate and lovely, but harsh and arid, barefoot and homeless, sleeping on the naked earth, in doorways, or in the very streets beneath the stars of heaven.” He always partakes of his Mother’s poverty and yet is also his Father’s son, the son of Resource/Plenty. “He is a mighty hunter and a master of device and artifice – at once desirous and full of wisdom, a lifelong seeker after truth.” Love, says Diotima, is “neither mortal nor immortal, for in the space of a day he will be now, when all goes well with him, alive and blooming, and now dying, to be born again by virtue of his Father’s nature, while what he gains will always ebb away as fast. So, Love is never altogether in or out of need, and stands, moreover, midway between wisdom and ignorance.” </div>
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When I read Diotima’s description of Love as a tough, barefoot, lifelong seeker after truth, at once desirous and full of wisdom, I did not think of Socrates, even though he matches the description. I didn’t make the connection until later, when Alcibiades showed up and spoke of his exploits with Socrates during wartime in the field of battle. Not only did Socrates acquit himself with honor and valor, his bravery made enemy soldiers leery of him. This fact helped him save the life of Alcibiades when the latter was injured. Socrates not only enabled Alcibiades to escape with his life but also retrieved his armor. We’re told that during the winter months of the military campaign Socrates continued to dress in the same simple cloak he always wore (and apparently slept in), and continued to go barefoot as he always did without the slightest complaint. When rations were scarce and they went hungry, no one put a cheerier face on things than Socrates. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for food, for when there was something to eat he enjoyed it right along with the rest of the soldiers, but it just seemed that whatever life sent his way he accepted with remarkable equanimity, so much so, he became a source of amazement to those around him. I suppose they wondered why he was so happy. </div>
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Diotima says, “Love is a lover of wisdom, and, being such, he is placed between wisdom and ignorance – for which his parentage also is responsible, in that his Father is full of wisdom and resource, while his Mother is devoid of either.” Philosophy is for lovers, and for Plato no one embodies this more than Socrates. He loves wisdom, and in wisdom he knows that he does not know. He does not think he knows the truth when he does not. And so, Socrates is at once rich and poor, always midway between wisdom and ignorance.</div>
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The word ‘pharmakos’ is a loaded term for the Greeks. In Ancient Greece it referred to a cleansing sacrifice made on the 1<sup>st</sup> Day of Thargelia, a festival of Apollo observed each year in Athens. The pharmakos was similar to a scapegoat. A condemned prisoner was led outside the city and beaten to death. All the misdeeds, mistakes, sins, and grievances of the previous year were symbolically removed from the city with the pharmakos. The 2<sup>nd</sup> Day of Thargelia was a joyful occasion, a time of freshness to celebrate the newness of life as games were played, songs were sung, and children recited the poetry they had learned. </div>
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‘Pharmakos’ (pharmakon) also referred to a recipe for a medicine in which a small amount of what is harming us is used to make us well. Jews, Christians, and Muslims might think of Moses holding up the bronze image of a serpent in the wilderness so that those bitten by serpents could be healed by looking at what hurt them. Socrates was a kind of pharmakon in that he used the arts of the sophists against them to demonstrate the inherent weakness and fault of their position. He skillfully used an exact amount of what was making Athens sick to cure her, or more precisely, to allow the body/politic to heal herself. It was nothing if not a labor of love.</div>
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Philosophy is not the acquisition of wisdom but the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love</i> of wisdom. Plato had such a deep and profound understanding of this he chose to write in dialogue form. Approaching wisdom through dialogue the way Socrates and his interlocutors did is to be involved with each other intimately. Most of us find it less threatening to toss opinions back and forth, but coming together as one in order to move through (dia) the words (logos) of an argument in order to arrive at a mutual understanding requires a level of unity appropriate to lovers. To begin again from a place of not knowing is to be naked and exposed in one’s ignorance, open to the exploring questions of our fellow lovers of wisdom. All of this takes a good deal of trust, and gentleness. It is the stuff of deep spiritual communion.</div>
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Love is why Socrates was utterly content as well as a tireless seeker (one might even say a mighty hunter) after wisdom. Love is always full and always emptying itself for its beloved. I’m reminded of the Invocation of the Isha Upanishad: “Fullness comes from fullness. When fullness is taken from fullness, Fullness still remains.” Eros loves not because he is in want; he wants because he loves. Eros loves because it is his nature to love. He is always full and always emptying himself, spending himself into poverty for his beloved only to be raised again according to his Father’s nature. </div>
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It was love which allowed Socrates to accept fate as he did. Trying heroically to accept God’s will in a sort of ‘Amor fati’ without self-emptying love is likely to end in suicidal despair. We need the kind of love with which we can see through our selves. It is why Socrates said that Philosophy – the love of wisdom – is about learning to die. </div>
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According to Diogenes, citing Apollodorus, Socrates was born on the 1<sup>st</sup> Day of Thargelia, the day of cleansing when the sacrificial victim was taken from the city. Plato was born on the 2<sup>nd</sup> Day of the Festival, the time for celebration and renewal. These philosophers were true lovers of wisdom, and in love they were led to seek a vision of “an everlasting loveliness which neither comes nor goes, and which neither flowers nor fades away.”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-79826968217776720432014-03-29T15:04:00.000-07:002014-03-29T15:04:09.258-07:00MOTHERING SUNDAY<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mothering Sunday</i>, when we give thanks for Mother Church, seems like the right time to post this golden oldie.</div>
