Sic Semper Rags and Demagogues

I've always had my bete noire columnist in whatever the local rag might have been at that point in my life. When we were in Loganport, Indiana under the sufferance of the Pharos-Tribune it was one Charlie Reese. Don't hear of him anymore: don't think he was distinguished, just annoying as hell.

Michael Reagan is it now. He is a Third Base Republican (born on third, thought he hit a triple) who happens to have the Great Distinction of being the Son of Ronald Reagan. He writes inflammatory columns, which the Madison Birdcage Liner sees fit to publish.

Michael's latest tirade accuses the New York Times of treason -- treason, mind you -- for its story disclosing that the Bush administration has been operating another secret dragnet program, this one to sift bank data in hopes of finding transactions related to terrorism.

Well, whenever the supposed free press -- (and by the way, why is a free press important in a democracy? That, in my experience, has proven to be too hard a question for the majority of citizens of this nation, which fact is scary in this supposed democracy) -- whenever the press decides to print information, the responsible members of it take certain criteria into consideration: Is it the truth, unvarnished and unbiased? Is it in the public interest? Is it dedicated to the principle that a democracy --a government of the people, by the people, and for the people -- is at its best when the press is free of coercion from its government, or from big corporations, or organized crime. Is it not merely propaganda?

The New York Times has taken the position that its publication of the story on the government's surveillance of bank data (as well as illegal NSA eavesdropping recently, for which it won a Pulitzer prize) was in the public interest. We need to know what our government is doing to us. We cannot take their word for it. Certainly not this Potemkin village, this government-paid stooges-posing-as-reporters, this post-1984, this fascist government.

As for this disclosure's endangering us because it gives something away to the terrorists, that is so much arrant horse shit. The Wall Street Journal, so much in the pocket of the Bushies, has published the same thing. The Fox (FNN, Fascist News Network) boys have been ranting about the story ever since it happened. Why not accuse them of treason too for making such a big fuss? They're reminding the terrorists that we're on to them. (The terrorists are of course as stupid as the motorsickle gang in "Any Which Way but Loose," right?) No WTC/Pentagon tragedies will occur because the Times did their bounden duty to inform the American public of what clandestine things their government is doing to them.

Whenever the Bush-Cheney-Rove axis gets het up about an issue, think of playing to their base and thinking of their next election. Cherchez les Novembre 2006. Why is it always fundraisers with the country-club fat cats and undemocratically goon-screened "town meetings" for Our Beloved President at which entities such as the Communistic New York Times and other Enemies of America are denounced? Go figure.

As for Michael Reagan, if he can accuse the NYT of "treason," then I accuse him of "libel." He is an Enemy of America. And full of it too, come to think of it.

Vegetable Soup!

Big pot of it cooking on the stove right now, compliments of Chef Rozz. Extremely simple to prepare, heart-smart, delicious, and it gets better every time you reheat it. Stuff defies the laws of chemistry and physics. Rosie puts a little stew beef in ours. Her mother wouldn't let her in the kitchen when she was a kid and therefore she taught herself to cook while raising three little kids and working as an ER- and general hospital-nurse while still a kid (at least chronologically) herself. And did a deuced good job! She is awesome, I find out more and more every day. We had a boffo time last night. From Netflix, we watched "Bad Boys" starring Will Smith as a Miami vice cop and Martin Lawrence as his sidekick. (Actually, it must have been the other way around since Lawrence had first billing, as he should have because he was quite good.) The movie struck our funny bones and we were laughing out loud. We were in a screwball mood and the two of us rode to the library and post office at midnight to get movies where they were to go. I dared Rosie to go with me in her nightie and she not only did so but got out of the car to drop the Netflix movies in at the post office!

Awesome Offspring

Amanda, Amber, Natalie, and Jerry showed up last evening for a birthday gathering. We had carry-in Chinese, birthday cake, and ice cream. They spent the night sleeping in tents in Clifty Falls State Park. I brooded (I do Mother Hen well) while J & N were en route and incommunicado -- all day yesterday. Mandy relayed the message late in the day that they were in Brown County and they said they had 120 miles to go. Knowing that the most direct route was many fewer miles than that, I figured they were so tired that they were disoriented. Turns out they went from 46 down Indiana 135 to Salem and came from there. The estimated mileage, then, was about right. Reason for the "detour"? They still hadn't had enough sightseeing. I went to visit them at the park this morning and they had a shower, packed their gear, and took off on those bikes, heading straight for Chicago. Natalie called before six to let me know they'd gotten home so I wouldn't worry. As I noted a long time ago, i have remained a prayin' man because of my kids. Which always reminded me of when Amanda worked overnight at the gas-and-convenience mart. Blessings on my awesome offspring, wherever they are.

