God is Good!

.
Fr. Stephen nails it yet again, in his post on how hard it is, sometimes, really, truly, deeply, to believe God is good toward us, infinitely good, always, only, purely good, good to one and to all, eternally good. "In Him is no darkness AT ALL." Why is this so very hard to accept? How could Jesus possibly have made it any plainer?

There is no, "Yes, but..." There just isn't.

Meeting Madison

.
The third blizzard of the season was blowing in. The first two had kept me at home during the birth of my sister Barbara’s first baby, and six whole weeks had gone by without my being able to meet my new niece, the first baby born into our family in about 9 years, and the first on the East Coast in 24. I was foolishly determined, in spite of the hazardous driving conditions, to make it to our parents’ house, where Barbara had agreed to meet me, bringing the new baby with her.

Even the Interstate highway was clogged with snow. Traffic was moving along at top speeds of 45 miles per hour. I wasn’t as worried as I ought to have been; I had driven on snow often enough before.

I had almost reached Fredericksburg when my car skidded. I struggled to regain control, but after wobbling all over the road, smashed into the guard rail and spun around, facing the oncoming traffic.

Specifically, what was coming was an eighteen-wheeler. It was so close I could see the alarm on the driver’s face and the grim set of his jaw. There was no time to unbuckle my seatbelt and scoot over to the other side of the car, no time to do anything. I was going to be squashed like an ant when you step on it. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Thank You for granting me a quick death, and thank You for showing me true joy first.” And I waited. After a moment or two, I opened my eyes again.

The monster truck, instead of filling up my windshield, was now filling up my whole side window. It slid past my mirror, missing it by an inch, no more.

But it had missed! Suddenly, I was in first grade again, and I had walked to my father’s office from school to wait for him to drive us home.

Flashback: My father is showing a training film to his R.O.T.C. cadets, and I am watching it. The trainees in the film fire a cannon at an old Jeep. The cannonball falls a little short of the target. Dad stops the film to ask, “Was that a hit or a miss?” Some poor cadet answers, “That was a near hit.”

“No!” roars my father. “That was a miss! If you miss your target even by an inch, you may as well have missed it by a mile!”

The truck had missed me by an inch. That was as good as a mile. My knee caps began jerking up and down as the realization sank in that I was alive and unhurt. I was shaking all over, and then I burst into tears.

Nobody stopped to help me; nobody dared, in the worsening weather. So after several minutes, when no traffic was coming, I simply pulled into the road and turned around and, still sobbing, resumed driving.

This time I kept the speed to 30 miles an hour, keeping a careful, if tearful, eye on the speedometer. Another car right beside me was going the same speed. After a few minutes, I noticed a little girl in that car, about four years old, staring at me. She had probably never before seen an adult wracked with sobs; her big eyes were full of infinite sympathy as she struggled to comprehend. Well, nothing I could do about that. I tried smiling at her, but then fresh tears gushed forth. She kept silently staring.

Presently, it occurred to me that I hadn’t even gotten out of my car to inspect it. Was it even roadworthy? Might it explode at any moment?

I pulled off at the nearest exit, and into a gas station. Inside was a young attendant, a kid, who weighed something well over 300 pounds. “May I help you, ma’am?” he asked, with some alarm when he saw my red, swollen face.

“Yes,” I said, “You can. I really, really, need a big hug…”

I had come to the right place! He put his massive arms around my heaving shoulders.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“I-I don’t d-drink it, thanks…”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Oh, that — that sounds – wonderful!” So he poured me some and I sat there drinking it while he went out to inspect my car.

“Nothing wrong with it except a long scratch down the side,” he reported. “You’re lucky it’s built like a ship.”

He wouldn’t accept any money, so I finished my hot chocolate and drove away. The sun had come out and as if on cue, as if by some miracle, the highway had become perfectly clear. I couldn’t believe it. There was no snow at all. I drove the rest of the way to my parents’ house at normal speed.

But the crying just refused to stop until Barbara walked in the door half an hour later and laid little Madison in my arms, and Maddy and I snuggled down together on Mom's sofa and slept, deeply, for two blissful hours.

That was exactly 12 years ago today.


(Sorry, I'm just not photogenic even when I haven't been crying; and I don't know why my hair looks that color, either...)

