Reflection on Sunday, August 2

The gospel reading for this Sunday is John 6:24-35 in which Jesus declares that, surpassing the manna-bread given to the wandering Jews through Moses, He himself is the better bread given by God the Father.

I predict my homilist will emphasize how the Jews hearing Jesus say this were so foolish in not recognizing him as the divine Son of God, as Jesus announces himself to be, and so foolish for not eventually appreciating Jesus in the sacrament of the eucharist.. What my homilist will overlook is that Jesus in the reading refers to himself only as the Son of Man (even in this "high Christology" gospel of John)---a title and topic which the reverend will fail to explore---overlook that Jesus does not explicitly claim divinity, and overlook that the Jews had nothing in their tradition (criticism of them aside) to prepare them for something like the Christian sacrament of the eucharist.

Nonetheless, the rev should have something interest to say.

-Old Gargoyle

Keys to My Heart

The professor and the policeman from Cambridge plus the President all sitting down for a beer? As John Stewart predicted, "Mixing that group with alcohol? Nothing good can come from that." But it seemed to have gone well. A stern, valuable lesson emerges from this whole incident: Don't forget your house keys!

-Old Gargoyle

One of These Days, Alice

The recent commemorative news on the astronauts' moon walk of 1969 caused me to dream last night about being on the moon. I myself was slowly walking in and out of small crevices when, bam, I found her, dead as a doornail and with an obviously broken jaw, and lying flat as a pancake on the moon's surface since the 1950s: Alice Kramden.

-Old Gargoyle

Don't Make Me Ask Again

Well, it's August---vacation time for me. But with all the layoffs, I'm broke. So, dear readers, send me money. No, seriously, send me your money!!!

-Old Gargoyle

God vs. God

I don't believe this! I read that a Mrs. Neyland in a town near Dallas has persuaded her local school board to allow an exception from a certain dress-code rule for her school-age daughter. The rule calls for students to have their shirts tucked. But that violates, said Mrs. Neyland, her conviction that 1 Timothy 2:9 requires her daughter to display modesty in public, and the UNtucked shirt on the girl provides that modesty. What is this woman---a latent theologian?

I always had thought that a TUCKED shirt for students, as indicated in Leviticus, Proverbs, and 2 Corinthians, was the will of God. Go figure.

-Old Gargoyle

Fire in the Belly

Today I listened for the first time to Ry Cooder's early-1980s version of the old popular song, "Goodnight, Irene." It caught my ear as so interesting because, first, of its strong waltz beat and zippy Texmex accordian. And secondly because he changed some words in it. Instead of singing several times, "Goodnight, Irene, I'll see you in my dream," he sings "I'll GET you in my dream." And he says---not heard in the popular version---"I'll go to the river and drown," and "I'm gonna take morphine and die."

Then it struck me: Cooder hadn't really changed the words---he simply sang the ORIGINAL words of the song as written by the famous folk-blues singer of the 1930s, Huddie Ledbetter, better known as Leadbelly. Interestingly as social history, the song, increasingly sung from the 1940s to probably the early '80s, had its words changed by the "decency police." "GET you in my dream" was deemed to be a cover for "have sexual intercourse with you in my dream," so "see you" replaced it. "Go to the river and drown" was too harsh for the ears of White Americans; so too was "take morphine." Voila, a sanitized "Goodnight, Irene."

The irony is that just a decade or so ago, rap music becomes dominant in the country, and begins using lyrics which paint much harsher and vulgar scenes than Leadbelly could ever been accused of.

Maybe Leadbelly is turning over in his grave now, wishing he would've been a singer in the 1990s+.

-Old Gargoyle

Featherbrains

I see that an educational network is broadcasting a commemorative series of Walter Kronkite's past interviews and news reports. The series is emphasizing Uncle Walt's admiration of N.A.S.A.'s space program and its astronauts. Which in turn reminds me of an old blog which I'll again mention here.

I again recently asked my college students why N.A.S.A. has sent dogs, monkeys, mice, bugs, etc., but never birds, into space. And again I had several girl students (interestingly, almost all of them bleached blonds), who give two common answers: Either the birds would injure or kill themselves flying around the cabinet of the space capsule, hitting and bouncing off the walls---in which case these girls somehow don't realize that gravity is lacking in the capsule, and don't realize that the birds, like the other animals, would be confined to a small cage. Or the birds would simply---hold on to your hat---fly out the windows of the capsule---in which case these girls don't realize that, no, humans and animals can't fly into space in a capsule with open windows. Whew. God bless our scientifically educated American youth.

Do you know why birds have not and will not be sent into space?