JT Redux

Sixty-seven today. Life is good.

Last night we watched Secondhand Lions, about two old eccentrics (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall) who live on a secluded farm in Texas. This bimbo, their niece, drops her son, about twelve or thirteen, on them. They like to sit on their front porch and shoot their shotguns at traveling salesmen. They have five dogs, a pig, and, after time, a lioness, who the kid talks them into buying, and who he names "Jasmine." (A giraffe makes a cameo appearance.) Michael Caine as a droll, wise old Texan (he's a Brit, you know) is delightful. So is the menagerie. This movie is a keeper. It may soon rank up there with The Milagro Beanfield War among my favorites.

Just finished The Stone Monkey, by Jeffery Deaver. I loved it and there are more. The Stone Monkey has this Chinese hit man who makes Hannibal Lecter look like Mister Rogers. "Lincoln Rhyme," a quadruplegic "criminalist," directs operations from his wheelchair, and "Amelia Sachs," plainclothes cop, and of course a knockout (in this case red-haired), does his legwork. In this novel there is a Chinese cop named "Sonny Li," who has Jackie Chan written all over him. I hope this one makes it to the screen.

Doc Natalie and Jerry are scheduled to trek here from Shy on their BMW motorsickles tomorrow. They're going to camp in Clifty with Amanda and Amber. Can't wait to see them. Natalie finished her internship, yesterday being her last day.

My friend Jerry Y. offered to help with a podcast of film music so that is not dead. Shuck and jive shall not win out!

I continue to exercise, eat right, and lose weight. I have rehab in an hour. It's fun and I'm making great progress.

Sixty-seven today. Life is good.

My Year in Radio: Relax, Garrison K., The Threat Is Over

Just about one year ago, I was listening to the classical music station which I have set on both car radios and the living room radio. The DJ of then played the music of "Star Trek," the Alexander Courage theme from the TV show. (Shatner was always a butterball but he could still barely get away with wearing a close-fitting shirt and not looking utterly ridiculous. But I digress. Kirk out.)

I sent her an email saying I liked film music and that I would like to hear more. She replied, saying that the program director had expressed interest in programming more film music and that I ought to get in touch with him -- strike while the iron is hot.

I did and he invited me to the studio and we started talking about my being the DJ for a weekly one-hour show of music of the movies. He asked me to put some programs together and encouraged me in every way. He told people there that I was going to be doing a show and they were greeting me when I would visit the studio.

I did make up six or so shows, selecting themes and songs from many movies, burning them to CDs, and writing scripts for my commentary between numbers. I love movies and classical music and film music, so it looked like this was the career niche for me (at last). The plan was for him and me to record the programs in the studio and, by golly, I thought, air those suckers.

Well, it never happened. After much noodging on my part, we finally got part of one program in the computer. He told me he'd decided (this was all of a sudden) that he'd better run the show by a higher-up to make sure it was approved and that we would stop recording for now until he had done that.

Well, I tried to remind him occasionally that he'd said he'd meet with the VP, and a round of shuck and jive, of excuses and apologies ensued. In March of this year, after one last email, I gave up.

Day before yesterday I had an email from His Shiftiness. More shuck and jive and excuses and apologies about how he'd tried to convince the higher powers of the value of a film music show -- he didn't actually say he was trying to salvage my show: I guess he considers he might go to hell for outright lying.

But the bottom line came at last, after much milk of magnesia and several enemas and digging out of the impaction: "I'm sorry we can't use your show..." Then the real agenda became apparent in an attachment: it was a sample of what he himself plans to do on the new digital station which will be airing sometime in the near future. He then had the chutzpah to ask me to help, "if you want to," by suggesting film music selections.

(Did he suspect I might not want to after realizing what a number he has done on me? "Chutzpah," by the way, we know from lovers of Yiddish, is that quality of the man who murders his parents and then begs for mercy from the court because he is an orphan.)