God Reveals Himself...

.
...in history:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life; (For the life was manifested, and we have seen [it], and bear witness, and show unto you that eternal life, which was with the Father, and was manifested unto us;) That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us: and truly our fellowship [is] with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ. And these things write we unto you, that your joy may be full. (I John 1:1-4)

...and in the heart:

And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father. Gal. 4:8

For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: (Ro. 8:15;16)

That the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give unto you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him: (Eph. 1:17)

Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah. (Psalm 4:4)

The mouth of the righteous speaks wisdom, and his tongue talks of judgment. The law of his God [is] in his heart; none of his steps shall slide. (psalm 37:30-31)

I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law [is] within my heart. (Psalm 40:8)

[Forasmuch as ye are] manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart. (2Cor. 3:3)

Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and [that] the Spirit of God dwells in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which [temple] ye are. (1Cor. 3:16-17)

1 Cor. 6:19 What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost [which is] in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?’

2 Cor. 6:16 And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in [them]; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.

John 7:17 If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or [whether] I speak of myself.

In Need of Sympathy

.
Demetrios has suffered his first fracture. On Tuesday afernoon, leaving the house, he stepped on the edge of the welcome mat. Struggling (successfully) to regain his balance, he twisted his foot and broke the 5th (outermost) metatarsal.

We waited the usual 5+ hours in the Emergency Room to get it x-rayed and splinted. The only good part about that is, we sat next to a presumably Mennonite family with six adorable, absolutely beautiful children, ranging in age from 9 years to 9 months, four boys in suspenders, one baby boy in onesies, and a girl in blonde braids and a home-sewn, calico dress, who all sat there even longer than we did, never budging, never displaying the slightest impatience, the older children with their arms around the younger. They each had books to read or look at; they spoke, if at all, in low tones. Oh, for their patience, oh, for their inner peace!

Yesterday, the swelling having gone down, we went to have the cast put on. Unfortunately, the doctor vetoed our hopes of a walking cast. No weight is to be put on this particular fracture for six weeks!

Demetrios is inept with crutches; they are far too dangerous for him, we've discovered. We've bought him one of those fancy walkers with a seat in it. He can rest his knee on the seat and scoot around. He can sit on it and use it as a (clumsy but lightweight) wheelchair when his knee gets sore. There's a basket under the seat, so he can transport a book or a box of Kleenex when he moves from one room to the other.

We've made him comfortable on a sofa; he cannot get upstairs to bed.

He can drive because the injury is to his left foot, but can't get out of the car and into wherever he's going without help. That's no problem as we usually go everywhere together anyway.

Still, he is going to be quite limited. It's going to be a long 6 weeks.

Y'all come visit us, hear?

God's Love and Wrath

.
The Love of God, to the extent we can understand it, is not to be understood via words at all, but by living it, living in and by it.

Then, what we begin to understand, we can try to find words that best express (insofar as words can) that understanding.

We need to be apophatic when speaking of God, saying what is not rather than what is. “My ways are not your ways,” says the Lord. “My thoughts are not your thoughts.” We need, in all soberness and humility, to recognize this reality.

Some of the apophatic statements that need to be made concerning God’s Love are:

* that it is not finite

* that it therefore is without measure

* that God therefore never restricts His Love, nor measures out more love to one than to another, nor measures it at all

* that since God’s Love is infinite, nothing can border it (such as His Wrath or His Justice). Love has no boundaries.

* that God’s Love is no part of any dichotomy, polarity, contradiction or antinomy

* that it is unconditional; therefore we cannot speak of it being deserved or not, or merited or not; such categories do not apply to UNCONDITIONAL Love.

* that being unconditional, it is not conditioned by, or qualified or modified by, anything at all, including His Wrath or His Justice

* that Love is not something self-seeking


And here are some aphophatic statements we need to make about God’s Wrath, saying what it is not:

* that it is never arbitrary

* that it is never unjust

* that it is not the same as human wrath

*that, unlike almost all human wrath, God’s wrath does not contain any element of animosity toward people

* that God’s Wrath never implies any necessity or inclination to be vindictive or retaliatory

* that God’s Wrath never forms a boundary upon His infinite love, or a counterbalance to it

* that God’s Wrath and God’s love are not contradictory, nor opposite poles of something

* that God’s Wrath and God’s love are not a dichotomy or an opposition, as human wrath and love almost always are

* that there is nothing in God’s dealings with creation, including His Wrath, which is not a function of His Love

* that God’s Wrath can never mean He is seeking something for Himself at human expense, whether we call it payment or satisfaction or punishment or whatever, for "Love seeketh not her own." Nor does the all-sufficient God ever need anything from us. God is totally, serenely, fully free to love us without that.