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Sunday, July 26

I keep hoping and trying at church. Today's gospel reading, taken from John 6:1-15, is the famous feeding of the multitude, also called the multiplication of the loaves and fish.

My homilist began by tying in a theme from the past Sunday or two, namely, that of good shepherd. He emphasized how in the Middle East in Jesus' day shepherds were honored and appreciated by everyone for their hard work. "Nonsense!" I thought to myself. The people of that time and place disdained shepherds as ignorant peasants who often would lose the sheep of the bosses for whom they worked. THAT'S why Jesus' parable of the good shepherd caught the ear of his audience when he preached it: the shepherd in the story was NOT a lazy, fearful slaggard. So my homilist was being influenced by this parable but in a sense in the wrong way.

Then today's gospel story: As I feared, the homilist was quick to emphasize over and over how the essence of the story is for us to feed the poor and hungry. A typical homilist's interepretation, eager to make practical application for the congregation. It's good for us to feed the hungry, but the primary purpose of the story, written here by John (and the only miracle by Jesus recorded by all four gospel writers---something significant in itself, but not mentioned by my preacher), is to teach the apostles and the other early leaders in the first-century Church (and secondarily leaders today) the Christological basis for ministry and the main method as to how to implement it.

Yes, I keep hoping and trying at church. Maybe I should begin to pray too.

-Old Gargoyle

Whatever, Jonka

Although I think Martha Stewart is a harmless bore, folks here in Delaware and New England think she's a god. Not only does Martha have her own television show, to my surprise her daughter and the daughter's friend now have their own show, too. It's called "Whatever, Martha." Daughter and friend sit in a living room watching reruns of Martha's program, and laugh at and ridicule Martha and her guests. So much for filial piety.

But it gave me an idea about a month ago. I began secretly videotaping the little woman as she worked and did things about the house and garden. So next Wednesday night at 7:00, please try to meet at my shack. That's Jonka's bowling night, so she'll be away for three hours. We can sit in my living room, watch my video, and laugh and ridicule Jonka. It should be fun!

-Old Gargoyle

Birdbrains

What the . . . ? As I'm at my computer, I can see out my window into the woods behind my shack. Six or seven damn birdwatchers have descended upon on the area. There they are, poking their blasted binoculars into the air as they hide behind bushes and trees. What's with these pervs? How do they get away with violating the private lives of our birds, snooping and peering on the creatures' every move? They oughta be arrested as we speak!

-Old Gargoyle

Disclaimer

I see that I've recently blogged about rabbits, pigs, and ducks. I think you should know that no animals were harmed in the typing of those blogs.

-Old Gargoyle

Salt and Pepper

I tell you, sometimes it's a pain in the butt living with the little woman. Last night at supper she asked me, "So, how was your day, Garg?"

"How was my day?" I replied. "I'm semi-retired, you were with me all day, so you tell ME how it was."

"Just once I'd like to sit down to supper with you, and have a nice, pleasant conversation," Jonka said.

"I like salt," I retorted, "it's very pleasant. Please pass me the salt. So how's that?"

-Old Gargoyle

He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not

"Mixed messages," "mixed messages"---I'm tired of reading or hearing this phrase. You know what a real "mixed message" is? It's when I tied a carrot to a long stick, then went to the edge of the woods behind my shack. I wiggled the carrot as I walked slowly, attracting a rabbit now and then to come nibble at the carrot. Then I turned and used the stick to beat the hell out of the rabbit.

-Old Gargoyle

Our Strange Old Uncle

I'm confused. What's all the media hoopla about Walter Kronkite who died a couple of days ago? Kronkite never had optional nose operations, never voluntarily changed the color of his skin, never wore wigs, never slept with monkeys or boys or in an air chamber, never worked wearing only one glove, never veiled his daughters in public, never dangled them from the outside railing of hotels---hell, he couldn't even sing or dance.

-Old Gargoyle

Birds of a Feather

I read that only a few years ago pictures of Donald Duck and his nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, were banned in Finland because the characters did not appear wearing pants. Hey, in light of the brief vacation visit to Helsinki by the little woman and me awhile back, Donald and I now have something in common.

-Old Gargoyle

Pig Out, Pig Down

Reading all those books about animals to my grandson can be simply too much. Yesterday it was "Three Little Pigs" over and over. Last night I dreamed I was at a funeral burial at a cemetery, and all the "people" at the gravesite were pigs. I could hear the minister pig praying and saying to the bystanders, "Yes, Porky was a total pig. And I mean that in the best possible way . . . "

-Old Gargoyle

Walkin' My Baby Back Home

I just had to clear my mind from the awful Michael Jackson news and the awfuler Sarah Palin news. So I asked the little woman if she'd like to accompany me to the mall (yes, Seine here in the boondocks of Delaware has a mall). But she didn't know that before we left the house, I had made a secret phone call to the t-shirt store at the mall, asking them to print a special shirt for me (no, not one with Michael's or Sarah's picture on it---rather, anything else to lift my mind off that news).