I replied to the gentleman, Thanks but no thanks. Actually, I did not dignify with a reply the offer of a sop, a consolation prize, of being a "consultant." I just asked the gentleman to finish the program we'd started recording last year and send me a CD of it as a keepsake of my "days in radio." I asked him not to reply in words, just send the disc, because "People may doubt what you say, but they will always believe what you do."

So Gary K. (and Alan B.), my threat of being a radio personality is past. Relax your sphincters. Amen.

guzzling through the apocalypse

I came up the hill a while ago and was almost run over by an SUV -- a big-assed American make -- driving like li'l ole 421 was the Autobahn. I wonder what kind of mileage that sucker (gas-sucker) gets. I wonder if the driver has any notion that "the end" is near -- the end of plentiful fossil fuels and the prerogative to squander them? Could it be that the next president and congress will crack down? Impose a national speed limit of 55 once again, by executive order, as Tricky Dick did in the seventies? Work for a windfall profit tax on Big Oil? Kick the ass of GM for manufacturing its gas guzzlers and not let them wiggle out of their responsibility to produce efficient (and, incidentally, clean) automobiles? Mandate moving ahead as quickly as possible with a concerted plan to develop wind and solar energy and other ways to stop the insane waste? God deliver us. Amen.

Try Again, Dear Hearts and Gentle People

There was a song when I was about a little kid that went: "I love those dear hearts and gentle people / Who live in my home town." Well, I know I have many dear hearts and gentle people who have tried to make comments on my blog and couldn't because of my stupidity with regard to managing my blog. SO -- I THINK YOU CAN ADD COMMENTS NOW. SO PLEASE TRY. AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT. Love to all, JT.

Plus ca change, ...

The day we got the news that Zarqawi was killed I became depressed. I knew we'd be in for another declaration of "Mission Accomplished." (Keith Olbermann tells us every evening at the end of Countdown how many days it has been since that first declaration. The relatively subdued tone with which His Cockiness announced Zarqawi's demise (in the Rose Garden, in his dark blue suit and dark red power tie, trying to look presidential -- and intelligent, I suppose) fooled those who wanted to be fooled, of course. Then there it was: the secret whisking away to the Green Zone of Iraq for photo-ops and sound bites. Public relations and savagely partisan politics. I'd say, "The more things change, the more they remain the same." But every time they get into a little trouble they bounce back up like the Bobo clown doll. And while they manage to look good enough to their "base," they trudge on down the road to hell taking all of us with them. Think about it: redistribution of wealth, degradation of the environment, amassing of the national debt, erosion of civil rights, moving ever closer to a police state. On and on. Oh God, would you please deliver us from this regime?

This I Believe

Last night we watched Good Night, and Good Luck, the George Clooney film which stars the awesome David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow, the CBS newsman who helped bring down Senator Joe McCarthy in the 1950's. McCarthy, who is not played by an actor but instead shown exclusively in recordings throughout the movie, conducted a witch hunt of "Communists" and in the process gave immense aid and comfort to our enemies. That hideous man was debunked and we got past that period somehow and breathed easy for a while.

We have a government now that in its "war on terrorism" is giving aid and comfort to our enemies. The thing I find most oppressive right now is the demand of the government to know everything about us -- everything -- but to reveal nothing about itself -- nothing. The air is pretty stifling these days and I'm finding it very hard to breathe.

buck, bela, john-john and me

I guess I have pretty catholic, some might say schizophrenic, tastes in music: at the library the other day I borrowed two CDs: one was Volume One of Buck Owens' All Time Greatest Hits and the other was orchestral works by Bela Bartok, the mighty twentieth century Hungarian composer. My beloved son John introduced me to Buck, one night in Florida when Amanda and I were riding in his truck. I never thought I would waste my time with country music, but, true to the adage that there are two kinds of music, good and bad, I swear off my intolerance of good music that happens to be country. John-John likes it, Garrison Keillor likes it, Mick Jagger likes it. We may yet find out that Itzhak Perlman and Yo-Yo Ma are closet admirers of George Jones. (Maybe not, but...)