*God’s Wrath can never mean returning evil for evil while redefining the evil as good when God does it.

Of course, apophaticism is not the same as being totally agnostic. If that were true, then nobody could say anything at all. We could say neither what God’s Love or His Wrath are nor what they are not! Yet we do make statements concerning both, statements both apophatic and cataphatic.

Cataphatic statements should still always be made in an apophatic spirit; i.e., recognizing that no words can ever be more than a very rough approximation of the Reality.

Here are some cataphatic statements about God’s Love:

* God is Love.

* Love is pure, sacrificial, self-giving.

* Love abolishes fear.

* Love wills the good and rejoices in the good.

* Love is an act of freedom.


Here are some cataphatic statements about God’s Wrath:

*It destroys evil, relentlessly.

*God’s Wrath against evil undoes each particular evil by supplying the missing good. He fights evil with GOOD (and not with something we’d ordinarily consider evil, but if God does it we are bound to call it good). God’s Wrath, when it rages against hatred, destroys it by supplying the love to replace it. God’s Wrath raging against death replaces it with life. God’s Wrath campaigning against the foolishness He hates, supplies wisdom. God’s Wrath brings peace to replace strife, forgiveness to heal guilt, reconciliation to heal estrangement, and so forth.

*God’s Wrath will never cease raging until His goodness is utterly triumphant throughout all His creation.

*Until then, we do not want God's Wrath to cease or be appeased.

* God’s Wrath, like everything about His dealings with us, works FOR us, never against us, even when it seems that way. Even if He decides to shorten our time on earth, He always ends our earthly lives at the time He knows is best for us. God's Wrath is our champion against our enemies and His.

* In the Last Day, God’s Wrath will disarm and disable the sinfulness of the impenitent, and the process will definitely burn them, who still cherish their sin and cling to it and identify with it. They will not appreciate that this process is for the good, like having a gangrenous leg removed; they will only hate God for the excruciating pain it causes them.

* God’s Wrath against falsehood will burn away from the impenitent every lie by which they had deceived and comforted themselves, and instead of rejoicing in Truth, as the saints will when God does the same for them, the damned will find Truth unbearable. God is Truth.

* God’s Wrath against our scattered, separate existence will cause us all to dwell forever in the presence of His Love, but unlike the saints, for whom this will be the culmination of all their hopes, the damned will hate dwelling with Him.

* God’s Wrath against death has done away with it; now all will be resurrected. But while the saints have sought eternal life and for them it is their crown, the unrepentant would far prefer to be annihilated than continue in this eternal kind of death.

* God’s Wrath against sin will take away from us all every opportunity to exercise wickedness. For saints, this will mean deliverance, but for sinners, it means taking away every pleasure they ever knew. They will never be able to harm anybody again, including themselves. (If it weren’t for the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I suppose they’d probably be bored stiff!)

In short, God’s Love and God’s Wrath are two facets of the same gem. Wrath is what we call it when His Love campaigns against sin and evil. (He does this for and from LOVE, not for Himself! He never seeks anything for Himself, Who already has everything.) As a matter of fact, His very Presence, even if He were to do nothing at all, would annihilate evil, because evil is precisely the opposite of God. As the presence of knowledge demolishes ignorance, so the Presence of God destroys all evil.

Personally, I think God’s Wrath, while it is something wonderful, is also frightening as hell; in fact, for the damned, His very Love IS hell. And certainly it is very, very real.

The Pope, "Papal Doctrines", and an Ecumenical Suggestion

.
It strikes me that most, maybe even all, of the doctrines of Roman Catholicism with which the Orthodox disagree are what I call “papal doctrines.” By that term I mean doctrines whose effect is to bolster the papal claims to universal authority, supremacy, and/or infallibility. Offhand, I can think of about five such doctrines.