Jonka and I arrived at the store, and I put the new t-shirt over my regular shirt. At that point she refused to be seen with me any longer. The shirt read, "Warning: Contains Nudity."

-Old Gargoyle

Gotta Get My Priorities Straight

I've been unable to sleep for a week, and have been "incommunicato." I've been doing deadline editing of the manuscript of a new business-ethics book (not my forte'). Though written in English, it's by a foreigner for whom English is not the author's primary language, which made the editing much more difficult.

I wish I could've told you that I've been away from my blog because I was preoccupied 24/7 watching continuing reports on Michael Jackson.

-Old Gargoyle

The Meeting Will Come to Order---NOW

Sometimes it's weird being in Seine. We're having town elections this week. I drove by several street posters which read "For Town Council, Vote for Manson Hitler---Sorry about the Name Thing." Must be a guy who can get things done.

-Old Gargoyle

My Poor Babies

This morning I had a pleasant surprise. I took about 100 of my old books and periodicals to the new Half-Price Bookstore here in Seine to see if the store would buy them for their own resale. I expected the manager to buy maybe a third or a half of my items, but he bought all of them. So the sale was easy. What was difficult was convincing the manager that Half-Price would have to devise some kind of system over the next twelve months or so, which would prevent me from entering the store over and over again and slowly buying back one by one the many books which I just sold to the store.

-Old Gargoyle

Cute Even in Black and White

Don't let 'em fool you---they just want to sell you more stuff. That old rabbit-ears antenna on your television set will continue to work just fine; it just needs some manual adjusting---at least mine does on my 1973 set. But I am worried as to whether or not I'll be able to catch broadcasts from Alaska. I'm anxious to see her new show, "Let's Go Whalin' with Sarah Palin."

-Old Gargoyle

Alarm, Don't Fail Me Now

I had a rough night. As you know, I fear clowns and snakes---disgusting creatures---we can easily do without them. Last night I dreamed I was confronted by a giant snake---it had the large head of a clown.

-Old Gargoyle

Hurry Up, Fifth

I hate Fourth of July. Sitting all the hot day on my front porch while wrapped in a large American flag is not my idea of celebration.

-Old Gargoyle

Snow Queen vs Squash King

Yahoo, Sarah Palin---who remains as cute as a button---is resigning as Governor! I betcha this means she'll be making political visits to many other states in the next few months. Which creates a good chance she'll visit my little farmland here in Delaware. Hot dog! This means Sarah and I will be in Seine at the same time. This will give me an opportunity to show her my fine beets and squash, and, if I'm lucky, she'll show me her famous Alaska peaches. A little interstate trade never hurt anyone; and maybe shoot a basket or two with her on our town's outdoor court, the one they call Chez Danny's.

Then, when the time comes, I'll vote for her opponent, you betcha.

-Old Gargoyle

I Should've Brought a Deck of Cards

I'm no slave to computers, cell phones, I-Pods, etc. But I have to admit that one thing a computer can do which most humans can't is sit in a sealed cardboard box in a warehouse.

-Old Gargoyle

Mall Cop

I remember that July as if it were yesterday. It was many years ago---just before I joined the C.I.A.---I was hired as a Pinkerton security guard in Cleveland (thank God my uniform wasn't pink). My supervisor wasn't the sharpest pseudo-cop on the block; he issued me a pistol with only one bullet, and assigned me to guard a large factory. When I arrived at the factory, one of the managers called me to his office to tell me that I quickly had to move some of the workers' cars on their parking lot to make room for more incoming workers, and he gave me the keys to several vehicles.

After some twenty minutes of frustration in those cars, I walked in confusion back into the manager's office. "Did you move those cars?" he asked.

"Er, no," I replied, "I can't find the blasted keyhole on the dashboard of any of them. I can't figure it out."

He erupted in laughter. It was the year the ignition keyhole on many cars had been moved from the dashboard to the steering column. I then had to bear the embarrassment of ridicule from the workers after he immediately told them of my ignorance. For the rest of the afternoon, I contemplated that one bullet.

-Old Gargoyle

We Love You, Michael

All I do is worry about the future of Michael Jackson's family and empire. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't rest, I can't think, I can't move---well, at least not for a half-minute, two tops.

-Old Gargoyle