The Bartok disc contained Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta, which appears in two familiar American movies, "Being John Malkovich" and "The Shining." In spite of the stumbledick I'd counted on to get me to the big-time who instead let me down, I'm determined to do some kind of show on movie music, i-Pod or something, and I'm continuing to do research. It will happen. And there'll be plenty of room for hillbilly music. Yee-ha!

Whaddaya think, Aldous Huxley?

This evening we watched "Charly," starring Cliff Robertson and Claire Bloom. (Excuse the digression: God, how I long for the days when women acted and dressed like Claire does in this movie.)

"Charly," who because of an operation goes from being retarded to a genius (and who then has the good sense to seduce his gorgeous, sexy teacher, played by Claire -- OK -- no more digressions, I promise. Well, just one: the music is by Ravi Shankar and I wonder if it's on CD) is asked by a panel of scientists what the future of civilization is going to be. He replies, “Brave new hate, brave new bombs, brave new war.”

In 1968, I might have thought that was a melodramatic answer. But here we are in this brave new year, our nation at war -- an unjust war (are there really any just ones?) -- killing and being killed, and an administration that is corrupt, greedy, ruthless to its enemies, which include me because I dissent. Brave new hate. And most of the haters claim to be obedient to the One who said that the two great commandments are to love. (Let's see: isn't love the opposite of hate?)

Culture of Death

The American culture of death lost a round when Zacarias Moussaoui received a sentence of life in prison instead of death for his part in the tragedy of 9/11. Jurors considered "mitigating circumstances" in his case and most of them decided such circumstances were great enough to withhold the death penalty. The prosecution and victims of family members were disappointed.

When I say the "culture of death," I refer to those who are almost always "pro-life" in the case of the unborn but otherwise are pro-capital punishment, pro-war, pro-guns, and pro-damnation for their opponents. Their undisputed leader is George W. Bush, who so callously and adamantly blessed the executions of people when he was governor of Texas and who has damned thousands of American soldiers to their death and disabilities for his stinking war.

Feeling Well

I get a little stronger and feel a little better each day. I'm grateful for that. Very grateful. We're going to a birthday luncheon for Rosie's dad's 93rd after a while. It's a beautiful spring day. Long live Howard! Long live JT!

Post-surgery thoughts about hospitals

I still don’t have a lot to say about the surgery and its sequelae. I sure do hate modern hospitals, Jewish too in spite of its being one of the best. The care-givers were lovely, almost without exception, and I have no complaint about them and how they did their job. The place is entirely too NOISY—god damn it—and it would be nice if they could do something about that. And they measured your temperature and made you account for your urine in a plastic bottle and every few hours stuck a needle in you and frequently pulled tape off your skin. I had roommates, which made the place too crowded for all. I was glad to get the hell out of there. The anesthesia made me visually hallucinate, especially in a dark room, and cognitively impaired me for a while. And I cannot believe how slowly the hours passed. Especially the hours from darkness to dawn. I refused to watch TV and some of the time felt well enough to work on a crossword, but even with activities the time took forever to pass. But pass it did at last, and we left at 8:30 or quarter to nine Thursday, well after dark, which Rosie didn’t want. Rosie was there every day and how dear her presence was to me. And Amanda will surely earn a high place in heaven for her care of the sick. She walked with me and joked with me and we had a wonderful time. Oh yes, and the food was wretched most of the time, although I think the anesthesia probably had a lot to do with that. One thing about walking was I got to do a lot of farting, which seemed like a good idea at the time. I was very happy also to see Natalie on the weekend—actually, she showed up on Friday and she and Amanda spent a good deal of time with me. Ella, Mary, Randall, and Kelsey popped in for a while on the weekend. I do recall Randy offered “a word of prayer" for me—and I was grateful for that, although I have no idea what he said.

Lord, Please Forgive My Schadenfreude

This is too good to be true.

www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/03/10/AR2006031002328.html

Make it 40 cubits...

Rain, rain, rain. Our backyard is a lake and I think we're going to get a lot of precip this year in the liquid form, because of a phenomenon called "regression to the mean." We had lots of sun last summer and because of all the glorious sunshine I didn't mind that I no longer lived close to the (Great Salt Lake) desert as I walked all those miles . It was in the back of my mind that we'd pay for it later on, but as Joy Lewis says in Shadowlands, "That's the deal." Roy Orbison used to sing, "Baby, the rain must fall..."