Communion of Saints
As formulated in Roman Catholicism, this becomes a "papal doctrine", since it is the Pope who determines who is canonized a saint. This leads us directly into the doctrine of

Purgatory,
for it is the Pope who controls the “treasury of merits” accumulated by Christ and the saints. The Pope applies these merits at his own discretion. The Pope can get you out of Purgatory sooner than you otherwise would get out, or he can allow you to skip it altogether, as the current Pope did this past December 5th.

In Persona Christi Capitis
Catholic priests celebrating the Eucharist (and other sacraments) are said to be acing in the power, in the place, and in the person of Christ, the Head. (Orthodoxy teaches that Christ’s presence is not in and through a priest, but is direct. Christ is still filling His own place, which is therefore not vacant. Orthodox priests minister alongside Christ, performing the visible counterparts of what Christ, in His own Person, place, and power, is performing invisibly.) The Catholic teaching is a “papal doctrine” not only because Catholic priests are said to stand in the Person and place of Christ (which would be enough to make the doctrine qualify as "papal"), but also because even while representing Christ, they nevertheless stand under obedience to bishops and Pope.

Filioque
The Holy Spirit is said to proceed from the Father and the Son. The Pope is said to be the Vicar, on earth, of the Son. The implication is that as the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Son in heaven, so He is also sent by the Son’s Vicar on Earth. The Pope thus becomes custodian of the Holy Spirit on earth.

Note, the closest I can come, offhand, to seeing this spelled out explicitly, is this, from the Catholic Encyclopedia online:

St. Paul was careful (I Corinthians 12, 13, 14) to restrict authoritatively the use of these charismata within the ends for which they were bestowed, and thus insist upon their subordination to the power of the hierarchy.

The effect, then, of the filioque, although not explicitly said, is greatly to enhance papal claims, making it into what I’m calling a papal doctrine.

Doctrine on Religious Freedom
I’ve already commented on this frightening doctrine.

Now if this pattern I think I see holds up, in which just about everything we Orthodox regard as error turns out to be a "papal doctrine", it may reinforce Catholic conviction that the Pope is necessary to keep us on the straight and narrow, while it will strengthen Orthodox conviction that the central problem between us is the Pope.

I have a suggestion, though, for how we might make tremendous progress together on this issue while (for the time being) bypassing "papal doctrines".

The previous Pope asked for input from non-Catholics about how what he called “The Petrine Ministry” might become more acceptable to us. My response is, the first thing is to make it truly Petrine, more like the ministry St. Peter exercised. A first, major step in that direction would be for the pope to renounce all his secular-style power, together with all its trappings, and limit himself to trying to be a spiritual leader. This would move us all along by several giant leaps.

“Get Me to the Church on Time” (From ‘Bye, Fair Ladies)

.

Many years ago (in about 1964), my mother wrote this song for her friend and fellow real estate agent, Harvey, a Catholic who decided to become a monk and hoped also to be ordained. His co-workers all sang it at his farewell party. He took this joshing with good humor and gave the monastery and seminary six months of his life before deciding “They were trying to make me into someone I’m not.” You may remember the original, sung in the Broadway play and movie by Eliza Doolittle's father, Alfred; it began, "I'm gettin' married in the morning."

There’s just a few more hours, that’s all the time there is,
A few more hours, for one more farewell kiss –

I’m getting cloistered in September,
Oh, how the girls are gonna cry!
Bring out the hanky,
But no hanky-panky,
So I’ll be holy when I die.

I’m getting cloistered in September,
A monk and maybe priest is what I’ll be.
My new profession
Is list’ning to confession,
No more real estate for me.

This life is treach’rous,
A Vale of Sin.
If I get lech’rous,
Pour me one more gin!

I’m getting cloistered in September,
The contemplative life will seem sublime,
The women may go spastic,
Because I’ll stay monastic,
If I get off to school in time.

I’m getting cloistered in September,
Away from rents and women I’ll be fine.
Send me to the cellars,
To work with other fellers,
Making Brother Harvey’s wine.

So lift your glasses,
So long for now.
If I make passes,
Remind me of my vow!

‘Cause I’m getting cloistered in September
Seminary’s just the place to be.
Sittin’ on my hassock,
Starin’ at my cassock,
Glad that I’m no longer free!