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<u><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"></span></o:p></u></div>
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I had been reading the Saturday Newspaper’s listing of Religious Institutions and their Service Times when I came across a church’s description of itself as: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Independent, Fundamental, Pre-Millennial, and Missionary Minded. </i>The song wrote itself. </div>
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The italicized words in square brackets are spoken. Enjoy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"></span></o:p></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u>THE BIBLE BELT<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[This is the story of the hand Fate dealt<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In a part of the Country called the Bible belt<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On a hot summer day when I wanted a nice, cold beer<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I didn’t know where the tavern was<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But I saw a young lad and thought ‘I bet he does’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And said, “Excuse me, son, can you point the way from here?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m a weary pilgrim, feeling cursed, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m looking for a place to slay my thirst <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I need a spirit or two to help me cool down<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now, he was carrying a Bible and I should have known better<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But I thought I’d die in this hot weather, and he said, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I know just the place for you in this town”]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well … there … is …</div>
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<br /></div>
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First Four-Squared Open Bible Seminary</div>
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Reformed, five-point Calvinistic, Missionary</div>
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Free-will, Christ-Centered, Independent, Fundamentalist</div>
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Primitive Baptist Church”</div>
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“And … they … have …</div>
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AWANA Youth Groups, hearing-aid audio loops</div>
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Wheel chair ramps, elevators, summer camps,</div>
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Greeters at the door, plus a whole bunch more at the</div>
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Primitive Baptist Church”</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[I said, “Young man, young man, listen to me<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let me explain and I think you’ll see that<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We have got a misunderstanding here<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The ‘spirits’ I want are the earthly kind<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Secular, worldly if you don’t mind<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wink, wink, nudge, nudge<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Would you tell me, am I near?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He said: “I’m sorry that I misunderstood<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But I’ll direct you to that neighborhood<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where you will find the awful things you crave<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I would never go to such a place<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">With their worldly ways and actions base<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yet I’ll point the way and hope the Lord will save”]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well … there … is …</div>
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<br /></div>
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Old Memorial, highly editorial, </div>
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Social, liberal, literary-critical</div>
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Open, caring, feelyweely-sharing</div>
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E-pis-co-pal Church”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“And … they … have …</div>
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<br /></div>
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Tai Chi, Tie-dye, Yoga where you learn to fly</div>
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Roll playing, politics, agitation, meditation</div>
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Feminism with a bang, Meetings up the Yin/Yang</div>
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E-pis-co-pal Church”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[I said, “Young man, my friend, it is getting late<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And what we got here is failure to communicate<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I don’t want religion … I want to be amused<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I want a lounge, a Club, a place to go that’s<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Air-Conditioned with a stage and show<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now please help me; I’m tired and I’m confused<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He said: “Well now I know the thing you want<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Like Hollywood – a fleshly haunt – where people go<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because they like the show<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll point you to the place, but I hope you see<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It is a Den of Iniquity<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">But I’ll tell what it is you want to know”]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well … there … is …</div>
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<br /></div>
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Holy Roller, re-born, tongues of fire, faith-alone</div>
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Renewed, unglued, always in a prayin’ mood</div>
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Get saved; know your fate, Exorcism while-you-wait</div>
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Pentecostal Church”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“And … they … have …</div>