Roots

My wife is a genealogy enthusiast and she has been inviting me to join in the fun. I was bitten by the bug recently when I got more evidence that my great-grandfather, James T. Evans, was in the "Orphan Brigade," the only CSA unit from Kentucky in the Civil War. My Uncle Roy told me this before he died and I found an "Evans, J.T." who was a "1st Cpl" in "Co. C, 3rd Kentucky Mounted Infantry Regiment."

I also found James T. Evans in the 1850 through 1900 census records as a farmer in Trimble County, Kentucky. His parents were Charles and Lena Evans, who were both born in Kentucky in 1794. James T. married a woman whose name, I think, deciphering the spelling and penmanship of the people who gave and recorded the information to the best of my ability, was named Jo Agnes. He was a widower by 1900 and lived on the farm with a 29-year-old daughter named Cassandra. (She was the notorious "Aunt Cassie," who my dad made a face over every time he said her name. She later lived in Madison, and once served my dad and mother wine at her house when they were newlyweds.)

I need to find out the surnames of great-grandmother Jo Agnes and great-great grandmother Lena, and I am itching to get at the records. I also found a record of the marriage of "Thomas Evans" to "Annie Dunn" in 1895, in Jefferson County, Indiana. That's "Tom" (John Thomas I, son of James T. and Jo Agnes), and Anna Elizabeth Dunn, (daughter of Albert and Martha), Tom and Annie being my father's parents.

I also found some really neat pictures of my mother and dad, one when I speculate they were dating or possibly newlyweds, and they were a good-looking couple. I also found pictures of my dad and his older brother and sister when they were small kids. Well, I'm rambling. I'm impressed. I have a beautiful family, both ancestors and offspring, and I'm very proud of all.

Another new development in my life: a friend (another unpublished writer) and I are taking a course in writing one's life story at Indiana University Southeast. It's going to be fun.

Love to my loved ones who might read this.

Must Be My Deodorant -- Or My Rapier Wit and Merciless Logic

I wish people who read my blog -- people tell me they read my blog -- would feel free to COMMENT. "Boring" or "Bullshit" would be just as acceptable as "Agreed" or "Brilliant." Note that all my examples are one word, but feel free to say more as the spirit moves you.

I download and read all the columns of Molly Ivins (Fort Worth Star-Telegram) periodically, and it starts out being fun because she nails the bastards to the wall -- Texas Governor Rick "Goodhair" Perry, Tom DeLay, George W. "Shrub" Bush -- she wants to ask him in an interview, "Are you the worst president since James Buchanan? Or have you never heard of him?" -- John Boehner, the crooked joker who succeeded the crooked DeLay ("he may be succeeded but he'll never be replaced"), Alberto Gonzales the pathetic pipsqueak who of course didn't insist on being sworn into a hearing when Sen. Specter excused him -- but reading a whole bunch of them at a time is like eating a huge steak. It makes you sick. Mind you, in no way am I attacking the messenger for telling the truth. Molly is the one who warned us about Bush, having covered his term as governor of Texas. She told us that history would repeat itself, as it had repeated itself during the governorship. Frat boy uses his connections to get involved in some enterprise or another then has his rich friends bail him out and cover it all up for him. She's the one who introduced us to Karl Rove, the man known affectionately to "Shrub" as "Turd Blossom." (I wonder what Shrub would have nicknamed Hermann Goering? "Cuddles"?)

Molly Ivins. Worth a read:

www.dfw.com/mld/startelegram/news/columnists/molly_ivins/

Right You Are

I recently finished reading Our Endangered Values by Jimmy Carter. He states, straightforwardly and incisively, the ills to which this country have fallen since the inception of the current administration. I do not express things with the nobility that he does. Nor do I offer solutions as he does. As I’ve observed, re-grettably, I am much more adroit at afflicting the comfortable than comforting the afflicted.

Bush and his gang have climbed to power with the aid of the fundamentalist religious right wing. This is my reading of how President Carter sums up that faction — “a more intense form of fundamentalism” — in his book, as follows:

(1) Their leaders are dictatorial males who deem themselves superior to others and dominate their sect — especially females.
(2) Although they quote ancient authorities as infallible, requiring unquestioning submission, they exploit modernity when it is expedient for them to do so in order to achieve their ends.
(3) They sharply exclude all who disagree with them, declaring themselves the only true believers and flatly branding their disputants as ignorant and evil.
(4) They militantly fight anything that challenges their beliefs, resorting to verbal and physical abuse of their opponents.
(5) They become ever more narrow in defining and isolating themselves from the “secular” society.