Maukie

.
At the bottom of the page is my new, virtual kitty, for your enjoyment (and mine).

From my Daughter-in-Law

.

The boys and I were in Target a few weeks ago and the cashier looked at them and said, "You sure are cute twins". Ryan looked at her and responded, " I'm not a twin". He looked at Connor who said, " Me too" ( of course meaning I'm not either).

Since then I have tried to explain to them that they are twins. They kept telling me no. So, I just dropped the subject deciding to put it off until they are older.

We recently got the boys out of their cribs ( I know we were lucky to keep them in for so long) and bought each of them his own big boy bed. I will let the attached picture speak for itself, but just before they fell asleep Ryan looked at Connor, put his hand on his cheek and said, " You my twin", to which Connor smiled. What a nice memory!

Awww! Look how they're holding on to each other as they sleep!

Celebrity Meme

.
Here's a meme I found that intrigues me:

If you could spend 24 hours with a celebrity:

1. Who would s/he be?
2. Where would you expect him/her to bring you?
3. Where would you bring him/her?
4. What would you like to do with him/her?
5. What’s the one thing you’d been always wanting to ask the celebrity?
6. If s/he didn’t treat you well, would s/he be your favorite celebrity?
7. What would you give to him/her as a gift before saying goodbye so s/he’d remember you?
8. Tag 3 people.

I have always wanted to meet Queen Elizabeth.

I suppose she would bring me to Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle.

I would probably bring her to the Jefferson Hotel downtown for tea. No way would I bring her to my house. I'd have to spend a fortune first, getting it anywhere near fit for a queen. Why would she be interested in it anyway?

Tea is what I'd mainly like to do with her. It would be fun to go to each other's church services together, too. (I wouldn't dream of spending a full 24 hours with her, though.)

The one thing I've always wanted to ask (but without a clear invitation, never would) is whether she enjoys being the Queen, and why or why not.

She always treats everyone well, at least on the surface. That would suffice. I wouldn't expect her actually to like me and that wouldn't matter very much. (She would not appreciate being asked any personal questions, I think, and those would be the ones I'd be dying to ask! I wouldn't ask them, but it would likely be very clear I wanted to.)

Do not know! What does one give a queen? She has everything. Perhaps a small photo album containing half a dozen pictures of our visit together? Perhaps an Orthodox prayer book?

I tag Anne the Weekend Fisher, Steven Robinson, and Christopher Hall.

What's Happening With the Episcopalians?

.
We ate dinner last night at my mother’s retirement community, with a man who had been an Episcopalian priest for 35 years. So I asked him, “What is happening with the Episcopalians?” and he replied, “A small minority is being stubborn and breaking away over letting homosexuals in.”

Then he recounted for us his very first Vestry meeting, as a new parish priest. (Vestry, for you non-Episcopalians, is what others call Parish Council or Board of Deacons.) A man passed out a paper with a resolution on it that should an African-American ever show up at the front door, he was to be given a map to the nearest black church. “So I gathered those sheets of paper,” the man told us, “and tore them up. That was in the ‘sixties, and about every ten years since, another thing like that seems to come up. After that, it was women. Then homosexuals…”

For him, the issues of women’s ordination and ordaining gays and lesbians is another civil rights issue. And this man was utterly confident he had been the guardian of decency and uprightness against prejudice and ignorance. It's God's church, he says, and nobody but God has the right to bar anyone from it.

It’s always so interesting to get a different view of things!

Blossom the 'Possum

.

For a little change. I wrote this story for a then eight-year-old named Joshua, my grandson too briefly in the legal sense, yet forever, in my heart.

This is the true story of Blossom the ‘Possum. When she grew big enough to leave her mother and go out into the world on her own, the first thing Blossom did was to look for food.

It was night. Opossums prefer to stay awake at night and sleep during the day. It was rainy, too.

Blossom walked around the neighborhood. She sniffed at a garbage can, but it was tightly shut, so she could not eat the garbage. She found a few worms and ate them. She wandered around some more, looking, looking. Then her nose picked up a delicious smell! She followed the smell. Somebody had left a plastic garbage bag in the screened porch, and it was full!