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<br /></div>
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Guitars and a big drum, cushioned pews for you bum</div>
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Light-shows, TV Station, Tongues with translation</div>
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Miracles, prophecies, get a vision when you please</div>
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Pentecostal Church”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[Well my head was sore and my throat was dry<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I felt like I was about to die, and I said,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look at me, and get this through your head<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m looking for a place to have a beer<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now can you tell me if there’s one near<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If you soon don’t help me we both might end up dead”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He said, “My oh my, what a fool I’ve been<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pointing to all these churches when <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What you really wanted did not dawn on me <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’re not looking for a Reformed Bible Church<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That is not the purpose of your search<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For I do believe that you might be ‘R C’”]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Well … there … is …</div>
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<br /></div>
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Hail Mary Full of Grace, Holy water in your face</div>
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Sacred Heart Family, purgatory, pay the fee</div>
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Sacramental Church of Rome, Papalism in the home</div>
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Roman Catholic Church</div>
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<br /></div>
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And … they … have …</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Confession, fasting, bingo everlasting</div>
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Incense, K of C, Holy Sea and rosary</div>
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Homilies to bore ya, Saints, Medjugoria </div>
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Roman Catholic Church</div>
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<br /></div>
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And there used to be a tavern …</div>
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Owned by a lapsed Methodist …</div>
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But it closed!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">©</span> 1994 Dale Petley (Petitcodiac, N. B.)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-89978059204856407912014-03-05T07:48:00.002-08:002014-03-05T13:09:26.854-08:00LENT<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">HOLY SONNETS - XIV<b> </b></span><br />
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Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you<br />
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;<br />
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend<br />
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.<br />
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,<br />
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.<br />
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,<br />
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.<br />
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,<br />
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;<br />
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,<br />
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,<br />
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,<br />
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">~ <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">John Donne</span></i><br />
<i><br />Batter my heart, three-person’d God …<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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The image is one of a battering ram and the language is that of war. Why does Donne address the Almighty in terms of martial conflict? He might just as easily have written: ‘capture my heart,’ or ‘open my heart.’ (Neither would have disrupted the metrical flow of the Sonnet’s loose iambic.) However, the poet’s employment of siege imagery is in keeping with his conviction that his life has been hijacked by a usurper, and that refusing to relinquish control, this tyrant must be overthrown.</div>
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Donne makes his appeal regarding his ‘heart’ because the heart is the seat of loving-knowledge. As a metaphor ‘the heart’ represents who we are at our center - our fundamental identity. When we know something ‘deep-down in our heart’ it means we have more than merely an emotional appreciation or a purely theoretical understanding. It means <i>we get it</i>. It means the distance between subject and object has been bridged, the veil torn in two. The heart as the center of loving knowledge represents who we are as those created in God’s “own image and likeness.” The address to the ‘three person’d God’ is at once an appeal to the Holy Trinity and a cry from the heart to the One in whose image all hearts are made. The supplicant is pleading for nothing less than to be conquered by his own eternal reality. </div>
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I suppose most of us don’t focus much on our eternal reality or even believe in it for that matter. Instead each of us identifies singularly as an isolated psychophysical entity convinced that we are somehow separate from the rest of the world, out there, and God. Perhaps this is why Origen maintained that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Proverbs, Ecclesiastes,</i> and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Song of Songs</i> should be studied together.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Proverbs</i> concerns our <u>turn</u> to wisdom; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ecclesiastes,<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> </span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">in maintaining </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the futility of seeking fulfillment in the passing vanities of the world, points to our <u>growth</u> in wisdom, and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Song of Songs</i> celebrates the soul’s homecoming in loving union with God. Most of us get stuck somewhere in <i>Ecclesiastes</i>, yet to be convinced of the vanity of it all. </div>