I would add to that last item that, although they exclude and isolate, they have sought ever more boldly to rule all of their perceived enemies through the agency of the Republican party and through seizing as much of the three branches of our constitutional government as they can — moving us ever closer to a church-state. Thus, their goal is becoming less and less a matter of isolating themselves from others and more and more seeking to engulf and devour them.

This is only from the first chapter of the book and I hardly do it justice stopping there. It’s one of those books I’m proud to say I’ve read and I heartily recommend it.

I’m not pious but when I focus on ideals such as justice, meaning, and ultimate purpose, I’ve been motivated by the teachings of Jesus. In such a spirit, I recently sought to volunteer for Prison Fellowship, the ministry founded by Charles Colson. I might be accused of seeking the broad, easy path — the one that leads to destruction, I suppose — by applying to be merely a pen pal rather than visit folks in prisons. Ink is easier to come by than gasoline these days, and I write better than I speak, I reasoned.

Looking through the website, I looked at the picture and bio of Chuck Colson. The picture and text are imposing: captain in the Marines, aide to a US president, … Many years ago I read Born Again, his account of his conversion to Christ while he was in prison. He was there for his part in Watergate, his role having been Nixon’s dirty-tricks man. In the book, written soon after his prison term, he was convincingly contrite about how badly he had behaved.

To his credit, he founded his estimable ministry to prisoners and has headed it for three decades. Chuck earned the respect of Jimmy Carter, among others, because it appeared that he had repented, forsaken politics, and humbly begun to serve God through his prison ministry. When friends lumped him in with those who “took a nose dive with the Hallelujah boys” in order to improve their public images, I defended him as “authentic” and dedicated to the social gospel.

In the past year, I was dismayed when I read an open letter to Chuck from Jim Wallis, Christian evangelical author of God’s Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn’t Get It and tireless worker for social justice. Wallis took Colson to task for distorting Jim's stance on abortion.

I was further perturbed at the appearance of Chuck on “Justice Sunday” last year at a Louisville megachurch, a televised demonstration for the appointment of conservative federal judges. Colson was there with the likes of Albert Mohler, under whose presidency of Southern Baptist Seminary all women were kicked off the faculty, the men were mandatorily sworn to a fundamentalist creedal state-ment, and the abolishing of a pastoral counseling studies program, for which the seminary had long been praised and revered, and replacement of it by “Biblical” counseling. Also present were James Dobson, head of Focus on the Family, and Bill Frist, Senate Majority (Republican) Leader.

It appears to me that Colson has abandoned his renunciation of politics. The saying about fools and dogs returning to their baser ways seems regrettably apropos (Proverbs 26:11). As a former behind-the-scenes master “ratfucker,” Chuck might be hoped to denounce his vile counterpart of today, Karl Rove. He is instead, either by commission or omission, a supporter in the most corrupt federal administration yet.

But the words of Jesus are there in Matthew 25: “I was in prison and you visited me.” And when was that? “Just as you did it to one of the least of these…, you did it to me.” So with those words in mind, I sought to become a pen pal with somebody by means of Prison Fellowship. I completed the online application, almost. Then the creed came. The one that I had to endorse in its entirety with the click of a mouse. I could not subscribe in particular to these two statements:

(1) We believe that the Bible is God's authoritative and inspired Word. It is without error in all its teachings, including creation, history, its own origins, and salvation. Christians must submit to its divine authority, both individually and corporately, in all matters of belief and conduct, which is demonstrated by true righteous living.

(2) We believe that all people are lost sinners and cannot see the Kingdom of God except through the new birth. Justification is by grace through faith in Christ alone.

When I left the box unclicked, the program kicked me back to it, saying I’d left it blank and it must be completed to be accepted. Not wanting to dissemble, and apparently having the option to write an email, I did so, saying the following:

(1) I'm a recovering alcoholic. (2) I am not a member of the Christian right-wing. Although I admire Chuck Colson for his social gospel ministry, I deplore his association with the ultraconservative Republican party.* (3) I am not a fundamentalist and therefore cannot endorse with a click of the mouse every clause (e.g. 100% Biblical inerrancy) of the "Statement of Faith." Do you have any use for me? If you do not, will you tell me why?