But how could Blossom the ‘Possum get into the porch? It was all screened, and the door was shut. Blossom’s stomach was growling. Oh, there MUST be some way to get at all that tasty garbage! She walked in a circle all the way around the porch. The she climbed up the steps. What do you think she found? A HOLE in the screen. All she had to do was make it a little bigger and she could get in.

Quickly, she used her claws to enlarge the hole. Then she walked right up to that plastic garbage bag and used her claws again to tear it open.

It had so many good things to eat in it, like asparagus and broccoli scraps, and bits of moussaka and other Greek food, that it took Blossom a long time to finish stuffing herself.

“Now,” she said to herself, “Where shall I sleep? It is almost morning, and I must find a safe, warm place to sleep.” She squeezed back out the hole in the screen and walked around some more, sniffing and scratching the house.

And that is when she found a door with a very tall crack under it! She poked her nose under the door. Would her whole head fit under it? Yes! So Blossom flattened her body, scrunched under the door, and opened her eyes to look around.

She was underneath the house. She was standing on dirt, and above her was the floor. She walked along a water pipe and explored the place.

What was that fluffy pink stuff stuck to the floor above Blossom’s head? She poked at it and then tore at it with her claws. She made a big hole in it. Standing up on her hind legs, she looked into the hole. It led to a nice snug place between the floor and the pink stuffing that was stapled to it. It was a perfect bed. It was warm and soft and protected from the rain outside. It was safe. She could hide here and no other animals would ever find her.

Blossom climbed in, curled up in a ball, and after giving her whiskers a good look, snuggled down into the pink fluff to go to sleep.

Blossom had found a home. Every night she would get up and play with her friends and look for something to eat. Every morning, she would happily climb into her soft bed and there she would sleep all day long.

One night, Grandma and Demetrios were sitting in their den watching television. Suddenly, they heard a noise. Wham! Thunk! Blam!

“What was that?” asked Grandma. “Is a burglar trying to break into our house?”

“Maybe it is a ghost!” said Demetrios, but he was only teasing.

“It’s somebody moving around!” said Grandma. “Somebody’s out there!”

They listened again. Scratch, scratch, scratch, BUMP!

Demetrios grabbed his flashlight. “Let’s go have a look!”

So out into the rain they went. They looked in the shed. They didn’t see anything except the lawnmower. They looked around in the bushes. Nothing was there. They opened a little door that leads under the house and shined the flashlight around. “Oopst!” shouted Demetrios. “I saw something!”

“What did you see?” asked Grandma.

“I saw a long, thick, hairless tail disappearing into the dark! It is some kind of animal.”

“It has to be an opossum,” said Grandma. “That’s the only animal around here that has a tail like that.”

Next day, Grandma called up a very nice man who came and looked around under the house. “Yup,” he said, “Y’all sure enough do have yourselves a ‘possum. Look here, where it’s been a-diggin’. It’s done tore down a whole lot of your insulation, too. I’ll set a trap for it. I’ll just put some dog food in this here cage, ‘cause ‘possums love dog food. When that ‘possum gets inside to eat the food, the door will snap shut and we’ll have him.”

Next morning, Grandma got up early to check the trap. The door of the trap was still open, and there was no opossum inside. That night, she checked again, but still, there was no opossum. Every day for two weeks, Grandma checked her trap, but there was never any opossum inside it.

“Them roofers probably drove it away,” said the Nice Man. “All that hammering for three days straight while they was putting up your new roof. That ‘possum probably said to hisself, ‘Dang! No way to get a good day’s sleep in this place no more!’ It probably done took off. We’ll just leave the trap there anyway, for a couple more days, to be sure.”

The next afternoon, Grandma checked the trap again. The door was closed! Inside the cage was a gray ball of fur. It was moving up and down, up and down, as the animal breathed.

“Oh!” yelled Grandma.

The animal inside the cage was Blossom. She had been trapped in that cage for almost a whole day, and she was not happy. Slowly, she stood up. She turned around to look at Grandma. She opened her eyes halfway. Then she opened them all the way. They were black and bright and shiny.

“Oh, you poor thing!” said Grandma. “Your nose is all sore from trying to push the door open. Your claw is all sore from trying to scratch your way out. I will get you some more food, and some water, too!” So she ran back to the house to get the food and water for Blossom.

Then she called the Nice Man.