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The poet declares that God <i>knocks, breathes, shines</i>, and <i>seeks to mend</i>. God invites, inspires, enlightens, and welcomes us to wholeness and fullness of life but we are captivated by our selfishness and find that we cannot stand upright unless we are overthrown. We are constantly betrayed by our nagging fear, our need to control, our victim identity, and our sense of never being enough. As our own worst enemy we must be broken and refashioned by a master craftsman. “Break, blow, burn, and make me new,” cries the author. He knows that he cannot overcome himself and that all ‘labor’ to do so solidifies the false identity. He pleads to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">enthralled</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ravished</i>, terms expressive of the radical, fierce, reality of grace. He yearns to rest in the love which never forsakes us and never lets us go; a love which feeds us, and sustains us, and gathers up all our broken pieces so that not one fragment remains. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-69601342145235509432014-02-09T06:48:00.002-08:002014-03-04T15:40:50.129-08:00OF GODS AND MEN<br />
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There is a painting by Simon Vouet (1590-1649) in The National Gallery in Washington entitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Urania and Calliope</i>, (1634). The two Muses sit together near a temple of Apollo. Urania, who inspires those who contemplate the order of the heavens, wears her starry crown. To her left sits Calliope, Homer’s Muse, holding a copy of The Odyssey while to her left winged babies carry laurel wreathes of achievement heavenward. Urania has her hand on the shoulder of Calliope who in turn faces her, and so the Muse of Epic Poetry looks to the Muse of those who observe the heavenly order. Meanwhile Urania turns and looks directly into the eyes of the viewer of the painting as if to suggest the Delphic admonition to know thyself. </div>
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With St. Valentine’s Day approaching and Lent on its way I’m reading Plato’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Phaedrus. </i>It is all rather wonderful. For Socrates, it is a rare romp in the woods as he and the beautiful Phaedrus sit together under a Plane Tree at mid-day along the banks of the Ilissus River in a place dedicated to the god Pan, rich with nymphs. As cicadas sound overhead the story is told of how these tiny, noisy, creatures report to the Muses and tell which humans honor them and how. </div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To the eldest, Calliope, and her next sister, Urania, they tell of those who live a life of philosophy and so do honor the music of those twain whose theme is the heavens and all the story of gods and men, whose song is the noblest of them all. </i><u><span style="font-size: 8pt;">1<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7pt 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Phaedrus,</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> R. Hackforth (trans); Hamilton/Cairns (ed).<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-56820095383214815802014-02-05T15:31:00.000-08:002018-10-31T07:43:41.131-07:00OUR RIGHTFUL MIND<br />
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<em><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">We are seduced into thinking that the right to choose from a menu is the essence of liberty, but the powerful are those who set the agenda, not those who choose from the alternatives it offers. (Benjamin R. Barber, Consumed, 2007)</span></em><em><span style="font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Little Protestant shopkeepers and players of golf take the meaning out of everything. <o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">(Lewis Thompson, 1909-1949, Journals)<o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I think both of the authors quoted above would agree that if humanity has any hope of surviving we are going to have to come to see things in a whole different way. I’m talking about changing our perception of reality. We tend to discourage that sort of that sort of thing; it’s bad for business. Right now most of us perceive ourselves as needing a lot more stuff than we actually require. Our perception is that we need this, that or the other thing, and we cannot possibly be happy, fulfilled, whole, complete, cool, hip, or whatever without it, and in a consumer society we do not want those perceptions messed with. If the commercials during championship football games teach us anything it is that it takes time, talent, and lots of money to encourage our perceptions and we don’t want anyone waking up and questioning the insanity of our lives – not the quiet desperation, nor the fragmentation, nor even the way in which we spend so much time dwelling on the past or fretting about the future that we sleep-walk through our day relying on familiar patterns and routines to such an extent that even our most intimate moments run the risk of becoming formulaic. As near as I can determine consumerism is its own zombie apocalypse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Sooner or later we’re going to have to criminalize prayer. It can lead us to recognize our true likeness, and the Market won’t stand for that. Prayer introduces us to our rightful mind; it enables us to see among other things that happiness belongs to our essential and eternal nature and is what we bring to people, places, and things, not what is produced by them. This knowledge changes us. What would life be like if we loved God with our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whole</i> heart? What if we really loved our neighbor? What would become of grasping and fear if we truly knew that nothing in this world has the power to rob us of our happiness? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-9459793246135036232014-01-16T13:32:00.002-08:002014-05-28T13:53:38.569-07:00SOTERIA (2)<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The ego <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">is</b>, precisely, the impossibility of surrender. Only Reality in us can surrender to Itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is already the centre of our being – pure being – for which there is no “nothing else.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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~ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lewis Thompson</i> (1909-1949), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Journals.</i></div>