(*I was appalled when Chuck appeared with James Dobson, Bill Frist, and Albert Mohler on the notorious "Justice Sunday" Louisville megachurch broadcast.)

Well, I’m a naïf. I thought I would actually get a reply. Perhaps the email was dumped automatically by an artifice of the computer program and nobody ever saw it. But I tend to think the silence is related to the points of President Carter about the religious right — their debating with me, an out-of-the-closet non-fundamentalist, is not an option. It’s beneath contempt. “God said it, I believe it, and that’s that,” say the fundies. Chuck, the former gyrene officer, says that you salute, holler “SIR! YES SIR!” and move out. You don’t question orders. (Come to think of it, he would have had to feel that way, had he any scruples then, in doing the bidding of Nixon. But I grant he confessed he did not.)

So I think I’ve been cut dead by the Religious Right. (So what is new?) If you dare to question their brand of religion, you just don’t have it. You aren’t “saved” and you are cast into the outer darkness, whereas they are in the light. (Whoops! Tic! That verse from Psalm 139 just occurred to me — I suppose I’m just grasping at straws, of course — “Even if I make my bed in hell, Thou art there.”)

But being rejected is really a dilemma for me, because I really would like to minister to prisoners in the spirit of Matthew 25, flawed as I am, and I can’t get Prison Fellowship to discuss it with me like an adult (Damn it, I hate to keep bringing it up, but I’m 66! And I’ve been a Presbyterian elder). There are other internet agencies for making pen pals, but those are all prisoners looking for chicks (other guys, whatever).

Going on to the matter of being “saved,” we recently looked at the DVD of the movie, Saved! Yep, I’m depraved — I loved every minute of it. I watched it twice, once with the commentary by its two writers, and I believed that it had a “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” (which I put in quotes and upper case because those apt words happen to be a contemporary Christian song title, by the way) that transcended the mordant look at religious hypocrisy.

I wondered what the reviewers at "Christian Spotlight on the Movies" had to say about it and, yep, they declared the movie evil and wrong and included links to debrief all who might see it with the Christian facts (their version of "Christian" and "facts," of course).

I rant about my frustration with these folks. I tried to engage them last year and, with the prospect of one more spring in Indiana, I'll try to dream the impossible dream again and engage them. But I'm not feeling terribly hopeful at the moment.

The Book of Lamentations

Sure enough. The Christians for Crystal Night, USA version, got The Book of Daniel off the air. I hope you're happy, you sons (and daughters) of sanctimony. You had a chance to bring a portrayal of Jesus to the "secular" part of the community once a week, but you wanted -- demanded -- that Jesus be created in your image.

Your aims are in conflict,do you know that? You claim to be evangelical, which, I would think, would have something to do with evangelism, i.e. the presenting of the gospel, which, last time I heard, was the "good news" of the kingdom of God through Jesus Christ, by which people might be saved. But you don't want people saved, you want them damned, publicly denounced, shamed, punished, sent to hell. You want them to be silenced, excluded from all public discourse.

Jimmy Carter, a publicly proclaimed born-again Christian (whose words may be doubted but whose actions will not) states in Our Endangered Values that you of the extreme wing of Christianity believe you are absolutely right and anyone who disagrees with you absolutely wrong, therefore evil, and therefore subhuman. I think his assessment is quite correct. Such a judgment of your fellow human beings lets you off the hook: if you judge your fellows as enemies and not only evil but subhuman, you are dismissed from the task of saving them.

Your Jesus, were he to be a character in The Book of Daniel, first would berate the wayward souls in a long-winded harangue. Then he would use his supernatural powers to destroy every one of them, especially addicts and the homosexuals; he wouldn't heal them with love and mercy. All the Episcopalian losers then being roasted in hell, he would go to the pulpit of a Southern Baptist megachurch and wear an expensive suit and Rolex watch and have his name emblazoned on a big sign out front, right at the top,* of course Pastor -- Dr. Jesus Christ.

(* You don't really believe that hooey about the last being first and the greatest being servant of all, do you?)