9/27/2015
#153 B.P.C.S.
GOAFS II: #153
B.P.C.S.
9.27.15
When Pope Francis (Jorge Mario Bergoglio, 266th Pope of the
Catholic Church) breezed into The United States for a whirlwind visit, he
brought with him a large dose of Bi-Polar Political Correctness Syndrome.
B.P.C.S. Is believed to be a viral malady for which the only cure is moral
integrity and common sense everyday rational thinking.
The Progressive Liberal media, its politicians and the
chattering classes in general are highly susceptible to sudden attacks of this
disease. The symptoms manifest themselves in the case of Pope Francis in two
ways depending on the content of his communications.
First, the victims of this syndrome rise to giddy heights of
ecstasy and wild flights of eloquent approval when the Pope speaks of Global
Warming, immigration, and Income Inequality. He is proclaimed “the Best Pope
Ever,” “a man for all the people,” “God’s Man for Such a Time as This.”
Second, the victims plunge into the morose depths of a
thunderous silence should the Pope or his spokesmen speak of the teachings of
his church on religious freedom, the family, the sanctity of all human life,
the murder of babies in the womb, the ordination of women, or any non-traditional
sexual role or practice.
The Pope’s address to the a joint session of Congress was
evenly balanced. He covered nine things that would make conservatives
uncomfortable and nine things that would make liberals uncomfortable. The progressive
media produced instant headlines, mostly distorted, of the things that would
discomfit conservatives and didn’t bother to mention the nine things that might
have upset liberals.
The resulting cognitive dissonance has made these days very
trying ones for those with this syndrome and they will surely be greatly
relieved when Francis leaves the country and gets back to his real business of
shepherding the church of Rome and ignoring his sheep in our Congress who
should be barred from the Mass and probably excommunicated for their part in
promoting and supporting the culture of death that is destroying western
civilization from within.
In Philadelphia he finished the last day with a 45 minute
reflection on religious liberty and immigration that, without naming names,
called the ruling elite in Washington before the bar of God’s justice and the
judgment of history. It was a powerful and fitting conclusion to a remarkable
visit.
Jerry Sweers
GROWING OLD
AIN’T FOR SISSIES
Sailing directions for Pilgrims of the Heart.
Remembrances, reflections and rants
of an endangered species;
Curmudgensis Americanus
Bibliophilius
site: crmudgeon.blogspot.com
9/20/2015
HIBISCUS
GOAFS II: #152
HIBISCUS
9.21.15
In 1934, when I was 6 years old my mother began reading to me
from A.A. Milne’s little book, Now We Are
Six. I loved these stories and couldn’t get enough of them.
I remember my favorite was The
Knight Whose Armor Didn’t Squeak. After the umpteenth reading of my
favorite, the adventure of Sir Thomas Tom, my mother bought Winnie the Pooh, and I recognized a
kindred soul--we became lifelong friends.
About the time the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, she bought The House at Pooh Corner. I took these
books with me when I married in 1954. Years later, with these two books dog-eared,
underlined, annotated, and on the verge of falling apart, I heard that Milne’s
heirs and assigns were selling my old friend Pooh to the Disney corporation.
Fearing a gender-neutral, politically correct makeover, I rushed out and bought
two new hardcover copies of these two classics. Foolishly, I gave the old
copies a decent burial. So I cannot find the exact quote that is the heart of
this story.
But I can mention a couple that will give you an idea of the
enduring nature of my friendship with Pooh. I once was searching for something
to briefly describe a member of the World Vision United States Board of Directors.
Pooh was described in The House at Pooh
Corner as “a Bear with a Pleasing Manner but with a Positively Startling
Lack of Brain.” This fit the Board Member to a tee. He had a pleasing manner,
good intentions, but his main contribution to every serious discussion or
presentation was an irrelevant question, or an attempt to change the subject.
At another time I was discussing how a poem means with my
daughter Glyndon and I quoted Pooh. Pooh had written a poem in which both
pounds and shillings appeared. Piglet didn’t think “shillings” should be in the
poem—pounds were enough. Pooh explained, “They wanted to come in after the
pounds, so I let them. It is the best way to write poetry, letting things come
in.” Had Lao Tsze, Robert Frost, or John Ciardi been responding to Piglet’s
objection, their answers would have been very much like Pooh’s.
Finally, somewhere in one of these books is an incident in
which Pooh had done something kind and someone suggested to Christopher Robin
that this was a surprise. Knowing in his heart that Pooh was invariably kind,
Christopher Robin observed, “That is not surprising at all because Pooh is just
that kind of a bear.” And so we come to the Hibiscus blossom above.
I am running across things
daily that continue to suggest that all things have conspired, in God’s providential
care, to make Joan’s last days happy ones. Just before we moved, our realtor
gave us a big, healthy Hibiscus plant (I am still trying to decide if it is a
large plant or a small bush). He said “put this in a pot in the sun, keep it
from getting too dry, and it will give you a gorgeous bloom daily until the
snow flies.”
The blossoms were
short-lived. You could see a bud developing on Monday, on Tuesday morning it
would open fully and during that night it would close. A new bud would open the
next morning. Joan loved that plant—it was a daily reminder of the beauty of
the garden she could no longer tend. She started her days looking at it in the
morning and reminding me to test it with the moisture meter and to water it at
just the right time with just the right amount of water.
The second day we were here
it had 3 blossoms, the third day it had 4, and it went on as if it knew the
time was short and bloomed its heart out until the day Joan died. When she went
home to glory 113 days later there had never been less than 3 or 4 a day with
many days of 5 and even 6. The day after she died, there was 1, and there has
been 1 each day since. Every bloom is perfect and lasts about a day.
You might say “that’s
amazing” or “that’s a coincidence, or “that’s a puzzlement,” but I believe it is
simply a lovely demonstration that our God is “Just that kind of God.”
Jerry Sweers
GROWING OLD
AIN’T FOR SISSIES
Sailing directions for Pilgrims of the Heart.
Remembrances, reflections and rants
of an endangered species;
Curmudgensis Americanus
Bibliophilius
site: crmudgeon.blogspot.com