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The Lord said to Moses, “thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me and live.” That sounds about right to me. After all, our response to the beatific vision is not to ask what’s next? It is not a vision from which one walks away; it is the fulfillment of all seeing. There is also the practical consideration that God doesn’t have a face, as in a body part, and so when Moses said: “I beseech thee, show me thy glory,” he was asking for something infinitely deeper. According to Philo, “the soul that loves God seeks to know what the one living God is according to his essence.” He says that Moses “entreated God to become the exhibitor and expounder of his own nature to him.” (De Posteritate Caini) To ‘see’ on this level is perfect freedom and the letting go of all that is false, desperate, contrived, and unreal. It is the end of what we thought we were and the realization of what we have never not been. </div>
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I suppose, in light of what I’ve just written, I’m also reminded why Jesus told us not to rehearse what we’re going to say when persecutors haul us away for trial. This has always struck me as a tall order, and yet all three synoptic gospels have him saying it. I don’t know about you but if I knew I was about to be interrogated I’d have a hard time thinking about anything else. I’d be tempted to play through in my head responses to all possible questions, and then re-play them over and over until I had them exactly right and was off-book; ready to perform when the time came. Then again, Jesus also told us not to live as if we are actors putting on a performance to be judged by others. Our task isn’t to reinforce and make real any character we have invented. It is not about somehow solidifying the way we imagine ourselves. It is a matter of knowing our essential nature. It is about passing from the unreal to the real, out of the shadows and into the truth. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14063572763927622230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6051555167453084085.post-26277314196448988932014-01-06T08:24:00.000-08:002014-02-23T05:57:52.673-08:00DEADWOOD<br />
From time to time I enjoy playing with iambic pentameter. I don’t write poetry (unless that’s what you consider song lyrics) and have never attempted to compose a poem using iambic pentameter, even though several of my favorite Robert Frost poems use that meter. And then there’s Shakespeare. The Bard’s use of iambic inspired one latter-day genius, David Milch, creator of the Television series ‘Deadwood’ (2004-2006). While the dialogue in that series was not written in strict iambic pentameter it seemed nevertheless to be inspired by it. The result was a profane brilliance the likes of which we’re unlikely to see again. <br />
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I decided to write a short sketch featuring three of Deadwood’s characters, Mr. Merrick, editor of the Newspaper, Jack Langrishe, actor and director of a theatrical troupe, and Richardson, a simple minded, lowly, waiter at the Grand Hotel Dining Room. If you happen to be a fan of that series then you might enjoy this bit of nonsense. If not, then just scroll on by.</div>
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Only the dialogue is Iambic Pentameter (10.10.10.10.), and if I’ve done it right you should be able to sing it to “Eventide’ (Abide with me), or any other hymn in that meter. Try it:</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes, Mr. Merrick, I seem to recall <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You making mention of this when first we</i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Met on the day our weary troupe arrived, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Slowly descending from these great Black Hills<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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If you enjoy this post then please consider it my way of wishing you a Happy Epiphany!</div>
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Anyways …</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Interior location – The Grand Central dining room in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, 1877<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: May I say, Mr. Langrishe, that I am much in your debt for taking of your time to keep the readers of The Pioneer informed about the finer things of life such as the theater, art, and acting in which, with all due modesty, I must confess to having dabbled in the past, though strictly as a budding amateur.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: Yes, Mr. Merrick, I seem to recall you making mention of this when first we met on the day our weary troupe arrived, slowly descending from these great <st1:place w:st="on">Black Hills</st1:place>.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: And a great day that was for me as well.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: You are too kind.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: I simply speak the truth.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Richardson arrives, silently places plates of food on the table, and obsequiously backs away.)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: Such a face!</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: Richardson?</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: He has the look of a character born in Shakespeare’s time.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Merrick glances at Richardson and is for a second at a loss for words.) <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: May I ask, Sir, if you might be so kind as to offer some insights into the creative process – in particular, how authors and actors are so inspired?</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: That, Mr. Merrick, is a question which I have considered now for many years. The ancients spoke of daimons which inspired. There is no amusement without the muse. Writers create, and their words proceed forth and are made flesh by actors who become the incarnate expressions of those words, so much so, I am left to wonder if there is a moment when characters become living creatures independent of their creator. And might such a creature become in its own right a living thing?</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: And cry 'Subsisto!'</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: Yes! Yes, I exist. Most writers will allow that they are led by characters who in turn drive the plot, the creature becoming the creator.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Merrick</b>: And might such characters continue to live on long past the final curtain call?</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Langrishe</b>: I think they do. In fact, I think they must, to be enjoyed forever and anon.</div>
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