Pretty soon he came in his truck. He looked at Blossom. “Well, well, ain’t you a pretty little girl! I declare. We got ourselves a swamp ‘possum!” He explained to Grandma. “A swamp ‘possum is gray,” he said. “Regular ones is white. Don’t you worry none about her, ma’am. I’m gonna take her to a place she will just love.”

So the Nice Man cleaned the bottom of the cage by wiping it over the grass. Then he loaded the cage and Blossom into the back of his truck.

They drove for a long time, over an hour. Then the man stopped the truck and got the cage out. He set it on the ground.

“Now, sweetie,” he said to Blossom, “This here’s just the place for you. There’s fields of corn goin’ to be a-growin’ soon, and all kinds of other good crops, too. Over yonder’s a garbage dump. The swamp here is gonna have some ‘possum friends for you. And you’ll be much happier sleeping in a tree than under some house where you don’t belong, in fiberglass insulation that has got to have been irritating to you.”

He opened the cage.

Blossom looked around. She saw water and lots of tall green trees. She saw plenty of places to play and to hide and to sleep. She could already smell good things to eat; all she had to do was go find them.

“YES!” said Blossom to herself. And out of the cage she walked. “Finally I have found my true home! Finally I know where I belong!”

Just then, another opossum appeared. “What is your name?” Blossom asked him.

“Opie,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Blossom.”

“Blossom. Oh, what a beautiful name,” said Opie. “And you are very beautiful, too. Come on, let’s play! I’ll show you everything around here.”

So off they went, and the Nice Man says he is sure they will live happily ever after.

THE END

This is a true story. Well, except for the part about opossums talking.

Atonement: the Movie

.
Don't bother.

It's a tragic romance. The requisite sex scene, although by no means all that graphic, is considerably longer than it need be, and the gore is mostly (not entirely) gratuitous.

I have two main problems with this film:

1. You never learn enough about the personality or character of either of the lovers to be able to empathize with their love, only their lust, if you so choose (maybe even if you don't). You have no idea what, if anything, they see in each other, other than good looks.

2. The atonement? Pitiful, wholly inadequate, unreal, non-redeeming, doesn't work emotionally or in any other way. If you won't give me a happy ending, at least give me a satisfying one, something to take away from the ashes and rubble.

Other considerations such as good cinematography and several truly breath-taking twists of plot raise this movie, in my estimation, from zero to maybe three stars out of five. Maybe.

But you probably have much better uses for your time and money.

Update: We Still Need Your Prayers

.
My sister, Barbara, was transferred about 3 weeks ago (I think) to a rehab facility much nearer her house than the hospital was. The reason for the transfer was, there was nothing more the hospital could do for her.

However, now her insurance company has decided that as there is nothing the rehab facility can do for her either, by way of making her better that is, they will no longer pay for her to be there -- as of January 28. It isn't clear yet whether insurance will pay for her to get ANY kind of care, because in the middle of that conversation, her husband had to hang up before his temper led him to say something he might regret. (I mean it's frustrating when the managed care manager asks couldn't some personal friend come in and sit with her for a while every day, when what she needs is NURSING care 24/7, and when this person asks how you FEEL about something, when how you feel is totally irrelevant...) So we'll know more on that Monday. Meanwhile the tab is growing by nearly $400 a day.

Barbara, who is 6'4", is down to probably 135 pounds; she can't eat much because to do so makes her nauseous. She is completely bald, of course, from the chemotherapy. Her eyes look hollow and one of them doesn't track very well with the other. She is clumsy with her hands.

Her spirits, thanks be to God (and Fr. Gregory) are excellent. She even still has her sense of humor; tonight, when I asked her how her day had been, she said, "Relaxing!" Yeah, right. She's paralyzed from the waist down.

She asked Fr. Gregory what she ought to be doing and not doing during this time. His wise advice, applicable to any of us, was: DO pray, pray, pray. DON'T worry.

The rest of us? Mom seems to be bearing all this much better than we thought she would, unless she's putting on for us. (Mom?) She reads this blog.

Dad has the mixed blessing of being unaware of very much that's happening even to himself, let alone his youngest daughter. There is no point in telling him.

Michael, our brother, is pretty reserved so I don't know. He and Mom came with me to church last Sunday, first time he'd been in an Orthodox church, except when Demetrios and I were wed.

Wendy, our sister, copes by trying hard to retain an optimistic view of Barbara's future.

I have a hard time getting up in the morning. I have to force myself. Most days I get dressed, but not every day. I feel as if my body were made of lead; it doesn't want to move, or if it does, it moves slowwwwly. I don't think I go around in a cloud of gloom and doom or anything like that; Demetrios says I don't. But what I notice is how easily I become irritable and how little, unimportant things upset me. I cry a lot. Well, I expect most of you reading this know all about grief, but I'm a neophyte. Somehow, miraculously, this is the first time I've ever had to face anything like this.

But then I do still get to talk with Barbara by phone daily, and together, we are even now creating warm and beautiful memories I shall always cherish.

Thanks for all your prayers and please do not stop yet.

15 Reasons NOT to Believe in a Literal Virgin Birth

.
...FYI, courtesy of a liberal Catholic. Enjoy. Debunk.

1.) The Virgin Birth story appears to have taken decades to develop. It does not appear to have been known to (or believed by) St. Mark or St. John or St. Paul.

It is inconceivable that any of these would have omitted mention of the Virgin Birth had they known of it and believed in it.

2.) If a natural explanation of something is reasonable, an unnecessary supernatural explanation ought not to be presumed. And such an explanation does exist; see #12 below. We should not assume He has used supernatural means when the same result could be accomplished by natural means. God does not usually, if ever, do this.

3.) A virgin birth would have violated the laws of nature God Himself made, reflecting His own nature.

4.) It cannot be proven that any virgin birth has ever occurred.

5.) The Theotokos herself referred to Joseph as Jesus’ father (Luke 2:48) and she ought to have known.

6.) Luke 4:22 and Matthew 13:54-55 show us that many people believed Joseph was Jesus’ father.

7.) In Mark 3:21, we read, “When his family heard about this, they went to take charge of him, for they said, ‘He is out of his mind.’” (NIV) Would Jesus’ mother ever think He was out of His mind if she knew He had been conceived supernaturally and born amid miraculous circumstances?

8.) St. John refers to Jesus as the son of Joseph (1:45; 6:42) without any qualification.

9.) There are amazing similarities between the story of Jesus’ conception and birth and the stories of other figures, both real and mythical. We should not have a double standard, according to which we reject others’ virgin birth stories but expect them to accept our.

10.) In that period, nobody expected a biography to be literally true in all details. Points considered true were often illustrated by fiction. Thus, the important question to ask is, what truth does this story seek to convey to us?

11.) If God wanted us to believe in virgin births, He would from time to time produce them. But there are no miracles today. If there were, we might use those to vindicate belief in the Virgin Birth. But since such events do not occur today, it is reasonable to suppose that miraculous parts of the Gospels are fiction. (It’s God’s fault if we are deceived in this deduction, because He and He alone could be responsible for absence of miracles today.)

12.) Early Christians were competing with other religions which made extravagant claims for their gods. Christians felt the need to do the same, to grab people’s attention and persuade them of Jesus’ greatness. Many of these figures, as adults, also fasted for 40 days, died violently, and were resurrected from the dead. Christians clearly borrowed from these other stories so their deity would be able to compete.

13.) Several other aspects of the birth narratives, besides the virgin birth, are clearly at least partly fiction or symbolic, such as the behavior of the star, for example. If we do not believe in a literal star, why believe in a literal virgin birth? Furthermore, some elements of the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke cannot be reconciled. Did Mary and Joseph live in Bethlehem and only moved to Nazareth later (Matthew), or did they live in Nazareth before they journeyed to Bethlehem? Did the Holy Family fee to Egypt in haste (Matthew) , or did they wait around for 8 days to have Jesus circumcised and presented in the Temple on the fortieth day and return to Nazareth afterwards? Clearly some fiction has been inserted here.

14.) Matthew and Luke have different genealogies of Christ. At least one of them is considered to be traced through Joseph’s line, suggesting that he was Jesus’ biological father. Many scholars “feel” that both genealogies are meant to be Joseph’s.

15.) There is no theological necessity for a literal virgin birth. You can still assert the presence in Him of the divine nature. You can still assert the hypostatic union. You can still say He was born free of original sin (the way Catholics assert Mary is).